Izzy and the Moonlit Garden

Chapters

I ~ The Midnight Unicorn
II ~ The Letter
III ~ The Lavender Pot
IV ~ The Library
Epilogue

I ~ The Midnight Unicorn

The Midnight Unicorn

As far as she was concerned, Izzy Moonbow was certain she hadn’t seen the midnight-blue unicorn before.

She was sure of this, as sure a little filly could be, for very few of her fellow unicorns – children and grown-ups both – would stray far enough to come across her cottage. Her people hardly paid one another any more attention than they thought necessary – which was to say, none at all. What is a stranger, indeed, if not another face lost to memories?

But there Izzy saw her, as she looked out onto the world from her bedroom window. Tall, dark and blue, wrapped in a patchwork grey cloak, lurking amongst the treeline. Nothing, save for her height, made her stand out in particular, and for a fleeting moment Izzy wondered why she’d even bothered giving the mare any special attention.

That was, of course, until she saw dust fall from the mare’s cloak. Shimmering, glowing dust. How strange. Only her mother had such large amounts of glitter, and this mare certainly hadn’t been to their cottage. Or perhaps she had, Izzy realised with a gasp – like a thief in the night.

The thought faded when Izzy realised the mare’s blue-green eyes were staring right back at her, from within the gnarled oak roots and bushes. She held her breath, and perhaps so did the mare too, for they stared at one another for what must have been an eternity.

Then it passed, and the mare turned away, disappearing amidst the treeline with nary a sound. Only a trace of shimmering dust remained where’d she stood, glinting in the light.

Izzy furrowed her brow. The forest was no place for little fillies, her father had told her, once. After which her mother had chimed in, pointing out that they lived in a forest, and so Izzy forgot what they’d spoken about afterwards. Grown-ups were confusing.

But that didn’t matter now. All Izzy knew then was that she ought to ask the mare where she’d got so much glitter.

“Mom!” cried Izzy, hurrying downstairs with the pitter-patter of her tiny hooves. “I’m going to play outside!”

“Alright, dear,” her mother said, without raising her head from her latest painting – a rolling green field of grass upon a hillside. “Come home before dinner.”

“Okay!”

Izzy’s mother said nothing more, but that was okay. She was a busy mare, as busy as only artists could be. If the mare had taken her mother’s glitter, then all the better for her to save the day.

Without awaiting another reply, Izzy pushed the door open. Standing at the doorway, the little filly gazed upon the world outside her family’s cottage in full.

Izzy didn’t much like to play outside. It wasn’t that it was terrifying. As a matter of fact, Bridlewood looked quite lovely at this time of day, with the Sun at its highest, its lights reflected upon the many crystals that dotted the landscape. No, it was how quiet the other children were. She couldn’t understand why, not entirely, when there was so much to see out here, and Izzy found that she didn’t like the children’s silence.

Shaking her thoughts free of forlorn fillies and downtrodden colts, Izzy looked around. Her family’s cottage was one of those furthest from the Crystal Tea Room, tucked away at the very edge of the village. Surely, if the mare had shied away from a quick glimpse she’d given her, she wouldn’t head towards where others lived–

There, she saw it, shimmering upon the leaves. The glitter. And the mare, Izzy thought triumphantly, had left a trail.

So, on this sunny afternoon, off Izzy went into the deeper forest amidst glittering golden dust.

* * * * *

Bridlewood was a quiet forest. Large, and a little foreboding too, with its towering oak trees and thick undergrowth, but quiet. Small wonder that their foremothers had chosen to settle here. Izzy beamed, as she continued her trot down the gravel path. She knew that she remembered her mother’s lessons well. Stories of how the first unicorn settlers, on a pilgrimage for so long, had at last found home in the enchanting sanctuary they would later name Bridlewood.

Yet beneath the beauty of the forest she called home, Izzy felt alone. And never did she feel so keenly alone as now. Perhaps she had ventured too far, past winding creeks and moss-covered stones, the Sun’s rays disappearing one by one. The crystal that grew all around Bridlewood was nowhere to be seen. Here, even the sounds of chirping birds and the rustling leaves had faded into the afternoon air.

She must have walked for quite some time, indeed, feeling some wetness in her eyes, with branches all around her growing thicker and thicker still. Her mother would be worried sick. Her father – oh, she could just picture him – calling out to her. But Izzy knew that even if she could yell, he would never hear her, so far was he.

Just as she stopped and panted, eyes darting around the thick woods, she saw it. A small possum sitting upon a tiny stump. White and grey, like all possums were, it looked at her with curious little eyes.

Before she could say anything, it had hopped off and scurried off into the nearby bush. When Izzy went through, she saw the glowing golden trail yet again, the possum sniffing at it. Here, they stood in a tunnel of leaves and twisting branches, illuminated by the trail that lay ahead.

“Thank you!” Izzy exclaimed happily, to which the possum squeaked back. So on she went, further through the tunnel.

Izzy knew not how long she’d walked, so certain was she that she was not alone, not with the possum accompanying her, until at last she came across a grove through a curtain of vines.

A garden was as best she could describe it. Izzy hadn’t seen a garden this well-kept. Flowers of many colours, not all of which she could name, lined its edges, with vines climbing up the trees. Above, the Sun’s rays still shone through, basking it in a warm light. A creek split the little garden, ending in a tiny spring.

How very odd. Izzy didn’t know of any pony who’d venture this far into Bridlewood’s deepest, darkest corners. Yet here she saw plainly a brass spyglass lying against a tree, rolled-up scrolls that looked yellowed with age, and three flat stones arranged like a small table for two.

“Do you live here?” Izzy asked the possum. The possum looked up to her, staring at her with those tiny eyes. Then it scurried off up the nearest tree, and into the hollow up above.

“Comfy,” Izzy mused. But she could not dwell long on how the little critter had built all of this, for her eyes were drawn towards the colour purple. A lot of it, in fact, tucked away beneath overhanging leaves. Only when she approached did she realise they were, in fact, more flowers.

Purple flowers of many little buds, growing tall from their shrub-like foliage and pots. Izzy drew a whiff of its scent, feeling a sleepy calm wash over her.

It was when she reached over to touch it, that a reverberating voice sounded from around her.

“Halt,” it exclaimed. “That is not for thine hooves.”

Izzy pulled her hoof back just as the other pony in the little garden pushed leaves aside and emerged from the undergrowth.

The unicorn was indeed tall. Shrouded in the patchwork grey cloak, she stood taller still than Izzy had thought. Taller than any pony she’d ever seen. Even tall, mean Alphabittle wouldn’t reach the tip of her horn. Izzy’s eyes continued to pan up, until they met the unicorn’s own pair. These were blue-green, the colour of water in a forest pond.

She was pretty. Her coat reminded Izzy of cloudless skies when the stars shone the brightest, and Izzy could just see the faintest hint of a light azure mane from beneath her hood, a shade which reminded her of her mother’s paintings of lovely noontime gatherings. Her muzzle was dotted with youthful, dark freckles. She could not have been much older than her mother.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Izzy. “Your flowers are very pretty.”

The mare inclined her head, ever so slightly. But her gaze remained firm and narrowed.

“Leave us, child,” said the mare. “‘Tis no place for you, nor your ilk.”

Izzy blinked twice. The mare’s voice was unlike any she’d heard before. She sounded weary, yet where Izzy’s neighbours and fellow children sounded deadpan and withdrawn, there was also a mellifluous, silky tone to her voice.

Mellifluous. That was a nice word. Her mother liked to use fancy words. But that was another matter, for another time. The mare’s eyes were still narrowed, her brows furrowed.

“Did you not hear?” she said, her voice rising. “Leave us.”

The wind blew past, and from beneath the mare’s cloak, Izzy glimpsed what could only have been glitter. Sparkling, shimmering glitter.

“Where did you get those?”

The mare blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“The glitter!” Izzy exclaimed, pointing at her cloak. “Where did you get that? Did you take it from Mom? Did you ask her? She uses glitter a lot, so if she’s missing some she’ll be sadder than usual. Dad usually gets her some, but he’s, um… He doesn’t do it anymore.”

The mare blinked again once, then twice. Then, with flourish, she stretched a forehoof from beneath her patchwork cloak, scattering tiny, sparkling golden dust all around.

“This is not glitter, for goodness’ sake,” the mare answered with a huff. “Nay, this is stardust. I marvel that you could spot it at all.”

“Oh. I don’t know what that is.”

“Hrm. Then come back some time and perhaps I’ll tell you.”

“Can’t you tell me now?”

“Don’t you have family to return to?” the mare countered, before glancing up. “The night shall be falling soon, and these woods are hardly someplace a filly should be in by herself.”

She pointed towards the tunnel. “Follow the trail, and little Tiberius shall guide thee.”

“Well… um, okay,” Izzy said, looking down at her hooves. “Dad always said I shouldn’t be out in the forest all by myself. But, um, you shouldn’t either.”

The mare said nothing then. After a moment’s silence, she cleared her throat.

“I… see,” said the mare. “Then I shall attempt to… keep myself safe.”

Izzy looked up, beaming. “Okay!” she said, “Bye, miss tall unicorn! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

She waved, and turned away without another hesitation, humming a jaunty tune to herself as she followed the possum. But as she was to leave through the hanging vines, she looked back at the mare.

The mystery mare stood there, motionless, her head tilted off to one side.

* * * * *

It hadn’t taken long for Izzy to reach home. It certainly didn’t feel that way. But by the time she waved goodbye in turn to little Tiberius, who’d guided her home, the Sun had begun to set and her mother stood at the door, pacing back and forth. And woe to anyone who’d gotten her eyes off her current painting before it was finished.

Yet as Izzy’s mother pulled her into the tightest of hugs, it was clear that she was only worried, from the way her blue mane and pink coat, identical to Izzy’s, had frazzled and glasses lay ajar.

She didn’t say anything at first, sitting Izzy down at the dining table. And for a while, Izzy was quiet, for she’d been served her favourite porridge and pine tea. But when the bowl and glass had been emptied and her belly filled, she looked up at her mother, and still saw worry etched across those often stoic features.

“Where have you been, Izzy?” asked her mother, her gentle voice turned frail.

Izzy glanced at her mother’s own bowl, and saw it was untouched. Her mother rarely left her food untouched, even when she scarcely spoke a word all day long.

“I’m okay. I saw a lady outside,” said Izzy. “She, um, had glitter, I think, so I thought she’d stolen from you. So I followed her, and there was a possum who took me to see her. It was nice. She lives in a pretty little place. Like in your paintings. There was a lot of flowers.”

Her mother said nothing, merely furrowing her brows. When at last she spoke, however, there was no sign of anger, only confusion and curiosity.

“And… this lady, what was she like?” asked her mother, eyes gleaming behind her glasses, sitting straighter on her seat. “Did she hurt you?”

“No, actually, she was nice. Well, not nice, just kind of there, but we talked,” Izzy answered. “She’s blue. Like, blue all over. And she has a possum friend. Oh, oh, I also asked her for the glitter back, but it wasn’t glitter actually. She called it stardust, or something. I think it was stardust.”

“Does she live here? Perhaps she’s from the other end of the village.”

“I dunno. Maybe. I walked pretty far,” Izzy paused, scrunching her nose in thought. “What’s stardust, Mom?”

“... I don’t know what that is.”

“That’s what I told her! Is it magic?”

Her mother tapped her chin, then shook her head. “We’ve talked about this,” she said, adopting a more even tone. “It went away one day, and no living unicorn knows of it.”

“But Dad said it might return,” Izzy persisted. “I mean, he said if it went away and no one knows how, maybe it’ll come back the same way!”

Her mother let out a sad little chuckle.

“Your father was always the optimist,” she said, sighing. “Maybe it might, maybe it won’t. Who knows, maybe he’s right.”

Izzy giggled. “Yeah! I mean your paintings are pretty magical,” she said, gesturing towards the easel, where her mother’s latest was proudly displayed.

It was a simple one, the same painting she’d glimpsed earlier. A field of grass, swaying in the wind. The Sun shone brightly down upon it, the skies filled with fluffy white clouds. All drawn with her mother’s masterful strokes, gentle yet firm at the same time, the colours lush as they could ever be.

Her mother glanced at it, and laughed softly.

“That one’s not finished yet,” she said. “I still think something’s missing…” She looked at Izzy, her smile fading a bit. “Izzy, dear,” said her mother. “I’m sorry, I haven’t been available. But if you need to talk, I’m here. I know it hasn’t been easy.”

Izzy thought of it for only a moment. “Okay!” she exclaimed. “I’ll go ask her too the next time we meet. Is that okay? Oh, I should ask her about the stardust. Maybe she’ll give me some.”

For a passing second or two, her mother looked wistful. But it went away, for she settled on ruffling Izzy’s mane.

“You could ask her, yes. These woods have their own stories, you know. Just don’t be late,” she said. “Come back home before dinner. Remember that, alright?”

“I will,” Izzy affirmed, nodding enthusiastically. “Maybe you can meet her too. She’s weird, I guess, but you’ll like her flowers.”

“Alright, if you say so,” said her mother, brushing away a few strands of mane off her eyes. “But don’t forget. Tomorrow’s a school day, and you’ve got arts and crafts.”

“I didn’t forget,” said Izzy. “It’s arts and crafts!” She hopped off her seat, and moved to hug her mother. “G’night Mom. Don’t sleep too late.” She hugged her a little tighter. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

“It’s alright. I won’t sleep in late,” said her mother, patting her head. “Good night, Izzy.”

They parted with another hug and no further words spoken. But as Izzy walked up towards her room, she saw her mother still at the table, eyes fixed on the third, empty chair on the table.

Izzy didn’t like to think about it. Her mother had once been sunnier, and still made an effort to smile even now. Yet, in the year that had passed, there was always the sadness that fell upon her whenever Izzy looked away, just like all of their fellow unicorns.

Magic was long gone, she was told. Perhaps the lady in the garden knew something about it. Or perhaps she’d lied, and stardust was indeed just glitter.

All Izzy knew was that she ought to talk to her again, and maybe her mother would be happy.

‘Weird lady,’ Izzy concluded, as she closed her eyes, letting her mind wander off. ‘I like her.’

* * * * *

To Izzy’s great disappointment, arts and crafts were not particularly enjoyable the day after. It wasn’t so much that she hated school – as a matter of fact, she loved arts and crafts. But today was an outdoor class, and as far as outdoor classes went, it wasn’t very good. She did enjoy making her project, since golf and tennis balls were difficult to hold as they were.

Then she lost the class ribbon for the day, and that wasn’t very encouraging at all.

So disappointed was she that she’d bolted out as soon as class was finished, which was alright, as the teacher hardly noticed her anyway. This time around, she knew where to find the path into the forest, and happily she trotted in, accompanied by Tiberius.

When she arrived at the garden once more, as the Moon slowly showed itself in the fading afternoon skies, the mare was already there, kneeling beside her flowerbed.

“I see you’re earlier than expected, child,” said the mare, without glancing at her.

Izzy said nothing in response, looking down at her project, jutting out from her school satchel. She let out a sigh.

“I guess,” said Izzy. “I was busy making this. I don’t know, it’s not much, but…”

She looked up, in time to see the mare stand before her.

“May we see it?” said the mare, offering a hoof. Izzy stared at it, then back at her project – a model of the world and the two celestial bodies that circled it.

“Okay,” said Izzy, taking out the model and presenting it to the mare, whose eyes fixed upon it, looking deep in thought. “It’s not much. Just my project.”

“An orrery… Impressive work,” the mare murmured, and if Izzy’s ears didn’t fool her, she sounded full of awe. She looked back at Izzy with a shimmer of fondness in her eyes. “Fine detail, you got the craters right, on such a tiny object as well. Yet you seem unhappy.”

“I guess,” said Izzy, her shoulders sunken. “Someone put a stick in the mud puddle outside and the teacher said it was art, so it got the ribbon instead.”

The mare, to Izzy’s surprise, let out a groan and a shake of her head. “Why does that not surprise me…” She paused. “Why have you come here, child?”

Izzy didn’t answer then, yet her eyes were drawn yet again towards the folds of the mare’s cloak, something that did not escape her eyes.

“Stardust,” said the mare. “You’re here for the stardust, are you not?”

“Mhm,” said Izzy, shrugging. “I was wondering if I could borrow some, um. Maybe it’ll make it shine more.”

The mare shook her head, gently setting the orrery down by the flowerbed. “I am sorry, but precious little remains in this world. It is hardly a tool for petty crafts. Nay, only in conjunction with the finest magicks of the land shall it manifest…”

Izzy’s ears flicked. She couldn’t have heard right.

“It’s… magic?” Izzy asked, breathless.

The mare nodded solemnly. “Yes. The wisps of dust you see are tiny particles of the ethereal plane, powerful forces of creation and memories. Once these lands were saturated in them, and now, that is no longer the case.”

“But I thought magic was gone,” Izzy said. That’s what Mom and Dad told me.”

“Not all of it,” the mare replied, her tone a touch lighter. “There is some hidden away still in the furthest reaches.”

“I don’t know if I can help find more,” said Izzy, downcast. “I don’t know much outside of Bridlewood.”

The mare regarded her for a moment. She walked past her, towards the nearby flowerbed. Izzy’s eyes followed her as she brushed a forehoof against dried leaves and petals.

“This garden is withering,” the mare murmured. “Yet with the company of others, perhaps I can make it thrive. I need only your presence and advice.”

“But I’m not a gardener,” Izzy protested. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how I can help you.”

The mare frowned. “And yet I see you have your mark already.”

Izzy followed her gaze, and realised the mare was staring at her flank. A blue-buttoned heart lay there, as it did the first time it appeared. “Oh, it’s um, it’s just my mark.”

“Hm, but you do not seem proud of it.”

“Why would I?” Izzy retorted. “I think all the other kids got real superstitious about it ’cause I got it early. But it’s okay, they moved on eventually.”

“Bah, children,” the mare scoffed. “How did it come to be, then?”

“Mmm, I don’t know, I was asleep I think and then… poof. I walked down the stairs one morning and Mom and Dad looked really surprised. Mom said it’s the mark of an artist, and I did make this really nice paper bird the day before.”

“Then perhaps you can offer me your creations,” said the mare. “One artist to another. And in return, I shall impart my wisdom for you and your people on… shall we say, ‘having fun’. Sticks in the mud simply won’t do.”

She moved to the stone table, nudging the orrery. “As I have said, impressive work you have here. It would be a shame if others could not appreciate it, Miss?”

So flustered was Izzy that she hadn’t realised the mare had asked for her name. “Oh, my name’s Izzy,” she said, smiling. “Izzy Moonbow.”

“Moonbow,” the mare repeated. Her expression softened. “A fine name. Your parents have excellent taste.”

“Thank you, I’m sure they worked really hard on it,” replied Izzy. “Dad called me Izzy and Mom added Moonbow. She really liked the sound of it. What’s your name?”

The mare looked at her, tilting her head. “No one has asked me that, not for a very long time.”

“Did you forget it?” Izzy asked.

“No, silly girl. I have not.”

Chewing on her lips, the mare seemed deep in thought, her brows furrowed. Then she looked away from Izzy, towards the looming Moon above.

“My name is Luna.”

II ~ The Letter

The Letter

Luna was a strange mare indeed. For one, Izzy knew that her name was an extremely old word for the Moon. Her mother had remarked as such, and Izzy was grateful that she hadn’t batted an eye when she declared her intent to visit this ‘Luna’ three times a week come the weekend. As for Luna, Izzy thought it was odd, too, that she refused to enter the village.

Izzy hadn’t pressed the issue, not even when Luna turned down her snack offerings whenever she came by with a bag of candy and treats.

“Thank you for the candy and tea, Izzy,” she’d said at the time, as Izzy set them down upon the gardener’s crude table. “But I’m afraid I am… not quite in the mood for candy.”

So very strange. Izzy knew little of ponies who’d turn down free sweets. She’d answered with this so often that she had to conclude that perhaps Luna had no taste for candy at all. But one sip of her mother’s finest pine tea, and Luna declared it the finest brew in all the land.

Most of all, what the gardener did accept without question were her creations. Izzy started small, as with all things. Her new companion raised an eyebrow at what she’d presented next – a little white flower, made of paper and covered in shining glitter.

“It’s a flower,” Izzy had said proudly. “It’s for your garden. Mom said gardening is hard, so I decided to make this instead. If I can’t garden, I still thought this’d be fun.”

Luna said little, merely taking it in her hoof, looking at it with a curious gaze.

“Is it good enough?”

“Why would it not be?” was Luna’s gentle reply, as she set her flower down. “Perhaps a touch too much with the glitter, but all things have their beginnings. Come, little one, let me teach you the ways of fun.”

But Luna’s ideas of ‘fun’ proved rather sweeping and grand, and Izzy found it difficult to tell her that unicorns knew little of ‘apple bobbing’ or ‘portal casting’ or ‘pumpkin chucking’ – there simply weren’t any pumpkins nearby. Neither was Luna amused to learn that one Alphabittle did indulge in similar games, yet they all involved gambling.

“Cretin,” Luna had remarked, stomping a hoof and huffing as she did so. “Why, I ought to tell him a thing about ‘fun’...

From the way she held her shears, Izzy was a touch relieved Luna didn’t seem in a hurry to pay him a visit. Graceful and elegant she may carry herself, a tiny part of Izzy thought she might give Alphabittle a rather stern lecture.

The matter passed when Izzy offered to tell her mother all about her garden, so that one day she may present a painting of it.

Luna’s eyes brightened, and soon all thoughts of fun and cretins and gambling passed amidst an enthusiastic showing of her garden, all its nooks and crannies and so, so many flowers.

Such a pity, though, that whenever Izzy asked, pleaded her mother to visit Luna, to come behold the secret garden with her own eyes, her mother had simply said she was busy, and that she was fine with merely listening to Izzy’s retellings of Luna’s various flowers and teachings on fun.

And, while she kept it to herself, lest Luna be crestfallen like all others, Izzy knew that no matter how hard she pushed and tried and declared, none of the other children had much interest in listening to her either, so caught up were they in nonsense like talking about mayonnaise or other forbidden words, or gloomy poems and downbeat tunes.

One day, as Spring turned to Summer, Luna offered a gift of her own.

* * * * *

She’d arrived there on the first day of the weekend, carrying a bag with a few more paper flowers – this time with less glitter and more variety. But Luna was nowhere to be seen. The cloaked mare wasn’t at her stone table, nor was she tending to her latest, marginally less withered batch of roses, nor was she even at her leaf-covered nook.

Then little Tiberius squeaked, pointing up. Izzy’s eyes followed his paw, up, up, up, until she caught sight of Luna.

“Why are you all the way up there?” Izzy had cried out, getting onto the table for a better view. Indeed, Luna stood tall on a twisting branch, eyes looking out at the skies. She looked down from up above – and disappeared into the surrounding branches and leaves.

Before Izzy could cry out in surprise, the gardener had reemerged, out of the undergrowth in front of her with nary a sound.

“Whoa,” Izzy said. “How did you… from there, down here? Huh?”

“I, ah, climb in my free time,” said Luna, shrugging as if it were the most natural thing in the world, dusting off her cloak. “I was merely keeping an eye in the skies, just in case…”

From within her cloak, she withdrew a crumpled piece of paper. “I was stargazing, you see, when I caught sight of a lantern adrift amongst the treetops. This is what I retrieved.” She placed it upon the stone table, beside Izzy and the orrery. Her gaze beckoned Izzy’s curiosity. “I thought you might be interested.”

It was a drawing, Izzy saw. A beautiful one, too, with striking colours and bold letters. Three little ponies there were, orange, purple and blue, enjoying a picnic beneath all the colours of the rainbow. And though Izzy briefly mused that whoever sent it could use a spelling lesson, her eyes were drawn to what they said, and who the ponies were.

Three ponies. A unicorn, a pegasus, and an earthpony. Yet the pegasus and earthpony were a far cry from the nasty little drawings she’d been shown in class. No, they were smiling, happy and content with one another.

“‘Dear unicorns and pegasi,’” Izzy read aloud. “‘You have friends in Maretime Bay. Come visit us!’”

She paused. She read it again, back and forth, digesting the words.

She was invited. Someone had invited her.

“I… I have friends?” she whispered.

“Izzy?”

“I have friends!” Izzy exclaimed, hopping off the stone table, giggling. “I have friends, Tiberius!”

The possum said nothing, but he squeaked, and she laughed harder still.

“Then, then I gotta visit!” Izzy exclaimed, prancing around, the happiest she had ever been. “Okay. Okay. I don’t know where Maretime Bay is, but I have to visit! Right, Luna?”

But Luna was quiet. Quieter, somehow, than when Izzy first met her, as she looked at her with eyes that suddenly looked far older than they should.

“Um,” Luna began, looking a touch unsure. “Izzy, do you know what friends do?”

“Yeah!” said Izzy. “I mean, friends play and talk and all that fun stuff. I’m sure they’ll be up for it.”

Luna nodded. “Right, and how do you speak with your friends?”

“Oh, they usually just listen to me. They’re very polite. Not that they can talk, I think. But they just sort of sit there and all.”

Luna raised an eyebrow. “And… what do you play with them?”

“Well, hm, I tried to play hide and seek with Pebbles, but when it was my turn, she just seemed confused. But that’s okay.” Izzy rubbed her chin. “She can’t roll very fast either, she has a chip on her back.” She giggled. “Charades isn’t very exciting either, they always pretend to be different kinds of rocks.”

She glanced at the letter. “And… hmm, I don’t think they can read either. I can read to them.” She blinked, and smiled wider. “Oh! I can bring them here, with some paint! I can paint them with you. It’d be fun and there’s gonna be a lot of–”

“Izzy,” Luna finally said again, very quietly. “Do you have filly friends, friends your age, friends who do talk back?”

“Oh, I mean, I just talk to Pebbles and Chip a lot more. Why?”

Luna shook her head. “Rocks can be companions for some, Izzy…” said the gardener, her gaze flicking towards the stone table. “But I do not think they are right for you.”

“Then, I… I have to visit Maretime Bay,” Izzy concluded. “I need to know. I need to know what friends do. Whoever wrote this has got to know.”

But Luna’s glare was harsh and cold. Izzy stopped, shuffling back. Luna had never looked as deathly cold and silent as she did now, the warmth she held withdrawn.

“Nay,” she said, voice stern. “I would not advise it.”

Izzy’s eyes widened. “Is it, is it the pegasi? I heard they’re mean– or is it the earthponies? But… um. I guess we can make this work.”

Luna shook her head, tapping impatiently. “Nay, Izzy,” she said. “You are hardly acquainted with whomever wrote this letter. And if the unicorns of these woods refuse to see eye to eye with us, then what use would visiting these other ponies be?”

“You don’t know that–”

“I do,” Luna retorted, voice rising. “I have seen it, hope and cherished talks of friendship. And yet it faltered, it faded as all things do. Do not waste your time. They are not your friends, and I do not wish for you to be disappointed as she…”

Her voice trailed off, and her glare softened. Luna’s lips quivered, as she choked out the last words, her hoof tugging at her cloak with uncertainty.

“As others were.”

She looked away from her, and said no more. Izzy felt her own lips tremble, but she held on, as she gave Tiberius a quiet, sad little stroke.

“Okay,” Izzy said, feeling a little numb. “Then I guess I’ll just leave these here.”

Setting down the bag of paper flowers, she turned away to leave, without another word spoken, nor thoughts that passed her mind.

Just as she was to depart, pushing the vines aside, however, she heard Luna call out.

“Izzy, wait.”

She stopped. When she turned around, she saw Luna approach, letter in hoof. Gone was her unkind glare, and only a warm gaze remained.

“I’m… sorry. That was harsh,” Luna murmured. “This… other pony. Perhaps she is not your friend now. But that doesn't mean you should not try at all.”

“But you said it yourself,” Izzy replied. “I don’t know her.”

Luna looked away, taking a deep breath. “I knew someone once. She loved to write letters too.” She proferred the message, with a soft smile. “I suppose it would not hurt to start, would it?”

Izzy nodded slowly, as she took the message in her hooves. A thought crossed her mind. “Oh! Should... should I come visit, then?”

“How old are you?”

“Eight and a half.”

“Then no, not yet. Awfully unsafe for a child of your age to travel by your lonesome.”

“But I’ll be ten soon!” Izzy protested. “I’ll be ready!”

“Then you best prepare,” said Luna, voice gentler still. “Don’t you want them to smile, when you show them your finest works? We have plenty of time, so much time.”

* * * * *

Luna’s words stayed with Izzy, long into the night that followed. She’d answered ‘yes’ with little hesitation, and for hours on end, as she walked back all the way to her cottage, Izzy thought of little else but the letter. Who had written it, she wondered? Who had sent it out, who had taken time out of their day to draw her such pretty ponies?

She was so excited that she almost forgot to eat dinner, and her mother merely gave her a fond little nod when Izzy tried and failed to mention just what it was that Luna showed her that day.

“You can tell me when you’re ready,” said her mother.

Izzy said nothing in response, merely giggled. She gave her mother a quick embrace and bolted upstairs, thoughts drifting off into the realm of dreams the moment she hopped onto her bed.

… Lavender. So much lavender. She stood upon an endless expanse of lavender.

So she ran, laughing freely and happily. From up above, a thousand lanterns glowed, descending from the starry night above. Each of them had their own letter, and Izzy wondered how many of them came from little fillies and colts such as she, awaiting friends from beyond their homes. Their laughter mingled with Izzy’s own as she pranced and ran and did everything she could do to let her joy pour out all around her.

Rock paintings. Orreries. Paper flowers. Tiny, colourful bracelets. So many things to do, so many friends to find.

And as she laid down at last on that endless field of lavender, looking up at the Moon above, Izzy wondered whose glowing eyes it were that looked back at her, for she had never known the Moon to bear a shadowy mare cast upon its surface.

III ~ The Lavender Pot

III

The Lavender Pot

Day and night went on, amidst the changing leaves. The trees of Bridlewood grew taller, and so did Izzy. Where once she’d prance around the house with abandon, now she needed to care lest her horn find itself caught upon one of the many hanging banners that adorned her cottage. Where once only her mother’s paintings filled the tree, now they were joined by her artwork, filling every table and every inch of the wood walls. Macaroni sculptures, paper murals, tiny folded hats of velvet and hanging lanterns. The air was filled with the sound of wind chimes hanging above, and instruments made of empty bottles.

And there were bracelets. So many bracelets, each and every one of them beautifully woven by hoof. Luna spoke of them as friendship bracelets, to be given to those one treasured most, and in the years that went by Izzy made enough for all of Bridlewood.

It was unfortunate that no matter how often she tried to address all the other children in Bridlewood, none showed more than a passing interest in friendship or her bracelets. Her hopes rose when one gloomy poet took notice, but all she had to offer was a somber line or two on the futility of life. And although Alphabittle offered a trade, Izzy knew very well what sort of trade it would be – and it only took one bracelet lost in a little bet for her to realise it.

At best, she was an outlier. At worst, she was an outcast. And Izzy had the tiny suspicion that the others grew to see her as such, the harder she exerted herself. Who knows how often she had crossed them, for here and there she’d drop a mention of mayonnaise or whatever and all her words on friendship would be drowned amidst the usual pushback.

Luna, naturally, had only kindness to offer, withdrawn as she was.

“Then let it be for now, Izzy,” the gardener reminded her one day, patting her back. “You have many years ahead of you.”

So the matter passed, with some pains, and Izzy went on with her arts and crafts in the shade of Luna’s garden. It was true – she was growing taller, her mane grew more lush, and her skills only grew more refined. And so long as she kept herself well-fed and held her head high, she’d have all the time she needed.

But just as Bridlewood hardly changed, neither did Luna. The mare was as youthful and sprightly as ever, even as her flowers bloomed, withered, and were replaced. Her mane remained full of life, her coat shone beneath the light, and her eyes were sharp and graceful. Even Tiberius looked much the same, still the same adorable little possum, with the energy to match. Much as Luna humoured her by claiming a healthy life begets a longer youth, there was that odd, distant look on her face the few times Izzy had bothered to ask.

As the seasons passed, the same longevity could not be said for Izzy’s mother.

Whereas Luna looked not a day older than the afternoon Izzy had glimpsed her from inside the cottage, her mother slept longer, ate less, and moved slower by the day. Her cheeks, once so full of subtle vibrancy, grew sallower and her eyes sunk further and further.

Seven Winters after they had first met, when her mother could no longer leave her bed, Izzy had but one question to ask Luna.

* * * * *

“How long has it been?”

So sudden was the question that it made Luna pause in the watering of her flowers. “I beg your pardon?”

“When you told me your name,” Izzy added. “You said it’s been so long since anyone’s asked it.”

Sharing a glance with Tiberius, Luna set down her watering can. “Yes, it has been,” she replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, nothing,” said Izzy. “It’s just… Do you have anyone? Family, I mean. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I guess I’ll just go back to painting.”

She returned to her work, picking up her paintbrush. Pebble looked a far cry from the drab, grey little rock she had been once, so colourful ever since Izzy had painted her with many shades of blue. When she looked back up, she saw Luna standing before her.

“Long ago, a sister of mine gave me this cloak,” said Luna. Her gaze was forlorn and contemplative. “She told me that, just as it had accompanied her travels, so too should it keep me company now.”

“That’s kind of her,” Izzy said, smiling brightly. “And, um… did you have to say goodbye to them? Your family?”

Luna nodded. “Of course I did,” she said. “Every single one of them. My big sister was the first one to leave, and one by one they left, until the time came for…” She shook her head. “It was a very long time ago, and I do not remember it all. But I’ve shared many goodbyes, far too many.”

The corners of her lips twitched ever so slightly. But Izzy did not press on. Luna was never one to answer once she decided not to, and so Izzy kept mum, simply nodding along.

“Your mother,” Luna began, kneeling down in front of her. “How fares she?”

“She’s not getting better,” Izzy said hurriedly. “She doesn’t leave her bed for dinner anymore and all her paintings aren’t getting finished and, and now she can’t even do that.”

Izzy paused, drawing in a sharp breath. “I’m just– do you know anything that might help? You know lots of plants. Anything. Anything that can make her feel better?”

Luna shook her head once more. “I am sorry about your mother,” she said, “but healing this advanced is no easy feat, and whatever spell or concoction she needs is long forgotten.” She looked around the garden. “This garden has thrived, in no small part to your help, but I cannot aid you in curing her.”

Before Izzy could reply, to cry out in protest and dismay, Luna had stood up and turned away. Not to depart, though, as Izzy saw. She crouched down and with a single swish of her hoof retrieved one of her lavender pots.

“The scent of lavender has aided many tired souls in achieving a good night’s sleep,” she said, putting the pot in Izzy’s satchel. “May it bring comfort to your mother’s days.”

Izzy stammered, feeling her eyes water. But she shouldn’t cry here, not before Luna’s eyes. Before she could spill her heart out in an inelegant stream of babbled words, she felt Luna’s hoof on her shoulder. The gardener had taken off her hood, revealing her lush blue mane, sprinkled with the golden stardust.

“Go, Izzy,” Luna said firmly, warmly. “Know that whatever happens, your company is what she will treasure most.”

* * * * *

“Who is it?”

The frail voice of her mother echoed out throughout the house, piercing deep into Izzy’s heart. She’d never been the most energetic or lively, but she was her mother, and her mother had once spoken so highly, so vividly of painting and all the colours that decorate a canvas.

“Hey, Mom,” she said. “It’s me. Can I come in?”

It was a silly question. Her mother needed her, as she needed her in the past few weeks. But it couldn’t hurt to be polite. So she waited until her mother said yes, before pushing the door open into the bedroom.

She hadn’t been here in a long time, since she’d moved into her own room when she turned six. But it was certainly more lively then than it was now, for her mother’s paintings had been moved to make space for various medicines their doctor had prescribed to little avail.

It was the sight of her that ached Izzy further. Her colours had faded, her once-full cheeks gaunt, and her eyes, at one time so bright and thoughtful, now looked dim and tired. Upon seeing her, though, her mother allowed a weak little smile.

“Izzy,” said her mother. “You’re home early.”

“Mhm!” Izzy replied, with as much cheer as she could muster. “I figured you needed company. Luna said it was alright. Oh, I um, I brought you something too.”

With a skip in her step, she sat herself down on the seat next to the bed, smiling to match her mother’s own. From her satchel, she unveiled the little lavender pot, putting it upon the nightstand. Her mother’s tea had gone cold, Izzy could tell from a glance, but she pushed the thought aside to present the flower.

“This is lavender,” she explained. “Luna said the scent makes it easier to sleep.”

Her mother turned to look at the flowers, taking a whiff of its scent. “My, it does smell nice. Give my thanks to her, would you?”

“Well, when you get better,” Izzy said, wincing a little though her smile remained, “maybe you can tell her yourself?”

That got her mother to laugh, before it devolved into a hacking cough. Wordlessly, Izzy offered her a glass of water, one she drank promptly. When her mother finished, she looked at Izzy with longing and regret.

“I’m sorry,” said her mother. “I should have come with you, should have… should have met your friend. She sounds lovely.”

“No no no, it’s okay, Mom, don’t feel bad,” said Izzy, still keeping up her smile. She glanced at the one painting her mother had insisted on keeping in the room – the grassy field on the hillside, now much livelier than ever. “I’ll show her your painting. I’m sure she’ll love it.”

She leaned forwards, pressing her lips against her mother’s forehead.

“You’re right though. She’s pretty lovely.”

“I believe you,” said her mother. “Give her my thanks for taking care of you.”

“Mom, c’mon, you did pretty fine too,” said Izzy, laughing softly. “It’s okay. Hey, did I ever tell you the time I told her about the painting? She got really excited about it.”

Her mother waved her off. Or tried to, at least, as another bout of cough quieted her.

“You’ll have to tell me some other time,” she said, straining as she did so. “I think I’d like some sleep for now.” She chuckled. “You can blame Luna for that, these flowers are nice.”

“Okay, Mom,” Izzy whispered, holding her forehoof. “I’ll be here.”

She stayed there for some time, holding her mother, as the vivid scent of lavender guided them both to a night full of dreams until the Sun rose again.

* * * * *

The first time Izzy had gone to the Bridlewood burial grounds, it had been with her mother. She didn’t understand then, why her father had gone silent, why her mother told her to say goodbye. Now, watching the wooden coffin lowered into the earth for only the second time in her life, Izzy realised just how lonely it must have been for her mother then, as she felt it now.

When the last stone was placed, the crowd began to depart the grounds. Her fellow unicorns had little to say about one another in life, much less in death. But here and there, she received a nod or two, and a melancholic yet touching poem for her mother. Even Alphabittle gave her a solemn nod, and for Izzy, that was enough. The silence that had bothered her for years was almost a blessing now.

She was the last to leave, waiting until the Sun dipped beneath the horizon and the Moon’s light fell upon Bridlewood.

The walk into the garden proceeded in a long, dreary silence. The forest noise had long faded in her ears, muffled and distant. Now, for the first time in many years, Izzy felt awfully alone.

She remained quiet for some time, even as she pushed the vine curtain apart and passed by Tiberius, without bothering to answer his greetings. She did not say a word, nor whisper a greeting, until she had placed the painting she’d been carrying on her back.

Where once it was a simple grassland field beneath blue skies, now trees dotted the landscape, of varying heights and shapes. Most of all though, there were flowers. Dandelions and daisies, chrysanthema and lavender, all gently swaying in the wind, their many colours woven together to create an enchanting view, lit by lanterns and the moonlight.

“My mom liked to paint. They were beautiful paintings. Like your garden,” said Izzy softly. Luna remained quiet, joining her in beholding the painting.

Izzy glanced at Pebbles and Chip. They were where she had left them, by Luna’s flowers. “I think I’ll leave them here for now. They seem to like your garden, and… and you need friends too.”

She tore her gaze away, looking at Luna. Though she’d grown taller in the intervening years, Luna still stood taller.

“Thanks for the lavender. Mom liked them.”

Luna nodded, and all was quiet, so very quiet. Izzy wasn’t quite sure what to say, what to think. Only the crushing feeling of distance and loneliness, that no more would she hear her mother’s voice nor feel her embrace…

“You said goodbye a lot, didn’t you?” Izzy asked, keeping her voice steady.

Luna nodded. “Yes. More than I’d have liked.”

“Did it ever get easier?”

“No. It never does,” said Luna, sighing. “I am truly sorry, Izzy. It must have been a lonely funeral, and I regret that I could not accompany you.”

“Oh, no, actually. Quiet’s more like it,” Izzy said, letting out a short, sparse laugh. “No, they all came. It was very sad.”

“… I, ah, expected otherwise.”

“I don't blame you. We only come together when someone passes away,” Izzy said. “But it wasn’t always like this, I’m sure. I think you know.”

“Things were different,” Luna said simply, to which Izzy nodded. “Things were different,” she repeated. “I just… I just wish they weren’t.”

Her words and Izzy’s thoughts were coming apart. Nothing left to think of, no paintings nor flowers. Even the letter felt like a distant memory.

“Luna?” asked Izzy at last, setting herself down upon the grass, letting Tiberius hop onto her back. “Can– may I sleep here tonight? I don’t feel like going anywhere.”

The mare beside her moved a little closer. Izzy felt her eyelids grow heavier. She was so tired.

“You may, Izzy,” said Luna, in the gentlest of voices Izzy had ever heard from her. “Sleep well.”

So she did, leaning against Luna, her eyes closed, and soon after she had no more to think about but the everlasting scent of lavender all around her.

IV ~ The Library

The Library

The spectre of Winter came to Bridlewood. Gone were the days of Autumn past, the fallen leaves covered under a blanket of snow. There was little warmth to be found for the unicorns of Bridlewood, save for their various hearths, and there was little shared between them, as always. As the snow piled higher and higher outside her cottage, Izzy Moonbow’s visits to the hidden garden had grown scarcer, like it had in other Winters, for the cold winds reached deep into Bridlewood.

Now, however, with the crushing emptiness as her burden to carry, Izzy found little motivation to bother Luna.

So her Winter days, once filled with quiet times spent tinkering with her latest contraptions in parallel to her mother’s ever-endless hours of painting, were now filled with little else outside of food and long winding hours of looking out the window, or ruminating before the letter she’d received so long ago, whose sender remained as unknown to her as the lands beyond Bridlewood.

‘Dear unicorns and pegasi.’

She remembered the words all too keenly. But pegasi were mean and cruel, she was told, just as unicorns were drab and somber, and earthponies rough and dim.

Whoever wrote the letter must have been just as hopeless as she, Izzy thought.

Why bother, she’d told herself. No one would ever brew her finest cocoa and tea for just the two of them ever again, even as Izzy savoured every warm sip. Nothing much left to do, save for waiting for the hours to go by, over and over, in this empty house.

It came as a surprise to her, of course, when on the second day of Winter, there was a knock at the door, and who else should stand there but Alphabittle and a few others, including the gloomy poet from his tea room.

“What’s this?” Izzy asked. Beside the stallion was a sizeable stack of wood.

“Firewood, duh,” Alphabittle replied, with a roll of his eyes. “Can’t keep a hearth going without fuel, can’t you?”

“Did I lose a bet?”

“No,” Alphabittle said simply. “Take it or leave it, it’s gonna be a long one.”

Izzy smiled, and received none in return. But the poet took off her hat, and Alphabittle gave one of his curt nods. That was all they had to exchange, but Izzy felt it, like a ray of warmth in the days of Winter gone by.

Part of her wondered, in-between warm drinks of pine tea before bed, where Luna had gone. The mare had always turned down her offer of food whenever she’d offered it. She had her own food, Luna had insisted, and so Izzy let the matter pass.

But now, as Winter’s grip grew ever tighter around Bridlewood, Izzy had to wonder if Luna had any food at all.

On the longest night of the year, before she could depart in the morning with whatever food she could spare, Izzy beheld a library.

* * * * *

A library was the best she could call it.

A glance into its windows showed a great many books. Most were legible, yet some of them were in languages or letters she could not understand. A staircase led to a loft above, where a bed covered in a Sun and Moon motif lay untouched. A home.

The sound of hooves on stone drew her attention, and she tore her gaze away, towards the village that surrounded her. The Moon was at its highest point, its silver light illuminating thatched roofs and cobbled roads, houses whose designs Izzy had glimpsed only in storybooks. Twinkling stars filled the cloudless nighttime sky, finishing the idyllic landscape.

All around her, Izzy saw little sign of life, as one by one the lights in each window went out, till only the library’s remained.

Then, as she looked out into the town, Izzy saw them.

Down the cobblestone path walked two ponies, side by side. One was a purple unicorn mare, who couldn’t have been much older than her. She was dressed in a star-patterned cape and pointed hat, adorned with bells that jingled as she walked. Across her back, what looked to be an oversized, purple-and-green lizard lay fast asleep.

And right by her Izzy saw Luna. But she couldn’t have been Luna, for this mare’s starry blue mane flowed even in the absence of wind. Her coat was a shade darker than Luna’s, her hooves covered in silver shoes. Even her cloak was well-maintained, much unlike her friend’s patchwork cloak.

But there was no mistaking those same elegant eyes, the serene gait, and most of all that mellifluous voice, as they passed by Izzy without giving her a second glance.

“I hope I’m not taking away your time, Princess Luna,” said the purple mare. “I mean, gosh, it’s almost past midnight. Don’t you have work tonight? Sure it’s, every night and all, but still.”

“Nay, fear not,” said Luna. “for we– for I certainly find these hours well-spent. Thou hast been good company, Twilight Sparkle, and thine little drake, too. ‘Tis only fair that I escort thee home.”

The purple mare – lavender mare, really – let out a soft laugh, almost a giggle.

“Why, what is it?” Luna asked as they arrived at the door to the library.

“Oh, nothing, nothing, the girls won’t ever let me hear the end of it,” said Twilight. Luna arched an eyebrow, and Twilight offered a sheepish little smile. “It’s just that…”

“Do I… amuse thee, Twilight?”

“Yeah! You do and… oh,” Twilight trailed off, upon seeing Luna’s growing frown. “No, no, I’m not laughing at you, Princess. It’s just that no-one’s ever walked me home before.”

She tipped her hat, the bells jingling. “Thank you, Princess, for the time. Nightmare Night was a lot of fun.”

Luna gave a bow in return. “It is I who ought to thank thee, for thou hath aided us greatly. Now, do rest well, Twilight Sparkle, for it has been a long night for us all.”

“Well, it’s a lovely night for sure,” Twilight said, looking up at the Moon above. For a moment, Izzy caught sight of darkening freckles upon Luna’s cheeks. “I think I’ll stay up a bit later than usual, I still have a letter to write.”

“A letter?”

“Mhm! Something about today. Princess Celestia’s asked me to send them daily, keep her updated on what I’ve been up to. Friendship reports, heh, heh.”

“I… see,” Luna replied, sounding a little unsure. “I certainly hope tonight has been… ‘fun’, indeed.”

“Aw, don’t worry, Princess,” said Twilight, “you did great, don’t you forget it.”

“I shall not,” Luna answered. She paused. “May… we see these friendship reports?”

“Aha-hah, you’re gonna have to ask your sister for them,” Twilight said, with a sly smile. “But we could always write to each other, if you’d like?”

Luna’s smile was tranquil yet bashful too. “That would be… lovely,” she said. “Until we meet again, Twilight Sparkle. Let it be known that Canterlot shall always welcome thee.”

She gave a sweeping bow, one that Twilight answered with one of her own.

“I’m honoured. Thanks, and good night, Princess.”

“Good night, Twilight.”

They parted, the door swinging shut, yet Luna did not leave. Just as she was to walk down the path where they had trod, she turned to peer into the window. There Twilight sat before her desk, horn alit, scribbling down a piece of parchment. Beside her lay a telescope, and ever so slightly, Luna’s lips curved into a smile.

“Come, Izzy,” Luna said aloud, as she turned away from the window. “Let us take a walk.”

Izzy’s eyes widened, and she did not let go of the windowsill. “Luna? Is it… you?”

“Tis I,” answered her friend. “There is much to talk about, or perhaps none at all. Come, come. Tonight the Moon shines bright.”

Giving the darkened library one last glance, Izzy turned away and joined the tall mare down the cobblestone road.

They walked on, past closed doors and shuttered windows. Yet, though there were no other souls to be seen, it certainly felt warmer than Bridlewood. Flower pots hung from windows, children’s toys lay scattered outside. Here and there Izzy saw well-maintained gardens, not unlike Luna’s.

The mare beside her remained quiet as their walk continued. That was, of course, until Izzy broke the silence.

“I like her house,” Izzy said. “It looked pretty cosy.”

“It was,” Luna answered. “You should see her room.”

“I’m sure you know all about it,” Izzy said, before she could help herself. Before she could stammer out an apology, Luna had already let out a laugh, a fond laughter that reminded Izzy so strongly of her mother, a laughter shared with her father.

When Luna’s laughter died down at last, so too did her smile, her gaze turned forlorn.

“Let us continue,” she said simply. And so their walk went on.

Down the road, past endless rows of well-kept houses. A lovely treehouse at the edge of the forest. A great red-and-white building amidst the trees. Into a forest more twisted and gnarled than Bridlewood had ever been.

Then, across a ravine, Izzy saw a castle. Or what might have passed as one, for it lay in ruins, its towers collapsed. She knew little of castles, only through illustrations in her old storybooks. Luna showed no sign of stopping, and so Izzy went with her.

Before an orrery, between shredded tapestries and piles of rubble, Luna paused in her steps.

“This was my home once,” Luna whispered. “Where my garden once flourished, and where Twilight Sparkle brought me back from the darkness, through the light of Harmony itself.”

She traced circles in the dust beneath her, letting the wind blow away the dust that settled. A six-pointed star was etched upon the ground beneath the thin layer of dust, long-forgotten, now uncovered.

Luna looked away from it, meeting Izzy’s eyes.

“In time, it returned to its rightful glory. All because she wanted me to be happy,” Luna whispered. She let out a bitter laugh. “Who am I to deserve her kindness,” she lamented, “to have her teach me something so simple as ‘fun’.”

“You loved her,” Izzy said, almost a whisper.

Luna looked away from the floor, meeting Izzy’s eyes. Her eyes glistened in the moonlight. “She was very dear to me,” she said, “as I was to her. In time, we’ve gained the courage to approach one another, to take the next step forward. Now we’ve had our time together under the Moon, and I will cherish it, as I have cherished it for so long.”

She looked up towards the Moon above, and fell quiet as a stone.

Izzy took a few ginger steps forwards. “Luna?” she asked. “How long has it been?”

“Far too long. I am old, Izzy Moonbow. Older than the first seeds of Bridlewood,” Luna answered. “I had promised her a very long time ago that I would see her work finished, to see it preserved. That I would see her again when all was done. And yet here I waste away, watching all that she held so dear fall apart.”

“Hey, that’s not true,” said Izzy. She furrowed her brows in thought. “Your garden, I’m sure she loved that, right? I like it. Tiberius likes it. And Mom…”

Her voice faded. Her mother would have liked it, she was about to say. But how much of it was true, Izzy could not tell. Perhaps she wouldn’t have, no matter how much she’d poured care into her painting.

She would never know.

It was only when Luna came by to her, kneeling down, did Izzy realise she was crying.

“I am sorry for your loss, Izzy,” Luna said, placing a hoof upon her shoulder. “To have your parents taken away so very soon, one after the other…”

“It is what it is,” said Izzy, caring not to spill a single tear upon the floor. “I’ll be okay. You lost a lot more than I did.”

“Nay, don’t ever say that,” Luna interjected sternly, yet not unkindly. “Your loss is as great as any.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s…”

But it wasn’t, Izzy thought to herself. None of it had been. The empty house. Lonely hours that went by. Nothing all day.

“Mom wasn’t the cheerful kind,” Izzy said, and it ached her to say it. “She was quiet and… and sad, too. But she cared. And that was nice. At least she listened. No one else would, but she did.”

“She sounds like the world to you,” Luna concluded, and Izzy did not think to deny it.

“Yeah. Like my dad and I were to her. Now they’re both gone and… and I don’t know if I should leave.”

Before Luna could answer, Izzy unfurled the letter. Where she had gotten it, she herself could not tell. What mattered was that it was here.

Such a simple drawing. Three ponies, joined together as friends, without a care for the boundaries of either horns or wings.

“It’s just a letter,” Izzy remarked. “There’s just not much to go on. But I guess it’s… it’s enough. That someone, somewhere out wrote this, and hoped it reached a friend. I don’t know if I am one, or if I should even bother.”

She smiled, holding the letter close.

“At least someone cares, though,” Izzy said, looking at Luna. The older mare looked reassuring, smiling to match her own.

“The smallest of efforts may leave the greatest impact,” Luna said solemnly.

“It’s the little things,” Izzy concluded.

Luna nodded. “The little things.”

Gently, she brushed a forehoof against the letter, trailing golden dust as she did so. Before Izzy’s eyes, the three ponies hopped off the page, playing alongside one another. They danced, they played, they bonded as friends do. When all was said and done, they slept against one another, quiet as they could be.

Izzy looked towards Luna, her grateful words dying in her throat. For Luna stood there, against the broken stained-glass window. Her horn lit up with a blue glow, one that enveloped the Moon above.

Her cloak blew open. A pair of great wings unfolded. All around them, stardust danced and coalesced, surrounding Luna in all its majestic glory.

As Luna bowed, the Moon’s light faded away, just as the Sun emerged and rose higher in the sky.

* * * * *

The morning after was a blur. Quite literally, for Izzy wasted very little time from the moment she’d opened her eyes.

Luna was all she could think of. And it was to Luna she ought to speak.

So with barely half a bowl of porridge finished, Izzy ran out the door. Past all the crystals and rocks and streams, through the tunnel and vines. Little Tiberius barely had a moment’s worth to squeak before Izzy burst through, panting.

Luna was there, same as she always was. The same patchwork, ugly cloak, the pale blue coat, the freckles that dotted her muzzle, and those eyes. Yet Izzy had only one thought racing in mind.

“I saw you,” she said, breathless. “You were there. You had…”

Izzy could not finish her words, however, catching sight of the nervous glance Luna threw her way, her forehoof tugging at her cloak. When the gardener spoke next, however, she sounded rather confused.

“I know not of what you speak,” said Luna, shaking her head. “Dreams can so often seem real.”

“... But I didn’t say it was a dream.”

Luna opened her mouth to reply, but no answer came. Izzy felt her lips curl into a smile.

“Your… your marefriend,” she asked, and Luna’s ears flicked. “Did she ever get to write a… a friendship report to you?”

The freckles on Luna’s cheeks darkened. But there was no haughty frown to be met. Only a downcast look.

“Of course she did. So many letters, so very many of them,” she said, “and each of them is as precious to me as the other.”

She turned away from Izzy, moving towards her little nook. And as Izzy wondered if she’d made an awful mistake, Luna withdrew a parchment, lovingly bound in a little lavender bow.

“Most are lost to time,” said Luna, looking at Izzy with those kind eyes, her lips too curled into an ever-tranquil smile. “But not all.”

She sat down upon the stone table, joined by Tiberius.

“Would you like to read it together?” Luna asked, beckoning her to join her at the table.

What could Izzy do, indeed, if not smile in return and accept the letter. And so, side by side, with little Tiberius perched atop Luna and her hooves holding the letter, she began to read aloud.

“Dear Princess Luna…”

Epilogue

Seasons passed. Bridlewood remained the same. The trees grew older still, the village quiet as ever. But Izzy Moonbow stood tall and proud, for she had friends to visit.

Or she would be there right now, if her thoughts weren’t racing so much. For here in Luna’s garden, she paced back and forth, muttering all the way.

“Okay, big day! Or night, I guess. I’m gonna head out there and… hmm, what am I going to do? Do I just… talk to them? Oh, there’s so much to think about!” she exclaimed, scrunching her nose in thought, and she stopped, turning to look at Luna. “Do you think… do you think whoever wrote it is still around? I mean, they could have moved away and all. It’s been a while.”

“Sweet child,” Luna said, shaking her head, “you’ll do just fine. Greet them, say hello, ask them to play with you. Anything, anything. You are Izzy Moonbow. You can do this.”

She stood up to her full height. Izzy, tall as she was now, could only reach up to her chin, all in all. “Come,” said Luna, patting the space next to her. “I have a gift for you.”

Izzy followed her lead, seating herself. Her eyes widened when she spied the item in Luna’s hoof – crystals and threads.

“Is that a…”

“Headband?” Luna finished. “Why yes. You ought to appear your best when you meet them. If you’d allow me…”

When it was all done, her headband in place, her long mane was a little more tidy now, she could tell. Izzy hopped off the seat, looking back at Luna. As she always did, she kept up that elegant outlook even when those tell-tale bashful twitches came through her facade.

“What do you think?” Luna said. “Your examples were rather useful.”

“Well,” Izzy said, chuckling, “I don’t have a mirror on me right now, so I guess I’ll have to ask them first.”

Luna let out a fond laugh. “That is true. Now, do you remember what you need to do?”

“Follow Orion’s horn, towards where the wind blows,” Izzy recited. “Right? There’s a bunch more like, the scent carried by the wind or, or the other constellations but… did I get it right?”

“Lovely. You remembered my lessons.”

“Well, duh,” Izzy replied. “You sure know a lot about nights.”

“I remember every night,” answered Luna, “as I shall remember this one.”

She gave Izzy a sly little wink, one that she returned in kind.

In the five years that had gone by, neither of them had ever spoken much of the dream. Luna, Izzy had concluded, had no real desire nor reason to speak of it or the forgotten past again. But the smell of lavender had been stronger than it was before, for Luna had grown so much more of it in the moonlit garden.

For Twilight, Luna had said then, nothing else. Izzy didn’t mind much. Luna was her friend, and that was all Izzy needed to know.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” said Izzy. Before Luna could reply, she’d rummaged through her satchel, presenting a woven straw hat. “A gardener can’t do without a hat, right?”

Wordlessly, Luna accepted it in her hoof. She placed it upon her head, where it tilted slightly.

“Oh, darn it,” Izzy bemoaned. “I forgot to fit it first.”

“That is alright,” Luna assured, a hoof upon her shoulder. “’Tis a comfortable wear, and I thank you for it.”

She tipped her new hat.

“Remember, Izzy Moonbow,” Luna said with dramatic flourish. “Should you need aid, know that I will always watch over you.” She reached up to brush away a strand of Izzy’s mane, smiling warmly. “But I believe you have it well-taken care of.” She paused and her gaze turned a little more serious. “Izzy. Do you remember how, when we first met, you asked about stardust and what it was?”

“Yes…” said Izzy. “And you said it was magic, and that it was gone from the world.”

“But it is not entirely,” said Luna. “Not to those who know where to look. For it still touches all ponies at least once in their lives, in that one crystalline moment of realisation of who they are, the transition from childhood, when their purpose becomes known to them.”

Her eyes followed a certain trail meaningfully, and Izzy’s gaze followed where Luna’s led, towards the little symbol of the blue-buttoned heart on her flank.

“Go out there,” Luna whispered, “and make your mark.”

Feeling her lips quiver a bit, Izzy had little else to say, but one.

“Thanks, Luna. For everything.”

Their last hug was the tightest. Nothing else was said, only quiet little glances. As she was about to push the vine curtain apart, Izzy looked back at the garden. There Luna stood, Tiberius upon her head, the two of them waving goodbye.

Izzy waved back, and off she went on her way. Down the tunnel where she’d travelled down for so long over the years, out into the village. For a brief, fleeting moment, Izzy thought to look back, to see if the tunnel was still there, to see lingering stardust upon the forest floor and leaves.

Perhaps she’d even spy those blue-green eyes again, looking out for her from between the trees.

The moment passed, though the warmth remained as always. Izzy continued her walk, past the quiet homes of her neighbours, through the mists, until she reached the edge of the treeline.

She saw an open field, with rolling green hills. Above, the stars went on and on, forever past the clouds. Izzy could just see it now, her mother painting upon the easel, a grassy sunlit field beneath clouds and the bright blue sky.

And without another hesitation, with the letter close to her heart and torch at the ready, Izzy Moonbow departed Bridlewood beneath the starry night.

Author's Note

Special thanks to Grace for the stick in the mud gag (you're right, it should have been in the movie :derpytongue2: , and to VoxAdam for Luna's line about cutie marks :twilightsmile:

Dedicated to Friendship is Magic, for all the memories and friendships made.

To Lauren Faust, for introducing us to this lovely world.

To M.A. Larson, for Luna Eclipsed, the very first episode I've watched in full, and for the Luna we all know and love.

As for someone completely different, dedicated to Hayao Miyazaki, for all the childhood memories. Thank you all.

Now, onwards to Gen 5 we go. See you on the other side!

~Sledge