Anchor Foal II: Return Of The Cringe

Chapters

The Maximum Package Size Would Mean Some Folding Was Required
Recipe Currently Calls For Two Parts Variable-Strength Denial To One Part Mild Resignation
Basically Golden Harvest With Wings And Less Repurposed Farm Equipment
Let's Call This 'In-A-Mood Lighting'
Performing 'Rashomon' As A One-Mare Play Never Really Caught On
Anutter Brutter?
But Did She Drag Herself In?
Solutions Which Require Rainbow To Shut Up Are Automatically Dubious
If He Was Still In Stone, He'd Be A CONvalescent
It's A Lot Of Material To Cover
Designated Catbird Fight
It Takes Two
And One Of These Days, That Time Is Gonna Skip Right Over You
Like Living With An Ex Who Sets The House On Fire Up To Twenty-Six Times Per Year
Plus 'Murdered By Flitter' Would Probably Require The Fetish Tag
Nopony Tell Him What Soil Is Made From
The Old Triple-R: Rumor, Reason, Revenge
Screwed By Popular Demand
If Your Teapot Had A Sex Drive...
'Pants On Fire' Omitted Due To Local Lack Of Pants
It's Like A Relapse, Only Worse
When You Move To Ponyville, You Stick Your Entire Body In 'Crazy'
Great, Now There's Three Of Them
Still Better Processing Than The Last Intel
It's 'Nothing Good Happens At 3 A.M.' Somewhere
The Dread Rises With Celestia
It's More Like Happy Ending Interruptus
Their Birthdays Are Scheduled As Celebrate, Celebrate, Celebrate, GALLOP FOR YOUR LIVES
Nopony Ever Asks How The Perfect Fulcrum Feels About It

The Maximum Package Size Would Mean Some Folding Was Required

He had asked her a question, and Fleur didn't feel like answering it. Any potential claim he had to information only existed through right of blood -- which created a certain temptation to shed some of his on the spot: the excuse would be that she needed a sample for comparison.

So she didn't tell him that Fluttershy was likely at the back of the cottage -- or on the move from that point, because there was a good chance that her love had heard the alert and was coming forward to see why it had sounded. She just used the moment to look at him. Evaluation of the stallion's appearance, as a partial means of determining his immediate level of threat. And after a few seconds, when the silence began to openly confuse him --

-- he grew up around Fluttershy and he doesn't know how to deal with silence --

-- she got to watch his eyes as the stallion began to do the same thing to her -- on the most superficial level possible.

But for what she saw in him...

Fleur felt that when it came to all the myriad aspects of pony beauty, her judgment was utterly fair. She never held anypony's luck of the blood against them, because there was no way to determine what kind of factors might emerge from the flow. There was never any point to downgrading somepony because they were short -- although in the case of Ponyville's primary tool-builder, Stile's grade had to be delivered at an extreme level of down. Birth defects were bad luck made manifest, and... there was a postpony, one who possessed an odd sort of appeal -- and one eye which was never quite looking in the same direction as the other. It had been more than a year and Fleur still couldn't get that mare to speak with her, because the cruelly-nicknamed mare's resentment formed an unbreakable barrier. Most of that time had been required just to find out what her real name was, and the anger hadn't weakened in the least since Dulcinea had finally started dating again.

In Fleur's court, guilty verdicts were only rendered on those aspects which could be controlled. So your fur wasn't the best natural shade? Dyes existed. Highlighting powders. The best cure for a poor natural lie and grain was to start a grooming routine, and fixative agents to bind the results could be found in any store's beauty aisle. There were all sorts of things which could be done with a lank mane, which included making it more lank because some ponies preferred that. The only things preventing most ponies from boosting themselves were time, learning, and effort. If they couldn't be bothered to put in the work...

She was fair. So she temporarily put her emotions out of the way, shoved aside everything she'd been told about her love's sibling and fairly judged the stallion to be -- handsome.

Barely.

There were things which ponies typically noticed first when judging each other: fur, build, facial features, mane and tail -- and always, always the mark. (Fleur, who hadn't grown up in Equestria, was still working on the exact order.) And by those standards...

She had no particular fondness for his fur's exact shade of aquamarine, but didn't find the color to be offensive. When it came to hues, Fleur was slightly more fond of the greyish-gold which sprouted from his head and dock. Casual display? He actually carried his tail rather well. That fall was the one aspect of him which suggested any potential connection with his sibling: no aspect of Fluttershy's incredible fullness, but there was something similar in the truncated version of the overall shape.

His features? Youthful, pleasant, well-balanced with the fur of the face completely unlined because there had been a day when the stallion had heard of 'worry' and decided to pass off his portion to everypony else. Something about the cerise eyes suggested a constant quizzical inquiry, as if the stallion wasn't quite sure of what was going on at any time and was very much hoping somepony would be kind enough to explain. It was a familiar expression for Fleur, who usually saw some degree of near-constant manifestation when in the presence of preschoolers.

He was unusually tall for a pegasus: something which, on level ground, would have put him on a near-exact eye level with Fleur. She briefly wondered if years-distant experience was the reason Fluttershy had always been so good at meeting the unicorn's sight lines.

Handsome enough, at the base level. Sufficient for appealing to any number of mares. But the unicorn had been an escort once, and when it came to appearance -- she tended to look a little deeper.

Fluttershy's wings were slightly oversized for her form. The stallion's were folded into the rest position, and Fleur could still tell that the proportions were perfect -- but the feathers were not. Pegasi needed to preen their wings regularly: basic cleaning, checking for rare (but persistent) parasites, and realigning crucial flight feathers. There was one ideal for that last, and the stallion's vanes suggested that he had ignored it in order to try for the layered look.

The tail, for color and natural shape, was fine. It obviously saw a decent amount of grooming. The bulk of the mane had been piled up on top of the skull in a way which required some of the longer strands to serve as support structure. The results were a madmare's cross between a bun, poof, and waterfall: the resulting threesome had birthed a child and named it Horrible Mistake. It was the sort of mane which was only partially held together by exotic gels, because there was only so much you could ask mane care products to do before they declared overwork and quit on the spot. It was a mane which made her want to apologize to Caramel. It was a mane which demanded external support, and this was provided by the ears. The stallion's ears were constantly aloft. Held straight up, pressed inwards against the mass of the hair. The ears didn't move very much. They seldom rotated towards interesting sounds, because their central job was something else.

It was an experimental mane, and to look at it was to wait for something to explode.

When it came to build? Base perception suggested that there had to be a little strength, because there was some visible musculature present -- but the only thing it seemed to be doing was holding the skeleton together. The stallion's movements were carefully languid: hooves raised by mere tail strands over the ground, legs pendulumed forward more than pushed. It was a maximal study on how to proceed with minimal effort, and left the ears burning the majority of calories.

And then there was the lower jaw. A minority of adult stallions had the capacity for facial hair: altered follicles which pushed their way between strands of fur. The few who possessed the trait had to find ways of dealing with it: some shaved regularly, others tried to pluck the offending growth out, and Fancypants had made his mustache into its very own form of art. Fleur's escort time had mostly dealt with bearded graduates of the Gifted School, and they'd all had two things in common: the claim that they were a direct descendant of Star Swirl, and a tendency to go full goat and try to groom the thing through licking it. Not understanding how ponies could be repelled by this served as a partial explanation for why they'd needed to hire an escort in the first place.

The stallion's lower jaw was a darker shade than the rest of his fur, and ponies who displayed two or more hues on their bodies were rare. It meant the effective shadow suggested a male who had the potential to grow a beard -- while having no desire to either proceed or truly deal with the extra hairs. Let them reach the length of his fur, trim away anything which stuck out past that, and call it solved.

It was also possible that he was still trying to master the delicate art and subtle craft of washing his face. Something else which Fleur most typically saw with preschoolers.

And then there was the mark. A feather, and... she wasn't sure what the symbology just below it was meant to represent. Lifting currents? was a fair guess, but... her love had barely spoken of the sibling, just about everything said had formed another reason for wanting him gone, and none of it had related to the talent. Fleur didn't know what he was capable of, and had already decided to remain on guard accordingly.

Handsome? That was just being fair. But it was the sort of attractiveness which mostly had to maintain itself. Just about all the work which the stallion was putting in had gone to whatever the mane was supposed to be accomplishing, and gravity hadn't been defied there so much as slightly postponed. Any leftover effort didn't get past the surface level, and it left Fleur trying to decide whether the stallion had a healthy musk, an artificial one, or had decided not to dip his entire body into bath waters because the topmost hairs had a chance to capsize.

And he was looking at her, with those cerise eyes casually, openly roaming across her form: the careless regard of a pony who didn't care if he got caught, much less what anypony might think of him after. It was something Fleur was used to, and the lack of subtlety finally placed something about the stallion in early adolescence. He focused on her face, then moved to the forelegs, drank in her flanks for a few seconds, switched to the mark and she got to watch his features momentarily twist in renewed confusion...

All of his attention was staying on the surface. But he was examining her. And when it came to her own inspection of the stallion... Fleur could look deeper still.

From all outwards appearances, the stallion was evaluating her on the sexual level. Nothing was simpler than returning the favor.

You're looking at me.
So what are you looking for?

She usually kept her talent shut down at the cottage. There would always be enough animal presence in bulk to create discomfort, and when it came to learning how to ignore them -- she'd factored out the permanent residents, and it did nothing to help her with those who cycled through. And when it came to her love... it was usually just a quick peek at Fluttershy's inner portrait, now and again. Something she saved for the bad days, because any relationship was going to have a few of those and no matter how the half-soft arguments went, Fleur could use her talent and -- know she was still wanted.

It only took a thought to reactivate it, and her deepest magic lanced forth. Delved into the heart of the puzzle, gathered up scattered pieces, aligned edges and tried to assemble some sort of whole --

-- there was something the majority of minotaurs said during their wedding vows: a phrase which Fleur was seriously thinking about incorporating into her own after

the triggering event finally took place: 'and with my body, I thee worship.' And, but for a few pronoun swaps, that would have been the stallion. Because Fleur's talent told her about the sexual aspects of a being, what everyone desired in their partners -- and what the stallion desired was a partner, because pony masturbation could be a complicated affair and you generally didn't get to do it in front of an audience.

He had a physical preference: pegasi mares first and foremost, sleek and streamlined and without much in the way of buttocks. (Fleur immediately assumed that growing up around Fluttershy had forever ruined him for tails.) But they were easily overridden by the primary, and that wasn't particularly fussy. His baseline requirement for a mare was to find somepony who was looking back. And it wasn't sexual addiction, where he needed to be with somepony or face the withdrawals which came from having to bear his own company. He simply wanted to be wanted. To feel the reinforcement of self which came from somepony desiring him. And once that partner of the moment reached a bedroom, everything he wished for could be summarized as a simple phrase: that with their body, they he worship.

It was a puzzle which suggested some degree of narcissism. His body was a temple, and he might never figure out why any given supplicant stopped showing up at the altar after a week. Because Fleur had just learned that the stallion didn't move much during sex. It was unnecessary effort and besides, if the mare really wanted to show her appreciation, she could do all of the work. This was a stallion who might decide he was a sex god, if only because his devotion to taking the easiest way out bordered on the religious.

He was still looking at her, from what was now about eight body lengths away: a few extra languid hoofsteps had been risked during the mutual examination. But when it came to the stallion, the unicorn had seen enough.

There were many ways to describe Zephyr Breeze and in a world much more ideal than the one she had to occupy, the one Fleur would have hoped to use in the (very short-term) future tense was 'corpse'.

However, despite the dark non-jokes which a certain shadow-blotch of a unicorn mare occasionally kicked around, Fleur's first (and only) solution for dealing with any given annoyance wasn't murder. She just reserved the internal right to treat it as a rather appealing fantasy.

"That's a pretty smile," Zephyr unwisely decided to vocalize, and did so at the exact moment her inner self went for the throat again. "So anyway, I'm not sure you heard me. Since I'm all the way over here and all."

It was possible to watch him weigh whether taking another hoofstep forward was actually worth it. Fleur wondered whether the decision was taking more effort than the movement --

-- he just barely shrugged, and then came that much closer. "But I can remember what I said, so... Hull-o!"

That one naval officer I escorted to the Buttonwillow Ball said there's something called 'keelhauling'.
I should have gotten more details.

"Is my sister in?" Zephyr finished repeating.

"Your sister," Fleur quietly said.

He blinked a few times. The collective effort made several feathers sag.

"Yeah. Are you new here?" Another miniature shrug. "I mean, you're new to me, but I haven't been around in a few years. So maybe you're so new that she hasn't had the chance to talk about me yet. Or talk." Two whole feathers managed to complete a partial shift in position. "She doesn't always talk much. Anyway -- yeah," he failed to Snowflake. "I'm Zephyr Breeze. My sister's Fluttershy Phylia. And I'm pretty sure she still lives here, unless you've got the exact same interests and kept some of the old birds around. I think I recognized some of the birds."

He briefly turned his head, looked back towards the bridge. Turned back to face Fleur.

"Nearly hit my mane," he passively announced. "But hey, that's what birds do, right? It's nothing personal."

I heard the 'intruder' song. Don't place any bets.

"So anyway," because that was easier than thinking of a new way to start a sentence, "it's been a while. And I really need to talk. With her. Not that there's anything wrong with talking to you, and I don't mind if you want to do some of that later --"

-- and there go three of his pieces.
Awake. Breathing. Looked at him.
-- wait. Does he like to be followed? At least for a little while, until he pretends he's just noticed. He loves it when somepony's tracking his rear.
...no, nothing about alpacas...

"-- but I'm still, you know, trying to find out if she's here." The smallest shrug yet, something which was mostly indicated by a micro-ripple of fur. "So --"

"-- she's told me about you," Fleur softly informed him.

He blinked. She generously allowed him a full second for recovery.

"Cool," Zephyr decided. "So anyw --"

Fleur could hear claws ticking their way across the sitting room floor. Wings beginning to shift, and paws starting to come forward. The front door normally didn't remain open this long, and the residents wanted to get a look at what was going on. That didn't bother her.

But there was also a more solid sound: something produced by keratin repeatedly impacting the wood floors. Getting close. Accelerating --

-- she's cutting through the cottage.
Of course it's through. Just about every other pegasus would have gone over --
-- I don't have a lot of time --

"-- she doesn't want you here," Fleur calmly told him. "Neither do I. And if I say one word, you're going to meet a lot of other things which don't want you here. They have claws. Incisors. The biggest one has both, but we can just shorthoof his description as 'bear'." A light spring breeze shifted her mane, added a warm grace note to the current version of her polite smile. "So here are your options, Zephyr. You can flare your wings and take off right now, before she sees you. Fly away and never come back. Or -- you can take it up with them."

It was a very special smile, when it came to dealing with ponies. Because a certain level of lip pullback was a sign of aggression, and Equestrians generally weren't used to seeing a mare peacefully displaying her teeth.

"Or," the Protoceran immigrant placidly finished, "you can take it up with her. I'm pretty sure that'll be worse."

I have to trust her.
She's stronger than I am. She kicked him out once. I know she can do it again.
But I don't want her to deal with him unless she absolutely has to.

Zephyr glanced around the area. At the squirrels in the trees, birds on branches and those who were hunting through the sod of the cottage roof. It wasn't the best outdoor selection for Fleur, but she had reinforcements coming in from the sitting room. However, she genuinely didn't know where Harry was. Harry mostly tended to turn up of his own accord.

"That's not a nice way to treat a visitor." And he'd actually managed to sound offended. "Besides --" he looked at her mark again "-- that's not your trick." The confusion briefly came back. "Right?"

She didn't bother answering. Fleur didn't have Fluttershy's talent -- and didn't always need it, because her love could gather the cottage denizens and make standing requests. One of them was that if the unicorn appeared to be in trouble (or stomped her hooves in a certain way), they were to provide whatever backup they could. Which wasn't always a lot, and both mares were all too aware that actually putting the tactic into full use stood the chance of getting an animal hurt -- but as Fluttershy had personally and repeatedly proven, there were times when staring was enough. Especially when the same Go Away glare was coming from four dozen sets of eyes.

But the patter of hooves was approaching the reception desk.

"I left an option out," she told him.

Zephyr's shoulders squared: the hips didn't bother to join in. "Yeah?"

Snowflake dropped by. He wanted me to tell you that he's going to need that back.

Fleur's horn ignited.

She didn't project her field, because there were those who would claim that doing so had put her on the attack. She just kept the corona at a full single layer, and made sure her smile held nothing except peace and teeth.

She's coming through the sitting room. I've got seconds...

"I pick you up," she told him, "put you in a box, and mail you back to wherever you came from." Thoughtfully, "We might be able to speed that up. I know someone who does special tricks with scrolls. I'm sure he'd just love to try a box --"

-- flare your wings, flap, move --
-- maybe I aimed too high. Overshot his imagination. (Fleur wasn't sure she could have done much more in lowering her vocabulary.) Or maybe he's just too stupid to realize when somepony's trying to dominate him. Sun's spots, even Blueblood worked that one out.

But he just looked at her. It wasn't even a full stare, because that level of focus required a commitment he didn't want to give. It was a look of confusion, and -- she wasn't sure how much of it might have been deliberate. If he was trying to buy time --

"...Fleur," wafted into her ears from behind, and the half-whisper of a word was far too controlled. "...I can see past you. A little. Please move to the side. Enough so I can get by."

-- then he was about to learn what came with it.

I didn't want you to deal with this.
I wanted to spare --
-- I have to trust you...

The charge stepped slightly to the left, deferring to the guardian. Fluttershy moved into view.

Every muscle was tight. Half of the held-back mane had slipped out of the restraining loop, putting a lesser fall than the usual in front of the left eye. But the yellow fur had gone rigid at the roots, and her love's feathers were vibrating...

"Sis!" the stallion exhaled. "It's almost good to see your face!" With far too wide a grin, "More of your face than usual. Are you really going with that much exposure? I could give you some advice there --"

Under normal circumstances, Fluttershy hesitated before speaking. Sentences faded in, sometimes faded out. Something which had gotten a little better in the time since they'd started living together, and a crisis usually found the pegasus speaking quickly and immediately -- but when it came to the rigors of everyday living, the pauses might never fully vanish.

When they'd first met, Fleur had perceived the hesitations as her then-charge taking a moment to summon the willpower required for speech to take place at all. And there was a pause before Fluttershy spoke to the stallion, something all too typical, a predictable wait time which had Fleur automatically adding extra minutes into any discussion -- but this time, it was being used for something else.

The unicorn looked at vibrating feathers, saw the rib cage swell, and watched as the rage was pushed back.

"...go away."

It was all that remained. A soft exhalation. Not quite a request, while lacking the audible power to serve as an order. But the incredible tail was starting to lash.

He took a step forward.

"I came here to see you," Zephyr stated.

Don't say anything.
Trust her.

"...well," Fluttershy offered, "...mission accomplished."

The confusion took over his features again.

"...yeah," he didn't quite agree. "So anyway --"

"...you've seen me." Her head abruptly shook, and a little more of the coral mane shifted back. "More of me than usual. So now you can leave."

He still didn't quite seem to know what he was supposed to do with that.

"There's stuff I've got to say," the stallion abruptly insisted. "I came a long way to say it. To talk. The last time I was here --"

"-- the last time you were here," the older sibling cut him off, "you tried to rob me."

Three blinks. A pair of wing joints loosened accordingly.

"Well," Zephyr lightly declared from the heart of what Fleur now suspected might be confusion as well-rendered art, "if that's how you've decided to remember it --"

Fleur, regardless of every dark failure at a jest, really didn't see murder as a primary option. Or a secondary. It generally wasn't anywhere near the list, and it took an instant willful lockdown for every last one of her joints to prevent a few editorial revisions.

-- don't move --
-- don't let my field wink out, but don't move --
-- maybe if I go to a double corona --

Fur brushed against her hocks. Feathers grazed her pasterns.

The cottage watched out for Fleur, because that was what its mistress desired. But when Fluttershy was involved, the animals came on their own.

"...I remember what happened," Fluttershy stated.

Reinforcements were gathering around their legs. Small, quick, clawed, and waiting on the signal which would tell them what they were going to be upset with. And Zephyr... didn't seem to notice.

"No," the stallion countered. "You remember what you think you saw."

-- he'd have to make at least one threatening move.
Any threatening move.
...which probably has to be full speed to count.

Fluttershy took a slow breath. Yellow feathers vibrated all the faster. The lashing coral tail sent five kittens into a desperate scatter.

"...you're going to leave," she informed him. "I don't want --"

"We have to sort this out," Zephyr broke in. "That's why I'm here. Because it's been years, 'Shy: years! What kind of family is it that never gets together at all? I see Mom and Dad more than you do, and you know they're barely home! But I don't see you, ever! I don't know what you've been up to, or how you're still surviving out here when we both know you can barely keep it together at all!" And before either mare could say a word (because Fleur's self-imposed blockade had developed multiple cracks), "I don't even know who this is!"

One aquamarine wing, presumably attempting to be helpful, semi-flared towards Fleur. Numerous theoretical parasites completely failed to fall out.

"...this," Fluttershy quietly stated, "is my partner."

The stallion's eyebrows attempted to get a workout in. The ears had to pull them up.

With open pride, "So you finally figured out that you needed to team up with a real vet?"

The next tail lash nearly took out Fleur's back legs.

"...my mate," Fluttershy pushed through hard-clenched teeth. "...I told you to --"

He looked at Fleur again. Went back to Fluttershy and, in a display which probably maximized his exercise for the moon, repeated the sequence four times.

"Since when do you do that?" Zephyr pushed through the stun. "Mares or stallion? Anypony or anything? What kind of mare would even --" another look at Fleur "-- I mean, unless she's got a trick where she turns into a beaver when Moon gets full --"

Portions of the settled zone generally had trouble with the mere concept of Fluttershy becoming angry and when it did happen, those who hadn't been through it before tended not to take the emotion seriously. It was Fluttershy and in the opinion of those with no direct experience, having that pegasus in a rage would be like dealing with a furious shrew.

Fluttershy took a step forward. Fleur took the movement as a sign that she could match the approach. So did two dozen animals, several of whom let their hisses clear the way.

It was exactly like dealing with a furious shrew.

"Get. Out."

And if they were lucky, they would recognize the implications before personally experiencing the venom.

Zephyr didn't take a step back. His hooves simply skittered in a bridgeward direction.

"I'll go," he told them.

Good.
Leave. Leave and don't ever --

"For now," he pushed on. "I'm staying in Ponyville for a while, 'Shy. And 'a while' is gonna be however long it takes before you're my sister again."

He turned, with dozens of eyes watching the torpid movements. Slowly shifted his legs towards the bridge and Fleur, only half-lost within the mire of horrible implications, began to wonder if anypony in that family flew -- well, yes, the parents, they were stormbreakers and managing to maintain within atmosphere and altitude during nightmare was part of the job, but Fluttershy rarely took off and now the sibling was trotting in and out --

-- Zephyr glanced back: something which only lasted for a second. Making sure that, with all the eyes watching him leave, he still had the full attention of two.

"Toodles!" he told Fleur, because a greeting which made her want to kick him in the teeth just had to come with a departure twin.

And then his wings flared out to their full span, the first downbeat scattered small pieces of soil from the path, he jumped and --

-- it was easy for both mares to see the power which had gone into his flight: the pegasus had spent the early part of her life upon tacky-feeling clouds, while the unicorn had grown up among griffons. They were used to watching those who were stronger in the air than they. Fluttershy rarely flew because she considered herself to be exceptionally poor at it: low speed and poor maneuverability combined with moderate flight endurance -- but there was an exception: the always-unexpected bursts of raw velocity which appeared only when she was truly upset. And Fleur could levitate herself, but... it took a double corona, constant concentration, the lack of wings meant she had no true way to utilize momentum...

Lack of skill in the air, having lived with those who outshone them -- both were among the smallest factors which drew them together. But Fleur, who had experience with pegasi and griffons...

There's something odd about his style.
Power. Speed. He's getting out of sight in a hurry. But his wings --
-- if I just had a minute with a better view --

She didn't. A few more flaps, and he was gone.

For now.

Nothing about the rest of the day ever recovered.

Fleur had been expecting her love to be somewhat down after clearing the graves, a little moody and in need of cheering up. What she got was worse. The pegasus half-slunk around the cottage. Speaking volume bottomed out. She didn't want to talk, she kept telling Fleur that she would discuss it when she was ready, and she spent hours pushing her way through the day's schedule with all the energy of -- well, Zephyr. And Fleur did what she could, but trying to bring it up in a way which would let her guide Fluttershy out of the fast-deepening pit was just making her love more upset, and...

...there were appointments. Two unexpected drop-ins: neither of which thankfully rose to the level of full crisis, both arriving at a moment when the unicorn thought she had finally started to make some headway. The daily routine of the cottage claimed its hours, and once all of that was wrapped up...

They ate. (Well, Fleur ate. Fluttershy nosed her food around the plate and, when she felt the unicorn wasn't looking, shifted it to floor level: multiple cottage denizens immediately welcomed the bounty from on high.) Then there was a quiz about medicine doses for cats where the teacher kept losing track of the proper page, and they finally went to bed.

Fluttershy generally didn't go to bed when Fleur did. There were many gifts which came with the triad butterfly mark, and one of them was the ability to get by on less sleep: all the better for tending to the cottage's nocturnals. But emotional exhaustion had extracted a toll.

They didn't have sex, because each wished to show the other that love was still present, and... neither wanted to push. Not when the mood was so dark. There would be no fresh stick in the morning, and Fleur belatedly realized she'd neglected to try one during the afternoon.

Both nestled into the billowing vapors of the Cumulus mattress, and... that was when Fleur got to measure how bad it truly was. The pegasus often wished to be spooned, because the enchanted cloud nest allowed her to lie on her side without placing excess pressure on the wing. Fleur, by far the larger of the two, would take the enclosing position: barrel against the smaller mare's back, careful not to squeeze too much with her legs.

But all that did was let her discover just how tight every muscle truly was. Tensed to the point where it felt as if something had to snap.

The unicorn had a natural response to that kind of pain. But it took nearly twenty minutes of shimmering massage before the worst of it began to fade.

Fluttershy fell asleep. After a few minutes, soft feathers began to tremble.

Fleur held her, as best she could. Tried to follow her love into the nightscape. But the sleep which had come for the pegasus refused to welcome the unicorn, and all she could do was hold her. Stay in contact, letting the dreamer know she was there.

Fluttershy would talk when she was ready. Hard experience had taught Fleur that there were times when she shouldn't push. A day or two --

-- maybe a week...
...he was going to stay in town until --
-- she might be like this as long as he's here --

She thought about the calendar posted at the side of the mirror, and some of the things which weren't on it. Two ponies lived at the cottage now: something which provided a little more freedom in having one come and go without having to arrange for a temporary caretaker. The next day would see Fleur spend most of an afternoon in Ponyville: shopping for supplies, added to three prearranged meetings. The first of that trio was starting to look rather... useful.

Zephyr had announced his intent: to stay in Ponyville.

So Fleur was going to get him out.

Recipe Currently Calls For Two Parts Variable-Strength Denial To One Part Mild Resignation

So much of being an immigrant felt as if it was about pretending you understood what the locals expected.

When it came to tracking gossip, Fleur had some degree of skill: the art wasn't taught during escort training classes, but the simple act of attending elite parties in Canterlot meant acquiring the basics got filed on the same level as survival instinct. However, when that gossip concerned her...

The susurrus of whispered words did its best to curve around the primary target, and that meant needing somepony who could tap the flow. Fleur, who had needed to learn what Ponyville thought about her after she'd moved into the cottage, had eventually risked asking both Rarity and Pinkie to intercept sentences on her behalf. It had allowed her to learn what the settled zone believed to be true about that newest of residents, and most of what the collected assembly of self-delusion did was remind her that individual ponies had the potential to be intelligent -- but the herd, which internally falsified beliefs in bulk, was rather stupid.

Because Ponyville collectively believed Fleur to be a veterinary student who'd initially been trying to study at the cottage, offering her services as an assistant in exchange for tutoring.

(There were a number who were aware that she'd once been an escort. This was generally excused away as a means of raising tuition. Besides, escort services were fully legal in Equestria -- if you could get through the classes and acquire the necessary license -- and those few who followed the capital's gossip circuit closely enough to become aware of Photo Finish felt it was a profession which came with more inherent employer respect than modeling. There was also a considerably better chance of actually getting paid.)

An assistant. It was the story they wanted to tell themselves, the version which the herd almost longed to believe. A beautiful mare, trying to find some way of mastering the profession's necessary skills without going deep into debt, had learned about a one-pegasus practice located on Ponyville's fringe. She'd offered herself up to the cottage's socially-reticent occupant, somehow found a way of getting that initial forehoof across the threshold -- there were numerous theories as to exactly what Fleur could have said to make it all begin and naturally, every last one of them was wrong --

-- and then something had happened. The exact details might have involved the approach of seven giant monsters, although a good part of the town seemed to feel that had just been a catalyst. After all, numerous novels suggested that when death was potentially on the approach, that was the perfect time to be honest about your feelings. Too many of those books had passed that determination directly into the cinema.

(Fleur occasionally thought about novels. One novel, and still didn't know what had become of it -- her. All she knew was that the one who'd brought the book to life had... let her go. And refused to discuss the matter in any more detail than that.)

They felt she was a student, with Fluttershy as her teacher. And that was true -- now. But the settled zone had collectively lied themselves into feeling it had been that way from the start, because they'd decided it made for a better story.

They also thought Fleur was a natural-born citizen of their nation, and that just gave the herd one more thing to be wrong about.

She'd crossed the border while carrying forged documents, shortly before the crucial birthday which demanded that her new host nation legally acknowledge her as an adult -- and as it turned out, her papers had been just about perfect, to the point where even Celestia had initially believed that the only alteration had been to switch out the exact Equestrian hometown. And she'd learned how to pretend, at least when it came to encounters of moderate length. To put on a mask, offering up some semblance of the behaviors which the herd would expect from an Equestrian unicorn -- as opposed to a birthright Protoceran. Griffon perspectives and beliefs, moving through the world within the imperfect camouflage of a pony's skin.

The herd didn't know she'd been caught. (Fleur had been caught for a lot of things.) They seemed to be equally unaware that she was taking citizenship classes. And there were those in Ponyville who knew of her true origins, but -- they didn't talk about it, not where others could hear. It might have been an offering made in the name of kindness -- and to make sure Kindness remained happy.

She passed for a native -- for encounters of short to moderate length. But she pretended to be Equestrian. (There were still too many days when she felt the same way about being a unicorn.) And she did so while waiting for the mask to slip. To completely fall away in full public view, letting the herd see what had been lurking underneath all along...

Fleur didn't react as other ponies would, because she had a griffon's heart. And when it came to recognizing what the herd might do... that was observation, deduction, and more than a few bursts of irritation because a herd frequently served as stupidity assembled in bulk. The massmind tended to get a lot of things wrong.

Zephyr, unwelcome on the grounds, was still trying to get that first hoof across the threshold. To reenter his sibling's life. It brought up the question of how the herd would try to stop it.

Fleur had a trio of prearranged meetings in Ponyville on the following day. It was simply a matter of adding something extra to the first.

She was reasonably certain that a native-born Equestrian would speak to the police.

The shadow of a resting unicorn mare, whose exact pose suggested careful thought, was resting against the base of the fountain. A three-dimensional outline raised its head, and the somewhat squarish jaw shifted. Gathered decibels: something which took a moment of careful judgment because it was a private discussion, even if it was being conducted in a fairly public place. The rest of the herd had observed the shadow's location and provided some extra space accordingly, creating a clear radius over the land and through a noticeable portion of the sky. They weren't visibly eavesdropping -- and yet the shadow kept having to adjust its volume, because the nearby construction didn't care.

"And what do you want me to do about it?"

The herd, an equally-resting Fleur immediately reminded herself, is made up of idiots.

Fleur Dis Lee and Miranda Rights were not friends. The taller mare had spent the latter part of her youth in galloping with Protocera's gangs -- the ones which weren't just social clubs with insignias and tail swishes attached. (Those were the vast majority, because trying to find your adolescent place within a society built on a chain of dominance could lead the confused down some strange roads. Just about every adult griffon had a sealed grifflet criminal file, and nearly every charge read as Public Nuisance.) And she'd stayed with them because there had been nowhere else to go. Pretend that she had a true home which could be returned to at night, offer to close up the hideout, then settle into a dark corner and sleep. And she'd learned how to open locks, break through spell protections, served as a distraction while the rest of the gang had been at work and done so not just for a place to rest, but in the ultimate pursuit of those forged papers. Because the manifestation of her mark had granted her irrevocable possession of a tainted miracle, and the only true career prospect she'd been able to perceive for herself had been professional blackmailer.

(She hadn't been very good at it.)

The younger of the unicorns at the fountain had spent years of her life in the company of gangs. Distrust of those who worked in law enforcement had quickly become part of the background noise, followed by settling into her psyche for a good long stay.

Miranda Rights was Ponyville's chief of police.

The mare with the shadow-blend of fur (and even the mark was hard to make out), effectively invisible in the dark and utterly impossible to miss under Sun, whose birth nursery had been flooded with light just so her dam could enter under Moon without having the sight of what would have been a crib occupied with night trigger the inherent terror of foalnapping... knew about nearly everything Fleur had ever done, and might have sent off to Protocera to see if there were any files on the rest. She'd been fully aware of the former escort's Equestrian offenses starting from roughly half a day before Fleur had been unceremoniously dumped into Ponyville -- along with being informed that she couldn't arrest the former escort for any of it. New offenses could be prosecuted -- but as long as Fleur was working at the palace's assigned mission, with no evidence of anything else taking place... she was only to be watched. From a distance. Making it seem as if everything was normal.

Miranda, who sometimes moved as if her mark was aching, had subsequently treated the presence of a known blackmailer in her settled zone exactly as its newest (and least-willing) resident would have expected.

Two unicorns. One whose manifest had placed her into police work, with the other initially learning Equestrian laws because it helped to know exactly what she was working around. They hadn't exactly been destined to get along.

But a number of things had happened since that first meeting, with one of them effectively placing Fleur into a sort of national vice squad. It meant they had to work together. And Miranda, who hadn't been able to keep the taller mare within a cell, had still found herself with a different kind of permanent custody. Guardian of the secrets which comprised Fleur's life.

Miranda dropped by the cottage occasionally. (The living shadow had no pets, and the cottage residents had collectively decided she needed one -- but they also understood the irregular hours of a police chief: bonding time would be at a premium, and any animal might have to wait for a very long time before its pony came home.) Miranda checked on Fleur. Because she'd decided that somepony had to, and a police officer who wasn't constantly poking their snout into somepony else's life would presumably cease to exist.

Yes, this was generally done under the pretext of having taken up an interest in Protoceran cuisine -- or rather, the version which had been modified for ponies. She'd gotten used to soaking vegetables in meat broth. Slowly. It had reached the point where she was now experimenting at home, and had purchased multiple wonders to redirect the scents accordingly -- but Fleur still saw it as something of an excuse. Just like trying to find out what the Bearers had been up to on that last mission and whether it had any potential to make trouble for Ponyville. The inquiries into what was taking place during Fleur's occasional... trips. Checking on the cottage in those times when both mares were away, making sure the substitute wasn't having any trouble and nopony was taking advantage. Excuses one and all.

Miranda and Fleur were not friends, and got together at least twice per moon to discuss how they weren't getting along.

What do I want you to do?

Fleur searched for appropriately-withering words. Then the construction crew found something new to hoof-hammer, and she wound up having to do it all over again. This was followed by remembering that she was trying to get help, and a few shifts of her body recentered full saddlebags because she could pretend the pause had been for that alone.

It was spring, and that let them meet outside: something Fleur vastly preferred to the near-act of sacrilege which was voluntarily entering a police station. But they had to find places to meet, even when they knew the herd would (reluctantly -- but they understood the consequences for listening in on Miranda) grant them some privacy. The fountain, one of the smaller specimens which dotted Ponyville's map, was pleasant. The sculpture was inoffensive, and the water was kept clean. It also happened to be across the street from the local bookseller and Bluestocking, who had recently acquired some long-delayed funds, had hired a crew to expand her shop.

The herd generally granted the police chief some privacy. Fleur didn't fully trust the herd, and was using the shielding sonic disruptions accordingly.

"I remember some of the interviews I had to do after Blueblood," Miranda finally said. "A few of the witnesses did say you'd mentioned that Fluttershy had a sibling. But they all thought it was part of the overall plan --" and the hesitation might have been deliberate "-- for the part where you were just showing him what came with the cottage. With her. A brother would have been part of that, and they thought you were setting it up in case some of the other -- demonstrations failed. Possibly getting Caramel to play the part. Nopony thought it was real. And in the wake of -- everything else that happened, it just stopped there." Thoughtfully, "Which is probably why nopony ever talks about that part. We all thought Fluttershy was a lone foal. Including me."

"She isn't," Fleur firmly said.

And there weren't any Bearers present when I said it. Twilight had already cleared Rarity out of the area, and... nopony else ever showed up. Applejack and Pinkie were at work. Rainbow was probably asleep...

I don't think they know yet.
Still.

She wasn't sure if she should tell them. Miranda was one thing. Miranda was -- 'necessary' was probably too strong a word. But when it came to the others, it probably needed to be Fluttershy --

-- the police chief was nodding.

A little too quickly, "Does she know you're talking to me?"

Fleur held back the wince.

"Not yet." She automatically checked the edges of the privacy bubble, remodulated her tones while making sure all passing ears were turned away. "I'm doing this privately."

The mares were in love, and part of that meant that each had to allow the other some amount of private time. (Missions didn't count. Missions introduced the travelers to the potential company of many interesting sapients, most of whom wanted to kill them.) The cottage exerted pressure, and that had helped in bringing them together -- but its caretaker felt the weight, while the former escort occasionally needed to just get off the grounds for a while. Fluttershy had her spa sessions with Rarity: once a week, if their mutual schedules permitted. Fleur took some of the trips into town, following the old path -- and, after the first two turns, a new river with an oddly-fused bed. And neither ever truly questioned whether the other was doing something suspect within those windows of relative solitude, because they trusted each other. It was, to borrow a description, '...nice.'

It was also useful.
Unlike the police chief.

"Her brother is in town," Miranda observed, "and Fluttershy doesn't want to see him. You need me to do something about that. What I need is more than what you're giving me, Fleur. A motive for stepping in. And... there can be a problem with..."

She stopped. Her gaze went down, and the short-cut tail seemed to twist.

"A problem with what?" Fleur naturally inquired.

"...Bearer families," Miranda reluctantly finished.

The taller mare frowned. "What kind of problem?"

For words, there was silence. The hammering had stopped. Wings flew by, hooves trotted at some distance away, and the shadow simply looked at the ground for a long moment before raising her eyes again.

"It might not matter," she decided. "But I still need a reason. So give me one. Why is this a police matter?"

The taller unicorn, who'd made sure to reach the fountain first and cleaned the best patch of cobblestone before settling in, took a slow breath. The hoof-hammering shoes went off again.

"This," she finally said, "goes no further than you."

The shadow's lips briefly twisted into a light smirk.

"That's always going to be a little funny when you say it," Miranda decided.

Fleur glared at her.

...okay. I know I'm breaking my promise to Snowflake by giving out details. (There was an argument to be made that she'd broken it well before that, in the middle of driving Blueblood away -- but as it turned out, nopony had believed her and he'd never said anything, so she was willing to see that as No Harm Done.) But the brother is in town. The need exists.

The former escort, as an immigrant, searched for the words which the police chief might want to hear.

"He's not a good pony."

Miranda snickered.

"And that," the shadow decided, "is even funnier -- all right, I know you're angry: either pick something up or wink your corona out before somepony notices the field spikes. Details, Fleur."

She took another breath. It didn't help. Then she forced her horn to go dark, and that didn't improve anything either.

"This is partially fifthhoof," Fleur admitted. "Fluttershy and I only talked about him once." On what had started as an exceptionally quiet night, and ended in hours of tightly-pressed bodies. Simply being there for each other. "Some of what I have is from Snowflake."

Miranda nodded. They both waited for a round of sawing to stop.

Take it slowly. Start from the beginning...

"You thought Fluttershy was a lone foal," Fleur began. "The whole town probably believes that. And she was supposed to be. She was... a hard birth."

"How bad?" emerged immediately.

She should have died.

Quietly, "Bad enough that her parents were afraid to try again."

There were many ways in which Fleur recognized the effects of the living shadow's occupation during normal encounters. Miranda listened. But she also used silence. The other party would want to fill it...

"They both went on contraceptive herbs," Fleur continued. "There may have been other forms of birth control. But none of those methods are perfect. So there was another pregnancy. And then they had Zephyr -- with no problems at all. There were two miracles, Miranda: that she survived, and he just piaffed into the world. Two miracle foals. They told their children that, and -- he's the one who believed it. The world owes the miracle a living, and he's not willing to put in the work to collect. The world is supposed to pay him off. The world, and everypony in it..."

She was having trouble maintaining the pace of her speech. The tone. When Snowflake had first summarized the events, the pegasus had effectively bitten a number of words in half. She now admired his restraint.

But Snowflake hadn't actually met Zephyr. Heard any part of what that sibling had said to Fluttershy. The way he spoke about her.

"He visited Fluttershy about a year after she came to ground," Fleur told the police chief. Sun and Moon, Fluttershy would have been -- and he was younger than that... "She left the cottage for a few hours. She trusted him with it. And when she came back..." One more breath. "Snowflake said that if she'd come home five minutes later, the cottage would have been a lot more empty."

"Robbery," Miranda quietly said, and Fleur nodded. "A year after she moved here?"

"Roughly." Fleur didn't have an exact date --

"Before my time," the other unicorn observed. "Which wouldn't be a problem, because there are records which go all the way back to the Founders --" The dark tail shifted, flicked twice. "-- but in this case, the problem is the records."

Fleur looked down at the mare. Even with both of them resting on the warm stones of the street, she was still taller. Her blood had given her the height advantage with nearly every living pony -- three of the Princesses and a green pegasus stallion unfortunately excepted -- and she used it whenever she could.

It wasn't doing anything to make the shadow speak without a cue.

"I don't understand," Fleur reluctantly admitted. Mostly to get it over with.

"I've had multiple occasions to go over everything associated with the Bearers," Miranda stated. "That includes the few times they've been on the requesting end. Fluttershy never brought charges against her brother, Fleur. And if it was a year after she moved here, then the statute of limitations expired some time back. Legally, there's nothing I can do there."

Which just further reinforced that the law was generally useless --

"For that violation." the shadow clarified. "Do you know of any others?"

Fleur reluctantly shook her head. "No. That's the only one Snowflake told me about, and it's hard to ask Fluttershy for details."

The curiosity almost sounded genuine. "Why?"

It meant the Protoceran had to hold back the snort. "Why do you think, Miranda? Because Fluttershy --"

"-- Fleur," the annoying mare interrupted, "if there's anypony on the planet who can ask, it's you. And you'll have to check with her eventually."

She doesn't like talking about him.
It hurts her.
I don't want to --

"What about a restraining order?" Fleur asked. She wasn't entirely sure how those worked under Equestrian law: it hadn't been a subject which she'd felt would be necessary. "Put a shield around the cottage?" Not the sort which Zephyr could break his snout on -- but getting hauled off by arresting officers felt like a decent substitute.

"Fluttershy would have to request it and show some degree of cause," Miranda quickly explained. "Just Fluttershy, right now. You've barely interacted with Zephyr. Fluttershy can currently go in on claim of blood, but..." The left forehoof briefly scraped at stone. "...you..."

They lived together. There was probably some argument for a common-law bond. But when it came to making everything official... the mares were waiting for something else to happen first.

Blueblood got a restraining order against Rarity.
...it's Blueblood. They probably issued it just to get him out of the courthouse.
Or they were just shocked because when it comes to trying to keep somepony away and Blueblood, it's usually the other way around.

"And that means getting her into court," Fleur sighed. "When she never did that on her own, not for any time when somepony cantered out on their bill and she needed small claims."

"Maybe she'd be willing now."

Maybe. But Fleur wasn't sure.

"She might not have to," the former escort suddenly realized. "If he tried to steal once, he's potentially done it before. And again. Can you contact the other settled zones? See if there's any active warrants?"

And the shadow nodded.

"Yes," Miranda told her. "That I can do. If there's something outstanding, I might be able to arrest. And when it comes to establishing reasons for a restraining order, even closed cases might help. But it's going to take time --" and the right forehoof came up, interrupting Fleur in what was automatically the most annoying way possible "-- and that's even if I ask Spike for help, Fleur: time. He can only send the paperwork out for me, and some of the other police chiefs may be reluctant to take something seriously when it arrives in a burst of near-heatless flame. And no matter what I do for the outbound, it could take weeks to get all of the answers back."

Time...

It had to be resolved as quickly as possible, and the best case was to get it done long before The Square came knocking on the cottage door. The Square had the chance to ruin everything and when it came to 'weeks away', The Square didn't represent a particularly major plural.

But the closer settled zones would respond first. And if there was anything out there which could be inflicted upon a languidly-surprised target...

"So you'll do that," Fleur double-checked.

"Yes."

A rather nasty thought waved its forelegs for her attention. She reluctantly scrutinized it.

"...you were going to do that whether I asked or not."

Miranda's features were now expressionless by design.

"Yes. Did he have saddlebags on when he came by?" (Fleur, already annoyed, made sure the head shake was mostly good for showing off her mane.) "Good. That means he's already got a place to stay. I'll find out where --"

The dark unicorn abruptly smiled. Fleur took a few seconds to make sure it was a smile, because it wasn't something which happened all that often with Miranda and she had to verify. There was also a certain instant suspicion regarding motive.

"-- of course," the shadow decided, "there might be an easier option for scaring her brother off. Now if you can just get him to do it this time without breaking out a fifth of Tartarus --"

"-- not. funny."

Miranda blinked. Grey-green eyes quickly checked over every square hoofwidth of Fleur's form, mostly in an attempt to see if any of the tensed muscles were on the verge of committing to a lunge.

"I'm sorry," she quietly said. "I didn't think."

Fleur tightly nodded.

Carefully, "How is he? I've seen him a few times, here and there. Getting off the air carriage. But we don't exactly talk."

Things had happened. Time had passed. And in the case of one signature event for the draconequus, not enough of it.

Discord had... done something. Overdone it. Drastically.

"Recovering," Fleur softly answered. "Still. It's... going to take a while."

Miranda managed a nod.

"I'll check the continent for outstanding charges," she told Fleur. "I'll have some trouble going further than that, but widening the net isn't impossible. But... I want you to keep one thing in mind, Fleur."

To be patient.
To not lure him behind the cottage, because you think that's my first solution for everything.

"That he might mean it," Miranda said. "That he really just wants to be part of her life again."

You didn't hear him. The way he spoke to her.

"He doesn't."

"Ponies change."

It felt as if there was more darkness in Fleur's voice than in any strand of the other mare's fur. "Do they?"

Placidly, "You did."

They looked at each other.
And then Fleur looked away.
Did I?

The mares, with nothing left to discuss, mutually watched the construction activity through the bookstore's large front window. A mobile blur of green-and-gold wings occasionally blocked their view as a gregarious cockatiel toured the workers in search of acknowledgement, scritches, and treats.

There was a sound rising from the front yard of the isolated little red house. It was a noise which didn't so much suggest agony as outright define the concept of torment in a way which Tartarus somehow lacked, begging for the world to step in and do something to stop the torture. As cacophonies of endless pain went, it spread rapidly, never seemed to lose any volume to travel distance, and could hold a single note longer than a marked singer who'd trained for circular breathing. And just to make matters all the more impressive, it was being rendered through a closed mouth.

"Can't you make that stop?"

Fleur examined the tension in her field's clamp, then raised the clippers again.

"No," she said on the third attempt, because displaying the clippers naturally meant the noise had gotten that much louder. "Can you?"

It got her a very thin smile, and a stray beam of sunlight bounced away from narrowed lips.

"If I could," Joyous noted, "you wouldn't be here."

Fleur and Joyous Release were not friends, and getting the dark blue metallic pegasus all the way to 'fully willing partner in a threesome' was probably verging on a lost cause. The unicorn was willing to give the process another two years before considering surrender. And in the event that Joyous somehow came around on an issue which Fleur had never actually raised, it was going to take at least seven moons to very slowly talk Fluttershy into participating. Threesomes only worked if everypony wanted to be involved.

(Fleur's relationship with Fluttershy was monogamous -- in the sense that if she was ever going to be with another pony, then her mate would be aware of it. Also within the same bedroom and, with a little expert coaching, actively involved. The former escort ranked the probability of having that happen as being very slightly higher than having Moon spontaneously transform into an amorous yak. But you couldn't look at Joyous and not think about it.)

They weren't friends. Their relationship (such as it was) had gotten off to a spectacularly bad start. There were days when Fleur felt as if they were still recovering from it, and most of the followup nights had her wondering if true reconciliation was possible at all.

They weren't friends. They were simply facets of the same gem.

Two mares with unique talents. One who could know what anyone wanted sexually, and the other with the ability to BE that desire. All Joyous ever had to do for someone (because species was no barrier) to be attracted to her was to be within that sapient's range of breath, and... have a thought. And because the metallic was fully aware of that, she made sure not to think that way. She needed to know that ponies wanted her for herself alone, and...

...she was horribly, painfully (and, for most ponies, incomprehensibly) single. Because she was afraid to take the chance. Even when her talent was shut down nearly all of the time, Joyous felt that ponies were mostly attracted to her looks. If somepony seemed to be trying to learn about her a little more deeply, the metallic quickly concluded that it was a ruse and they'd be focusing on her rib cage just as soon as the conversation dried up. She didn't trust, and -- she knew it was a problem.

Two facets of the same gem, and there were times when Fleur suspected that they might have another similarity. Joyous was now living on her own, and nopony was entirely sure what she did. The metallic had some money, but it wasn't on a level which suggested that a paramour was paying her way. She had managed to start payments on the house, and food was never a problem -- but she wasn't exactly trotting about with jingling saddlebags. And she'd never been spotted at any place of employment, much less set up a booth in Ponyville's open-air market.

It was possible that Joyous was doing something which didn't require any of it: writing was an option, as were certain forms of art. But... Fleur had been past the little house a few times, and had once spotted the metallic bringing in her mail. The portion of the golden envelope which had been visible outside the mare's mouth had looked familiar.

Was Joyous another registered resource of Equestria? A potential agent of the palace, receiving a regular stipend until the day came when she was pressed into active service? And what kind of situation would have to arise for the Diarchy to call upon that talent?

Fleur had never been able to ask.

There were ways in which the mares arguably reflected each other. (Spiritually. You couldn't use a metallic as a mirror.) But one had a mate, while the other had been trying to relearn the means of letting others approach her, and -- Fleur had been the one to propose that she begin with a relationship where appearance and talent could never interfere. Something where the other party would truly love her for herself alone.

So she'd matched Joyous to a puppy.
And she'd made a minor mistake.
Just a little one.
It was hardly noticeable.
Audible, yes...

Oh, it had worked out on several levels. The now full-grown canine was utterly devoted to Joyous. It was common to see the two of them traveling through town together. Joyous didn't even need a leash most of the time: her dog followed the mare closely, moved on command, stopped when told. Face-licking was common, although a giggling pegasus had some trouble giving the order to stop that. Tail-wagging had turned out to be nearly constant. In terms of starting a relationship, Fleur considered herself to have utterly succeeded and given that it had been her first time matching a companion with their pony, she didn't feel there was much of a complaint coming. It was just that...

...really, would Fluttershy have done any better? The breed had only been in the world for a few years! Or rather, it had only been back for a short time, because there hadn't been very many of them outside the Empire when the Barrier went up. It had certainly been too small a number to safely remain purebred, and their traits had slowly sunk into the collective bloodstream of canines everywhere.

But the Empire was accessible again. More than that: they'd begun to export. And Joyous had been very specific about what she wanted in a pet: intelligence, fierce loyalty, and the willingness to defend her. And she'd also wanted an animal who was communicative, because this was going to be her first pet and the metallic had been worried about missing some of the more subtle signs.

Fleur, who'd recently read an interesting journal article and knew just what had freshly arrived at the cottage, had considered all of it --

-- and then Joyous had her pet.

Intelligent. Fiercely loyal. Constantly ready to defend -- but also friendly enough to be among foals without a single concern. And as a special bonus, the canine (shaded black through white, with a dark patch descending from forehead to the middle of the snout in a way which made it look as if a liquid mask had started to drip) had an appeal which almost matched her pony.

It had been the settled zone's first miniature husky and because it was the first, Fleur couldn't have reasonably been expected to know about the other thing.

The canine's curved tail, arced over the back, twisted itself with imagined agonies. Fleur heartlessly trimmed the next claw, and the husky responded in the only way it knew how.

Fleur didn't have Fluttershy's talent. Normally, there would have been no true way of finding words within the sheer amount of noise. But this was a husky, and that meant translations were readily available. The canine's endless lament, moved into some form of Equestrian, worked out to 'I'M GOING TO DIE! THIS IS MY DEATH SONG! HEAR ME, WORLD! HEAR ME FOR I SHALL SOON BE GONE!'

It probably counted for communication.

"This is revenge, isn't it?" Fleur asked once her ears were lofted again.

"I don't know what you mean," Joyous visibly lied.

"Revenge," Fleur repeated. "For something. You keep calling me out here --"

"-- I call you out here," the metallic patiently said, "because the two of you are my vets. But you're my groomer. And I can bring her to the cottage for an emergency. But not for grooming. You both saw how the other animals react when she goes off."

They had, although most of the latter portions had taken place on the gallop. It had taken some time to round everything up again, and even Fluttershy could have trouble with herding cats.

"And it's spring," Joyous added -- then paused, and added it again at a much higher volume. "And she's from the Empire. She needs to get rid of the last bits of winter coat, her claws have to be trimmed, and we both know she's going to do this the whole time. But it still has to be done. So just finish. Fast."

Fleur tried. But you couldn't rush a good grooming, no matter how much her eardrums wanted her to just vibrate the loose winter strands away. And it was being done in the front yard, because Joyous had chosen a home which was fairly isolated and besides, the noise became all the worse when it had extra surfaces to bounce off.

They weren't friends. But there was a small level of trust between the mares: enough to get Fleur into the front yard. (But probably not the house, and she had serious doubts about the bed.) They understood each other somewhat better than they once had. They also had a few things in common and if the tail brushing had taken another three minutes, the newest one would have been a mutual hearing problem.

It ended. Fleur put away all of the grooming implements away and released the dog's snout. The husky, being rather intelligent for a canine, recognized that this was the signal which said eternal torment had somehow ended, forgave everything, licked Fleur's snout, and happily bounded over to her pony.

"I'll see you next time," Joyous told the former escort. "Next time, it'll probably have to be a bath." A wing flared out, gently skimmed across the dog's back. "That should be interesting."

Deafening. You meant 'deafening'.

Fleur had matched Joyous to the miniature husky, and the metallic had apparently decided that meant the unicorn had to take most of the blame. But she hadn't been the one to name it. Joyous had done that. Then the pegasus had learned about some of the finer details which came with husky companionship, a word had been tossed out a few times...

A name wasn't just what you called something. It was the sound which drew a response and as far as the husky was concerned, she knew exactly what her name was.

"I'll send a note to the cottage when we're ready," the metallic said as she turned away, heading towards the house's front door. "Follow me, Shaddap."

"He's looking at me."

Fleur risked a glance across the table at the pony on the other side of the half-fence which defined the cafe's outdoor dining area.

"He is," she acknowledged.

"He's been looking at me for a while," the brash voice decided. "Whenever he thinks he won't get caught. I'm just too fast for him."

That didn't seem to require much in the way of a response.

"Is he into me?"

That did.

"Rainbow --"

"-- come on, Fleur!" A hiss of a whisper: utterly attention-demanding within half a body length, and effectively impossible to interpret beyond that. "Look at that stare! I want to know if he's into me or not!"

Fleur and Rainbow were friends and just like everypony who held that status with the weather coordinator, the unicorn occasionally wondered why.

Being Rainbow's friend came with certain implications. Consequences. It was possible to conduct a cost/benefits analysis, but only if you were really in the mood to investigate the wonderful world of extreme integers.

Meal mooching was the least of it. (It had taken years for Rainbow to learn how to cook, and it was probably going to take a few more before she was willing to do it more than three times a week.) Rainbow saw a friend as being somepony she could crash with, and 'crash' had a very limited definition range. In particular, a friend was obviously somepony who wouldn't mind her practicing stunts near their house, and could probably be counted on to clean up most of the debris.

You had to deal with the stunts. There was a level of willful deafness which probably made Rainbow the world's perfect candidate for grooming huskies, and it came twinned with the occasional startling insight built from facts which the weather coordinator mostly seemed to have taken in through osmosis. And just about everypony spent some part of their life under the delusion that the world existed for their benefit, but Rainbow's ego could create the sort of gravity which made fan clubs revolve in her wake.

She was brash, loud, egotistical, the single most unbearable Bearer --

-- devoted, caring, constantly trying to look out for those she loved...

It wasn't easy to become Rainbow's friend. Staying that way was harder. The other Bearers had a game known as Almost Killed Her: they each told a Rainbow story, and made sure it ended at the moment when homicide had become the most logical option. For anypony who'd know her for more than a moon, it would never be the same story twice.

(It was generally acknowledged that there were several requirements for becoming a full citizen of Ponyville and among them were moving in, getting Partied, and fantasizing about killing Rainbow. A plan for the perfect murder was spread out among several thousand residents and nopony was quite sure how to go about assembling it.)

But Fleur was her friend, even when the personal AKH count was currently at nine. And there was a price for that.

A portion was financial: it had been nearly two weeks since Rainbow's last pay voucher had been cashed, and that meant Fleur would be picking up the lunch bill. But when it came to some of the rest... you just had to understand Rainbow, as much as anypony ever could.

The nature of Fleur's talent wasn't generally known, and the palace preferred it that way. Keeping the secret wasn't complicated: nopony in the settled zone seemed to have learned classic griffon iconography and even if somepony had, the definition of acies was a moving target. Fleur always had her choice of lies, and just made sure to keep things consistent. But the Bearers were aware of what she could do...

...now.

Nopony had told Spike and if Fleur had her way, nopony was going to for a very long time. Fluttershy had found out about it from Celestia, roughly fourteen hours before Fleur had ever stepped onto the grounds. And Rarity... she had been with Fluttershy before the monsters had approached Ponyville, listening through the speaking tubes to everything being said in the cell. It had made her the first of the other Bearers to find out, and... she felt it had a purpose.

(Fleur had been in the cell because she'd tried to protect Sweetie. She wasn't sure what else Rarity could have said.)

But the others had needed to learn in turn, and -- they'd reacted. Twilight was caught between a simultaneous desire to study the talent's operations and the need to never be present when it was active. Pinkie had been visibly weirded out, followed by never bringing it up again. Applejack, as a known and occasionally self-acknowledged hypocrite, had declared the magic to be an unwelcome violation of privacy -- and every time she felt an adult was paying a little too much attention to Apple Bloom, demanded that Fleur start violating until the motivation was resolved.

Rainbow's reaction to Fleur's talent had been just about the same as her reaction to nearly everything: 'Okay, but how do I make this work for me?' And when she noticed somepony looking at her with what she felt was intent...

"He's not into you."

"He could be."

"Rainbow, I just --"

"Check again! That's a one-of-a-kind stare! He's gotta --"

"-- you put a furrow into his lawn."

"I did?"

"Three weeks ago. He's probably wondering when the payment for damages is coming in."

"It doesn't mean he isn't into me," Rainbow decided. "Maybe he made the soil so soft because he was hoping I'd notice and use it for an emergency slowdown site on purpose."

Fleur hadn't taken much of a look at Rainbow's puzzle during their first meeting. It had been just enough to note that the Ego was also present on the sexual level, and there was some self-obsession present -- along with more than a touch of self-involvement. (If you signaled up to the cloud home and a sweat-soaked voice yelled out that she needed five more minutes, you had to be prepared to make it ten before the masturbation wrapped up, plus seven for the shower and two to come up with a new excuse for being that wet.) It had led her to conclude that any sexual encounter with the pegasus was probably going to end with 'So you're saying I was supposed to do something for you too?' Something which was a little too Zephyr-like for current comfort.

But it had been more than a year. She'd had time to examine the whole thing, and...

The best word to describe Rainbow's interests was 'reciprosexual'. Her first hoofstep to becoming interested in a potential partner was for that pony to be interested in her, because that was clearly a pony with taste. She had a screening process, most of which seemed to consist of talking about herself for a very long time: the winners were the ones who didn't use the tenth pause for breath as a chance to run for their lives. But if the encounter ever reached the actual act...

Rainbow's goal in sex was to be memorable. She wanted to ruin her stallions (or mares, because reciprosexual) for all other partners and in both cases, she frequently succeeded. Her partners would recite every terrifying detail from the center of the hospital's emergency room, followed by not risking anypony else for a year.

She improvised. She treated sex as a stunt, and made up new maneuvers on the fly. This was literal. Most of Rainbow's encounters were lucky to stay near the bed and when it came to her feelings about a pony's physical form, one of her few ongoing preferences was for a partner who was at least slightly smaller than she because when Rainbow picked up somepony for sex, she meant it. (She was sleek, streamlined, and could stay aloft with an impressive amount of carried mass -- if she was already in motion. Picking somepony up from Ground Zero still had a weight limit.) She was spontaneously experimental, liked to add pegasus techniques into her actions, and felt that explaining whatever she'd just come up with would take too long: it was time to come along for the ride!

Pinkie, as the group's trysexual, talked everything over with her partners first and refused to proceed unless everypony had both agreed on what would take place and was fully happy about the prospects. Rainbow thought 'consent' worked out to 'You entered my bedroom: you knew what you were getting into.'

Rainbow's sex life served to open up new and exciting frontiers across several categories of Equestrian existence: namely, pegasus magic, small claims court, and rewriting legal dictionaries.

Fleur tried to change the subject.

"How's work?"

"Bad," Rainbow expounded. The cyan chin briefly dipped towards a bowl of allysum flowers.

"How bad?"

The prismatic tail twitched, moved back and forth across minimal buttocks. Rainbow wasn't as slender as Twilight, but she didn't carry any hundredth-bale of body weight which didn't have a purpose. It meant she mostly possessed an ass due to anatomical technicalities.

"They're not exactly gonna fire me," she said. "I think. No matter how much anypony around here sends in complaints about being a little late on the schedule sometimes. They know that's not the most important thing, to stick with the schedule to the second. And the book. They know what happens when somepony can't get their snout out of the book. But that last letter said they want a decision. Soon. And I don't know what to say." With Rainbow, a sigh was almost always something unexpected. "I don't know what I can say. But I've got a few weeks."

The weather coordinator was Loyalty. An unbreakable diamond of commitment to the things she loved, if not necessarily one which understood how a clock worked.

The world served as the gem cleaver.

Rainbow was Ponyville's weather coordinator: a post she'd assumed at an unusually young age. (There was supposed to be a story there -- but Rainbow, so willing to talk about herself for nearly every subject, somehow hadn't gotten around to that one.) She was also a member of the Wonderbolts. And she was a Bearer.

There was a certain amount of conflict.

Nopony could ask her to stop being a Bearer. The palace would have been decidedly unhappy with anypony who even tried to make the suggestion. But being a Bearer meant missions. Scrolls appearing from the aether, calling Flut -- calling all of them away from their lives. Something which could happen at any time, and Fleur knew how bad the missions could get because she'd been asked to go with them twice.

(On the first occasion, the mission parameters had involved social situations. The palace had felt an on-site consultant would help. It had, right up until the moment when it had increased the total amount of royal bits which needed to be spent on bail.)

(She wanted to go on the missions. To be there as an extra set of eyes watching over Fluttershy. Protecting.)

(She lived in dread of every scroll.)

The Weather Bureau, as a division of the government, pretty much had to put up with it. But the Wonderbolts were independent. They had a contract with the palace which said they could be pressed into service in an emergency, and there had been a few occasions which saw it happen -- but for the most part, they operated as a traveling stunt show with a secondary function of investigating pegasus magic. They weren't an actual branch of the military.

They had trading cards.

(Rainbow, who had been somewhat excited during her rookie shoot, had mostly provided the photographer with an extensive series of blurs.)

And with the Wonderbolts... Rainbow was a reservist. She had gotten through the Academy, an impressive achievement in and of itself -- but she rarely took part in shows. Because she had weather coordinator duties. And because even if she had another member of the settled zone's team take over for a few days, went down the air paths and caught up with the troupe -- a scroll could come in at any time, followed almost immediately by a teleport relay team of the other escorts because the group had to be brought back together. The Wonderbolts couldn't plan a show around somepony who might not be there, and they certainly weren't going to base their advertising on the mare who had to get back home in four days because the thunderstorms didn't set themselves up.

The Bureau had to put up with Rainbow being a Bearer. The Wonderbolts were a different matter -- one which wanted to know just how much longer Rainbow was planning on keeping the weather coordinator job.

How many things could you be loyal to at once?

All of them.

But the clock felt differently. Emotions could be offered in all directions. Hours couldn't.

And the Bureau wanted a decision. Soon.

Fleur sighed.

"We can talk about it," she offered. Again. And she wasn't expecting much of an improvement in the results. Fleur had made her opinion on the matter clear, at least to anypony who wasn't Rainbow.

But they were friends. (Somehow.) And when you were friend with Rainbow, you had the discussion as many times as necessary, until the osmosis finally kicked in.

So they talked, because they were friends and that was what they were supposed to do: get together for lunch and talk. It probably wouldn't resolve anything, but there was a chance that Rainbow might feel better.

They talked. There was a short argument, which was no less annoying for being a repeat. But the topic stayed focused on the Bureau, the Wonderbolts, and the three-way pull, because this was Rainbow's time. Any other subject of discussion had to wait.

At one point, Fleur thought she saw a high drift of aquamarine move across the left edge of her vision, followed by going behind Rainbow and out of immediate sight. But by the time she tried to focus on it, the hue had vanished.

Basically Golden Harvest With Wings And Less Repurposed Farm Equipment

It had taken Fleur a surprisingly long time after her arrival in Ponyville to learn just who all the Bearers were. And even when you factored in all the ways in which the settled zone tried to protect the mares from casual inquires and interruptions, there were probably those who would have found the duration to be ridiculously excessive. They likely would have argued that Fleur could have simply asked Fluttershy for the list, and anypony who held that opinion had rather obviously never tried to question the pegasus about anything.

She knew all of them now. One was her love, another her friend, and the others were at least something more than casual acquaintances. Even those with whom the bonds had initially been weakest did their best to both understand and assist her ongoing presence in Fluttershy's life, because they wanted the pegasus to be happy. And there had been something of a chance to grow a little closer with the group, because Fleur had participated in two missions and very few things brought a miniherd together like having someone going after everypony in it. Very few of the attacks had bothered to discriminate for a temporary.

To some degree, she knew the Bearers. But she didn't understand the Elements. Fleur didn't comprehend why the ancient devices resonated with that exact sextet of virtues. She was still trying to figure out why some of those qualities were seen as virtues at all. And of the six, the one whose presence utterly confused her was Honesty.

This didn't indicate Applejack. Fleur liked the earth pony: fortunately, the feelings went both ways. (Applejack was now aware of where Fleur had grown up, and it gave them an extra level of bonding as former youths who had each done their best to assist in the family business -- but when it came to discussion of methodology, the ranch kid and the farmer had yet to find an intersection.) And she knew that particular Bearer was utterly honest in everything she said --

-- but if you came to know Applejack... then after a while, you would start to pay close attention to the exact wording. So many of the farmer's sentences were constructed of careful choices, and a vow to be fully truthful in all expressed speech eventually raised the question of just what that mare wasn't saying. You never caught Applejack in an open fabrication -- but there was such a thing as a lie of omission, and falsehoods potentially lurked within silences.

Search the world, and there would be but a single room in which Fleur was supposed to be honest.

(It wasn't their bedroom. There were a lot of little lies in a relationship, and they were usually told in the name of avoiding the smaller arguments. Utter travesties of time management fell into that category, because neither mare fully believed the other on just when they'd gone to bed or gotten up again, and Fleur knew Fluttershy was aware that the dirtiest chicken coops hadn't been cleaning themselves.)

One room. Just one. And she hated it.

The space was openly manipulative. Bad enough to have a little nest at the center, especially when it wasn't actually Fleur's nest. It was a nest which rented out by the hour. The prevarication of primal security offered through a time-share plan. And then you had the walls, because they hosted more than carefully-displayed paintings showing familiar images and vistas. The walls themselves were made of certain kinds of wood, every one of which had been imported. They were occasionally sprayed down with a zebra potion to refresh the scent.

There were two windows, and each had thin lines of silver wire running through the glass -- when they were acting as windows alone. The enchantment, when invoked, allowed those inside the room to look out upon scenery which didn't exist -- or rather, it didn't exist in the capital. (This capital.) Fleur had irritably declined the invocation of the sophisticated illusion spells, even after she'd been told about all the work which had gone into making sure the lighting on the false structures changed in time with Sun. The mare was stuck with a certain level of undeniable reality, and that very much included the part which kept putting her into the room. The place where honesty was required.

It was a struggle, and it usually felt like a pointless one.

Also, there were questions. Some of them started as falsely casual topics -- but they all led into a single goal: to eventually bring out truths. Fleur frequently recognized when the other person in the room was starting into such a line of inquiry, because it made her oversized talons tap against the edge of the bench.

"And was that all the ponies you met that day?"

So where is she going with this?

"No," Fleur admitted, and made a point of not curling any deeper into the fabric nest's billowing folds. She'd been an escort, and there were two very important things to remember about any resting place: you didn't know who'd been using it before your arrival, and you probably hadn't gotten a look at their cleaning product supply. "There were only three appointments. But I did see some other people."

There was a clacking sound -- a very brief one, quickly stopped. Fleur had tried to insist that it was simply a normal part of griffon speech, but... they'd talked about clacking, and the other party in the room tried to keep it down.

"So who else?"

When viewed from the outside, the relationship between the tall unicorn mare and the brown earth pony stallion probably looked like friendship, and Fleur was aware that he saw it that way. He just happened to be wrong.

"Hey!" he called out to her, and reasonably-strong legs accelerated. It didn't take him long to catch up, reaching her just as she neared The Store Which Still Had No Reason To Exist and after that, it was just a matter of making his shorter legs keep up with her pace. "Just saw you passing by. How's everything going?"

She glanced down to the right, and her gaze immediately did its best to skid away from the most recent follicle-based incarnation of purest horror.

It's a rockslide.
In reverse.

"You may have to speak up," she sighed. "I had Shaddap earlier."

"Just making the rounds, huh?" he grinned. "I won't be offended that you left me out of them."

"You're supposed to be at work." Fleur did drop in on the shop now and again, but she generally had very little need for candy. Which was something the owners continued to not quite understand, because it had been over a year and to cross the store's threshold still risked having to rent a cart in order to haul all of the free samples back.

"Closed early," he told her. "The kidlet's sick -- no, don't worry: it's a two-day thing. But Bon-Bon and Lyra are new at this. They both wanted to stay with her, and there's only so much stock I can make on my own. So they asked me to just sell until yesterday's leftovers were gone, and then clear down. I locked up about ten minutes ago."

"So you're heading home?" Which, when the stallion was found in this part of town, meant he was taking the long way around.

His head dipped.

"I thought I'd... look around a little," Caramel quietly said. "There's been a lot of new arrivals lately. Because it's spring."

They both heard a pair of large wings pass overhead. Each automatically looked up, and the stallion's gaze lingered just a little longer.

"And..." he continued, "after Aviatrix left..."

She managed to keep the sigh on the subvocal level, and still felt it burn her throat. Because the chain of griffon domination also formed a path of responsibility, and that meant her actual link with Caramel was the one formed between guardian and charge.

Fleur had used Caramel once, because the stallion was attracted to pegasi above all else.

The unicorn didn't have an issue with that. She could examine anyone's puzzle at will: something which let her know Caramel's bedroom desires were common, tame, and utterly safe. But he had a preference, and he did everything possible to make sure he stuck to it. The state of his pieces had initially suggested that Fluttershy had been on his If Only list for years -- but not at the absolute top of it, because that position was reserved for Rainbow.

(For Caramel, Rainbow was The One Who Got Away -- while the weather coordinator saw him as The One Who's Dated Around Way Too Much, and avoided him accordingly. Each understood that the other had a connection with Fleur and, for Rainbow's part, had just about managed to accept it -- but the former escort tried to keep them from occupying the same room, and scheduled appointments for their pets accordingly. Fleur knew Caramel still fantasized about Rainbow, and the stallion checked back once a year to see if she'd changed her mind. Beyond that, the earth pony just stared wistfully. A lot. Usually from a significant distance, because it was Rainbow and the crash zone was everywhere.)

But during her first moons in Ponyville... she'd used him. Fleur had needed to find a first date for Fluttershy: somepony who could be rejected before any second date arose, and thus effectively teach the pegasus about how to carefully push a suitor away. And to that extent, it had worked out: there had been one date. But it had gone especially badly for Caramel, because Discord had been performing his own secret suitability tests. It arguably wouldn't have ended well without that. And in the time since...

There was a certain obligation to make sure Caramel wound up happy. But that also required him to become somepony who was just a little better, because Caramel had a lot of problems.

She almost had his budget under control. There had initially been a tendency to overspend on those he sought, on a scale of 'She likes Prance cuisine? How much is the train ticket?' and that wouldn't be for Canterlot because he would want to impress that mare with the real stuff. And he would be trying to do it on a candy shop assistant's salary. Caramel had a near mark-level talent for getting multiple bank loans to balance off against each other, all while keeping up on the interest payments through holding off on his actual rent until the last possible second. Fleur was sure it had a practical application, and still felt the most practical use would be through making it all stop.

He was a serial dater: find a mare, stay with her until the relationship inevitably failed, then find another mare as quickly as he could and try again. Caramel had to be with somepony, possessed a near-phobia about spending more than a moon alone. And mares gossiped about a stallion whose connections kept falling apart, exaggerated the stories (some of which didn't need too much of it) while spreading the word to the point where he needed Ponyville's constant influx of new residents just to have a fair chance at finding anypony.

Again.

Fleur had taught him about better spending habits. She served as a gift advisor, and had also done her best to update his basic look. The old manestyle, which had turned him into a Type, had been banished....

...the knots are supposed to look like crashing boulders, right? All he needs is a schist pileup between his eyebrows and he'll have gone all the way...

...although he still had yet to truly settle on a new one. But when it came to the relationships...

It was possible to say that Caramel had made a few mistakes, because he had -- but that hadn't been the cause of every breakup. There had been times when the stallion had simply been unlucky in love, along with a few others when 'cursed' could be reasonably invoked and one which had found Fleur actively searching for thaums to dispel.

He longed for the gentle caress of feathers, and Fleur had some sympathy there. But he needed to be with somepony, even after just about every attempt had ended badly. And he was willing to put up with a lot if it meant there was a mare trotting near his flank (or flying just above it), but... there were limits. Fleur's first role as Very Special (But Moderate) Gift Consultant had been when he'd dated a green pegasus mare, and that connection had gotten all the way to the mare's bedroom.

Unfortunately, it had served as nothing more than the primary portal to her actual place of sexual entertainment. And while she was one of the relatively few doms who truly understood that all real power lay with the sub -- she'd both been happy to teach Caramel about safewords and made sure to give him something which could be clearly expressed while gagged...

Fleur still didn't have the full details regarding what had happened after that. Even with a mare whom he saw as a friend, there was only so far Caramel was willing to go in discussing his sex life. But there had definitely been reins involved. And a bit. Which hadn't been a bribe to bring him that much closer to the rest of the equipment: it was the type of bit which went into the mouth. (The safeword could also be spoken while the bit was in place, because the mare was careful.)

The unicorn suspected there had been a saddle. Most first-timers who were willing to experiment a little managed to hold off on the freakout right up until the appearance of the saddle. And that had been the end of it.

And then there had been another mare.
Two moons after that, another.
Another...

She tried to help him. But there was only so much she could do. Trying to make sure Caramel wound up happy was like paying maintenance costs on a fixer-upper property which had something new breaking down every moon. She had mostly repaired his budget and improved the quality of his approaches with mares. Fleur couldn't do anything about his luck.

"Looking around a little," Fleur semi-repeated.

"Maybe a bar. I know it's still early, but --"

"I've got a few things to do," the unicorn noted. "Trot with me."

Almost dryly (because he'd at least come that far), "The bar is easier."

"You're looking for pegasi on a spring day," she reminded him. "Mobile vantage point."

It made him smile, just a little. And then they trotted together.

The relationship was guardian and charge. The guardian's responsibility was to make sure the charge reached the point where he could go on without her. And with Caramel...

Another, larger pair of wings audibly moved over them. Both looked up.

"...what is that?" the stallion finally asked. "Other than 'white with a black face'. I saw that much."

"Whooping crane," Fleur informed him. I'll have to tell Fluttershy. "It's just passing through. It won't stop until it's pretty close to the northern border." And executed a mobile shrug. "It's still migration season, Caramel. A lot of things are just passing through." The problems usually came with the ones who stayed.

She glanced down at him. Forced herself to look at the latest experimental disaster of a mane, and then made a pair of temporal comparisons.

Oh. Right.

"I'm sorry," she belatedly told him.

His brow knit. Several false boulders failed to tumble.

"For what?"

Two more clacks, quickly stopped.

"Anypony else?"

"Can we just get back to Zephyr? You always want to know about disruptions in my life. He qualifies."

"Most of the session has been about Zephyr," the griffon said. "Understandably. We're going to come back to him shortly. I just want to hear about how the day ended. For the Ponyville portion, before you went back to the cottage."

Fine. "We talked about his mane. The original version. I apologized again. Then I stopped by the library. Well, we did. Twilight has a small printing press in the basement. I had to pick up the posters --"

"-- you're smiling."

"I picked them up from Spike. We didn't get much of a chance to talk, though." But at the very least, she'd gotten to see him. "After that, I was mostly just putting up the Adopt-A-Pet announcements on the town's notice boards."

"With Caramel."

Fleur shrugged. "It kept him with me."

"As free labor," the other female said.

The smile was starting to fade.

"I did most of the work. I had the tacks, and it's easier to apply them with a field. And I needed to spend some time with him. He's looking again: I just told you that. I can do some of the initial sorting. That part is getting easier --" and now it was completely gone "-- at least when he listens to me. I know he's willing to experiment in order to keep a partner: some of his pieces almost have a reflective sheen. And I've figured out where a few of the limits on that are. But when he strikes out on his own --"

The oversized talons, a little too big for the tiercel (while being perfectly suitable for the harpy eagle which reflected the avian portion), tapped again. Dark fur rippled along the panther sections.

"As I understand it," the griffon said, "you gave Caramel a chance. And did so when a lot of mares wouldn't. In fact, you did so after a number of them tried to warn you away from him."

Fleur snorted. "Some of the reputation is his fault: I'm not going to deny that. But not all of it. And he's getting better. And --" she didn't want to say it and knew that if she didn't, the other female would "-- I was using him at the start. I told you that. I picked him out because he could be used."

"And then you stayed."

"He needs a guardian." If anyone should understand that...

"You gave him a chance," the griffon reiterated.

"We both know you're going somewhere with this," Fleur irritably declared. "So why don't you skip to it?"

Griffons had considerably more muscles around their eyes than a pure bird. It gave them a significant range of expressions, compensating for the inflexible beak. And Fleur, who had grown up in Protocera, knew how to read every last one.

I'm irritating you again. But when it came to her sessions with Tria Lorem, irritation could be the least of it.

Fleur didn't like seeing her psychiatrist.

It had been one of the conditions attached to her pardon: a requirement for Fleur to enter therapy. And it had turned out to be dual.

Princess Luna had begun to visit her dreams early on -- but the alicorn only worked the night shift, and there were only so many hours she could spare for Fleur. So Celestia had searched for somepony who might be able to manage the sessions under Sun and when that had failed, had readily switched into retaining someone.

Griffon residents within Canterlot made up a noticeable minority. Between permanent residents, the occasional citizen, and embassy employees, there were enough to populate the micro-neighborhood known as the Aviary. They had their own restaurant (singular), some shops which specialized in imported goods -- and, because griffons didn't fully share biology with ponies, there was a medical clinic. Something which very much included a psychiatric center.

Ponies and griffons didn't fully share biology. Ponies who'd grown up in Protocera tended to pick up most of the griffon mindset. And Celestia had checked over the clinic's staff until she'd found the one tiercel who had experience in treating those whose bodies didn't fully match their hearts.

It could be argued that Fleur had been lucky, just in having the Solar Princess locate anyone at all. But she didn't have a particularly high opinion of psychiatrists. Her escort training had included taking one supposedly-crucial class with them, and each group had regarded the alien life form on the other side of the aisle.

There had been a little tentative dating, at least from the third week on. (The psychiatrist group had included marked future professionals, a few students who were taking the course as an elective, and at least seven ponies who'd just shown up because they'd found out the other half of the class would be composed of prospective escorts.) None of that had involved Fleur, because she hadn't been interested. Psychiatrists had access to secrets -- and operated under a code of honor which kept all of them locked away. They wouldn't even talk about their clients after sex, so what was the point? Besides, she'd been able to see their puzzles. Something which had not only invalidated half of the textbook, but also served to teach her that the majority of those ponies were incredibly bland -- while the remainder were presumably entering the profession in an attempt to find some way of reconciling their own tastes.

Everypony in the class was theoretically present to learn about pony sexuality, and Fleur knew how much the textbooks had wrong. So if they couldn't even get that right...

"Have you told him about your talent?"

Fleur blinked.

"What does that have to do with --"

"It relates," Doctor Lorem suggested. "Have you?"

The unicorn tried forcing her most visible muscles to loosen. It didn't help. She had the capacity to use her trick upon herself, but the glowing field was another layer of giveaway.

Psychiatrists. A word which, when expressed within the privacy of her skull, would have needed to gain multiple levels of respect just to reach 'snide'.

Protocera operated by The Great Chain: something which was known to create a few problems. In particular, when it came to medicine, the needs of dominance meant any physician had to establish their temporary authority over those on the highest links -- and do so in something of a hurry. Patients who weren't impressed by their doctor's knowledge or force of personality tended to look elsewhere, and some had been known to rely on a decision from the individual who was assumed to be the ultimate authority on their bodies. The real problems started to crop up when said ultimate authority found the wrong article, completely failed to understand it, and decided to treat their own ringworm with a very long, rather thin, and extremely hot metal rod. This killed the ringworm. It also had a good chance to permanently scar the patient, especially as the beak tended to lose some fine control on the rod's grip when the screaming started.

Griffon physicians tended to specialize: something which made it all the easier to dominate in a limited category, along with allowing them to more readily admit when a problem was outside their range and offer a referral. But when they fell ill, they notoriously became some of the worst patients on the planet. And a psychiatrist, who had to be trusted, needed to have those in their charge treat them as a guardian.

Fleur still wasn't sure. There had been an expected social wrestling match during the first meeting, and the results had only been accepted on a For Now basis. This was accompanied by a hefty side dose of I'm Letting You Believe I Lost.

"My talent is just about a national secret," Fleur darkly reminded the griffon. "I don't go around casually talking about it."

"But you're allowed to decide whether you want to tell somepony," arrived with a shuffle of feathers and slow sway of the dark tail. "You could tell him. If you wanted to."

"And how would he take it?" Fleur's forelegs shifted away from each other, with the hooves approaching the borders of the nest. "To know that the very first time we met, I --"

"-- you could tell him that you've been trying to screen mares on his behalf. You've told me that you've given him hints on how to proceed before this --"

With fast-rising volume, mostly because that was something honest and besides, the griffon couldn't kick her out of the office no matter how much Fleur would have appreciated an early release "-- I told him it was body language. Not looking into somepony's head. Some of the Bearers didn't exactly take that well, and they've been through more than he has! If he found out --"

"-- he might not give you a chance to explain?" the griffon asked. "To tell him how much you've changed? And to apologize, and say how sorry you are -- but he's still your charge, if he'll accept you as his guardian?"

The unicorn's forehooves slammed together. Little pieces of freshly-chipped hoof polish flew in all directions.

"I haven't even told him I'm from Protocera --"

"You've given Caramel a chance," the griffon repeated, because naturally a psychiatrist just couldn't let something go at twice. "Quite a few Ponyville residents have given you one. And now you have Zephyr in town. Somepony who's done at least one bad thing, and your count is likely much higher. But ponies can change, Fleur. Any sapient potentially could." Thoughtfully, "I would have named an exception as recently as last week, but I swear to you that I saw an ibex in the Heart two days ago."

"An ibex..." was as far as Fleur got.

"The poor doe was trying to read a notice board. Looking for a job." The half-crest of feathers atop the head shifted with the slow shake. "And she'd never seen a griffon before. I didn't make a very good first impression when I landed next to her. It took a while to settle her down. I'm not telling you to trust Zephyr, because he may not deserve it. I'm asking you to -- let him talk. Explain, if he wants to. Can you give him that much, while watching to make sure he doesn't hurt her again? Can you offer some degree of chance? Because you rejected him before he could truly talk. The same way you're afraid Caramel would reject you."

The unicorn, making sure all of the muttering stayed within her mind, slowly, carefully settled back into the nest.

"A chance," she tried out, just to see how it tasted on her tongue. "I have a very real reason to believe Caramel's reaction would be -- let's say 'negative'. Her brother had to know she wouldn't be happy to see him. If he has any self-awareness at all." She didn't bother to repress the snort. "I've got some doubts there. And you didn't hear how he spoke to her."

"You repeated the words."

"It's also the tone." Mockingly, "'So anyway.' 'So anyway.' Over and over." The repetition was beginning to make the word choice feel somewhat... off. "He could be a real risk. He could do a lot worse than just trying to rob her again. Miranda hasn't gotten back to me yet --"

"From what you said, it's only been two days."

Two days of half-unfolded wings and her tail just dragging around the cottage while part of her mane falls forward.
Two days where she has to be reminded of how to be happy.
That she's allowed to be happy.
What if it's a week?
A moon?
More?

"-- and that probably just means he doesn't have an active warrant in Canterlot. There's a lot of continent left, and that's assuming he hasn't crossed borders --"

"-- again," the psychiatrist cut in, "I'm not saying to offer him immediate trust." The very tip of the tail twitched. "I think I might know you well enough to not expect that as a real possibility. But you do like to listen, Fleur. You give ponies the opportunity to talk, because that lets you find out what the words are. So screen him. See what he says. If nothing else, it'll give you more to work with."

"She's the guardian," was a natural counter. "She doesn't want him there."

"It doesn't have to be at the cottage," Doctor Lorem calmly stated. "And Fleur... at some point, you will have to start sharing her link."

Because no one can remain a charge forever. Not unless they're completely helpless.
But she's the stronger...

"Will you think about it?" the griffon asked. "About talking to him, in a neutral setting?"

I think it's stupid.

But there was a chance it would give her more information to pass on.

The office temperature was somewhat higher than the outside air. Another reminder of home.

Another falsehood.

She was supposed to be honest while in a room where everything was a lie.

"Yes."

What did being honest with a psychiatrist accomplish? You talked about your life, about all of the pain which had filled the years. Fleur had taken that pain and forged it into a weapon against the world, because that had given it a purpose. Therapy was supposed to be about making the pain actually go away, and...

Honesty apparently required that she talk about her pain. Something which brought it back. Made her relive it.

Why was honesty a virtue? An Element? What did practicing it actually gain anypony?

When was the pain supposed to start fading?
When did it get easier?
What was the point?

"We're almost out of time," the tiercel noted. "And I know you have an air carriage to catch."

Fleur held back the smirk. She'd signed an agreement which required her to enter therapy, on palace orders. Accordingly, she'd told the palace that if the only suitable psychiatrist was in Canterlot, forcing Fleur to lose multiple hours every week to train travel -- then the palace could also bucking well arrange for a faster form of transportation. And pay for it.

She didn't want to be in therapy. But she still relished every chance she found for surgically extracting bits from the national budget.

"So I just want to ask one more question," Doctor Lorem said. "How are your dreams?"

No.

"We've been over this," the unicorn snidely offered. "That's more of a topic for Princess Luna --"

"-- who has an entire nation to worry about," countered the tiercel. "You know she sends me her notes. That's part of my contract." The same paperwork which had sworn Doctor Lorem to a level of secrecy which went beyond the normal doctor-patient relationship, and formed the reason why Fleur could freely speak about her talent -- along with a few select missions.

The personal ones.

"I know about the contract," Fleur tightly said. "And the notes."

"And that's how I know she hasn't been able to visit your nightscape in the last two weeks," the psychiatrist told her. "I also know that even when she does go into a dream, she may not necessarily get the one she wants. And you are the only mare I know who remembers her dreams in exacting detail. You know which ones I'm talking about, Fleur. How are they?"

"It doesn't matter," Fleur quickly said. "I'm in the cottage. Even when Fluttershy isn't there, the nest --"

"There are times when you don't sleep at the cottage -- and before your defense mechanisms get your mouth all the way open, Fleur, that is not what I meant." The beak briefly clacked, and talons tapped all the faster. "I will never imply infidelity with you, and you're fully aware of that. But you see yourself as protected, and there are times when that protection is absent. When you aren't there. You dream when you're away from the cottage. Away from her. There's been multiple opportunities for that, and they may keep coming up..."

The griffon had been cleared for multiple details, and it was the currently-unspoken ones which made the dark grey feathers shudder.

"You've always had trouble with your dreams, and a dream can be your mind trying to send itself a message. Something which can show a change. How are they?"

The former escort took a deep, forced breath, and made herself tell the truth.

"They... have been changing. Here and there."

"How?" was a natural question. Fleur fully understood that. It didn't do anything to mitigate the resentment.

"I'm still going back to when the door collapsed," she slowly, carefully told the griffon. "The zanustraches charging out of the broken pen. But... there's been a few times when Gratia... isn't there. When she doesn't get hurt."

The top and bottom halves of the beak slightly parted, stayed that way. A griffon's smile.

"Which, in one interpretation," the psychiatrist said, "could mean that your subconscious is finally starting to reconcile what you've been told over and over. That the failure of the protective spells wasn't your fault. You're not assigning yourself the same amount of blame for what happened. It's progress, Fleur."

And the former escort let it go at that. Because she'd said all which was needed. All that she wanted to say.

It had been two weeks since Princess Luna's last nightscape visit. The alicorn couldn't be there all the time and when she did arrive, she didn't always get the right dreams. Truths one and all.

When Fleur was in this room, she was supposed to be honest. But if Applejack could theoretically lie by omission and still qualify to hold the Element, then why couldn't Fleur?

The dreams are changing.

They were.

Let's Call This 'In-A-Mood Lighting'

She moved through an elevated corridor of Sun-lit false safety as the half-thwarted storm grew, and thought about how artificial the pony-enforced peace truly was. How... fragile. Because she was on her way back from the one place where she was supposed to be honest, and it somehow made her feel as if she was flying through a world made of lies.

(She blamed Dr. Lorem. Every time.)

Long before the first train had ever made its way down the rails, there had been roads. Ponyville's oldest travelway was a cleared ground corridor of spell-arranged relative protection which went from the settled zone to the base of the mountain which hosted the capital. The train tracks followed that original path, while leaving plenty of space on both sides for ponies who had carts to haul, or who just wanted to take the day trot. Almost exactly a gallop of distance to cover, and then the routes would diverge: the train heading for the series of carefully-cut tunnels and switchbacks which would bring it up the slopes, while hoof traffic was diverted towards Seabiscuit Bridge and the older ascent.

Train tracks. Roads. But the pegasi had their own travel needs, and so there was also an air path: a techniques-carved route through the atmosphere, paralleling the old road from above while offering its own protections from the monsters which could chase those who made their way with wings.

And where you had air paths, you sometimes found air carriages.

It was spring, and the palace had switched Fleur's transport to a more classic model: something which lacked the fabric dome which had gotten her through the winter. She had the option to stand at the very front of the passenger area (because it was just her, plus a pair of hauling pegasi attached by half-flexible harnesses, flying about four body lengths ahead), right up against the partial enclosure: the highest point on the failed wall was just short of her sternum. It was the location which supposedly afforded the best view. A position which, in the theory only retained by those who'd never actually used that form of transport, would have had the wind...

...but that was the first of the lies.

(Her first air carriage ride into Ponyville had been within a more enclosed carriage. Something with full walls and a roof, because that had been seen as a way to keep her from making a break for it before the thing could fully achieve altitude. What it had possessed in barricades had been countered by the total lack of viewing panels. And then the palace pegasi had quite literally dumped her into Miranda's yard.)

If she moved up to the front, and looked...

The air path was directly above the railway, and that shared its space with the old road. Looking down granted the possibility for catching some glimpse of the train, and Fleur could take the chance because they were too high up for the steamstack ventings to reach her fur and mane as anything more than a tiny increase in the humidity. But she usually didn't get to look at the linked rail cars for long. The air carriage moved faster than the railway, usually overtook it in less than a minute. Any ponies providing the old road with a share of hoof traffic were generally within her view just long enough to almost be identified. At most, she could occasionally guess when a cargo cart was on its way to the World's Stupidest Store: the sofas tended to shift awkwardly within the holding area and if there were any gaps in the wood, the cart would inevitably stop to retrieve lost quills.

Glancing back located the capital: the palace and Gate stood out, but the little dip of the plateau which took place just behind the latter made it impossible to spot the Heart. Turning her attention straight ahead found the ring of farmland which made up Ponyville's truest border -- and at her current distance out, when it came to distinguishing features for the residential portions of the settled zone, it was just about all she could see.

A few major landmarks were always visible: she never failed to find the dam. But with buildings? It was a cluster of colors near the center of the land which had been won in the Founders' war against the wild zone. She could take a guess at which blotch represented Town Hall, and tilting her gaze in the proper direction from there might lead her to the Boutique. And she always knew which way to look in order to find the cottage, but...

It was spring. She was still too far out to spot the cottage itself: the grounds were camouflaged by the surrounding greenery, and having all of the sod on the roof didn't exactly help. But there was a new path which had been carved out of the forest or rather, crushed into existence. The debris created by the march of monsters had been cleared away -- but the gap had yet to fill in.

Fleur couldn't see the cottage. She could only make out part of the gap which just barely curved around the grounds, a reflection of Sun's light from the new river, and -- if she looked at exactly the right moment -- a somewhat larger vacancy within the woods. The place where something else had once been.

She could freely regard all of it from her position at the very front of the carriage's half-open enclosure, with every last portion illuminated by Sun's light. And when she did, she felt as if she was staring into falsehoods. Something which should have been an affront to Honesty, instead of serving as its home.

The unicorn was standing at the very front of an air carriage which moved faster than the train. Wind should have been blasting against her. Something which would hit her with enough force that she might have been struggling to keep her hoofing, dictating that she lower her body behind the scant protection of the half-wall simply to keep herself from being knocked out of the carriage. But copper wire wound through the metal, conducting pegasus magic, and... there was no wind. The vast majority of air flowed around the carriage, with just enough getting through to provide Fleur with a fresh current to breathe. It was barely enough to ruffle her fur. It was one of the many effects meant to keep her safe in a conveyance so exposed, directly accompanied by those which maintained a comfortable level of warmth at altitude. Additional enchantments stabilized the carriage itself, kept it from being jolted too harshly when the pegasi needed to shift in a hurry: the air itself seemed to act as a bracing cushion.

But it also made Fleur feel as if the only true sign of movement was the steady approach of Ponyville's horizon. As if the journey itself was at least partially a lie.

Her path, and Ponyville, were lit by Sun. That was what the settled zones wanted, and so that was what had been dictated by the weather schedule.

(She briefly wondered how much decision time Rainbow truly had. It would be easy for the Bureau to change its collective mind on the deadline, deciding to force the issue. When it came to some government agencies, paperwork could consist of the lies which had been written down.)

Equestria claimed a significant amount of territory within its borders. When it came to establishing some form of control, the settled zones totaled up to about six percent of the land. Ponyville, just like every other 'civilized' area in the nation, was surrounded by a wild zone. And Fleur, a unicorn who'd grown up in Protocera and so understood that there were places in which weather wasn't scheduled, who could translate 'forecast' without resorting to a dictionary and needing two hours to recover from the shock...

Looking forward found sunlight, and glancing back would gain a clear glimpse of the home of the mare who made sure the orb continued to provide it. Any true examination for the sides of the air path had to peer through the storm.

The corridor of the air path offered clear skies. To the left and right, clouds billowed, twisted as they tangled with each other, steadily darkening with the increasing burden of greater mass. Ponyville, a pocket of life in the center of it all, was scheduled for an overnight dusting of light showers: something else which was good for budding crops. But the cottage was on the fringe. Move around the grounds while fur was slowly being saturated by the warm kiss of a gentle rain, seek out the company of a drying device after. Step just beyond the pegasus-maintained border and stand within downpour: to look up on too sharp an angle might risk having a snout flooded to the point of choking. And no matter what Rainbow and the rest of the team did, some of the water would run onto the property, while the sound of thunder filled the air and carefully-placed lightning rods did their best to keep a truly unscheduled strike off the cottage schedule.

For some of the youngest animals at the cottage, it would be the first storm, and they would react accordingly. (In particular, kittens tended to seek out dark, enclosed, soft spaces. It was best to be very careful around any blanket with a small lump in it, lest the startled distortion try clawing back.) And Fluttershy would be awake for just about all of it, moving through the cottage, checking on the smallest and most vulnerable of her charges --

-- but every so often, the pegasus would have to stop.
Look through a window.
If it was one of the oversized, free-swinging Emergency Exit styles found in a few places throughout the cottage, she might use the new gap. Otherwise, there would be a trot to the back door.
And then she would go outside. Out into the rain, up to the very border of the storm.
Checking to see exactly where that border currently was.

Prior to Fleur's arrival and -- a number of events, the cottage's finances had existed at the edge of a financial catastrophe curve. Fluttershy had perpetually been one hard push away from permanently going over the edge, and no amount of flight would have done anything to keep the bookkeeper's ink from crashing into the red. Keeping the grounds intact, the animals fed, and the cottage itself at a manageable level of perpetual repair had required multiple forever-fraying support ropes: veterinary services, kennel hosting, pet grooming, selling extra eggs to the Cakes...

It had taken Fleur some time to untangle all of it, figuring out which bits were coming in from where: stabilizing the flow had required considerable effort. But she hadn't found the strangest binding until the middle of her first winter in the cottage, when the Everfree had been going through its first truly heavy snowfall of the season. When she'd discovered Fluttershy beating the bounds.

Wild weather, pushing with sufficient force against pony magic, could weaken the border. A closely-packed series of moderate storms had a chance to bring the standing charge down over time: a truly powerful deluge might just break through directly. And so the cottage had been set up as a first-alert station, with its mistress examining the fringe to see if anything was on the verge of crossing over.

Most of that inspection was visual. When it came to pegasus techniques, Fluttershy had very little natural magic: enough to fly, stand on clouds, mold a little vapor (although it rarely held the shape for long), and to contribute a small share into any group waterspout effect. She had no ability to negate a storm on her own, or even slow one down. But she knew how to judge them. A number of strictly mundane items assisted with her evaluations: a windsock here, with a rain collection jar waiting nearby. And when all the signs said something was coming through -- that was when she sounded the alarm. Letting Ponyville's weather team know that there was something to stop.

It had taken Fleur most of a season to learn about that piece of extra responsibility, and Fluttershy still hadn't said anything about how she'd gotten the job in the first place. The former escort had decided it was likely a combination of two factors: being the only pegasus who resided in that area -- and her love's parents. A pair of veteran emergency stormbreakers who possessed enough pull with the Bureau to have reserved a place in weather college for their daughter prior to the actual birth -- and then their child had demonstrated a level of power which, when it came to weather-related employment, made her most suitable for schedule delivery. On hoof. Something which would have required far too much time away from the cottage.

Arranging for Fluttershy to gain the only ground-level position she ever could have held with the Bureau had probably been an attempt to help their beloved (but not understood) daughter in the only way they could. Fleur had occasionally wondered what else the parents were capable of managing within the bureaucracy...

She was inside the air path, moving through the clear space between storms. Every so often, a free-flying pegasus would pass her: heading for the capital, or returning home at the end of the day. A few waved, because doing all of the work with wings freed up the forelegs for something else. One paused, double-checked the date of her companion's next appointment, groaned, and then accelerated under the thrust of sheer embarrassment while knowing no amount of speed was going to let her catch up to last week.

Humidity to the left. No wind at the front. On the right, fast-building ions. And a zeppelin.

You got used to the zeppelins after a while, if you lived near the capital. As modes of travel went, they weren't all that efficient. Zeppelins were slow. The sheer gaseous bulk of the lifting envelope didn't allow it to support all that much in the way of solid mass. Under the one hoof, you did have the advantage that maneuverability was just about perfect and under one of the other hooves, any change in direction required about four minutes of lead time.

When it came to crossing the nation, zeppelins were just about useless. Just about any pegasus could outfly one. The majority of earth ponies were capable of outpacing the shadow, and the physically weakest of unicorns still had the privilege of looking at any gasbag which had been caught against a headwind and laughing at the slowpoke.

But in the capital, zeppelins could be a symbol of luxury: the mountain was nowhere near an ocean and if there was no point to the richest ponies buying a floating yacht, they could at least acquire a flying one. A few had a place in Equestria's military, because there was a trace of tactical advantage to being capable of surveying the battlefield from a near-stationary place in the air -- presuming you could keep anything from hitting the Very Large Visible Target, also known as the lifting envelope.

And then you had the tours.

Touring zeppelins took on passengers. They had bedrooms, kitchens, and all sorts of amenities offered to their guests, usually at a Slight Additional Charge -- per amenity or, when it came to some of the meals, per bite. And when it was Canterlot -- some of the airships took slow trips around the capital, letting ponies see what it all looked like from above while doing so at a speed best described as Slightly Mobile Hover. Others did the same thing for the entire mountain, and even pegasi would take that trip: the number of wingbeats required to do it naturally would generally wear them out before they got a fourth of the way around the curve. The onboard guide always tried to get a shiver out of ponies as the shadow moved over the prison.

Residing in Ponyville, however, usually meant getting a distant glimpse of the Everfree Experience.

The name didn't quite reflect the actuality. Fluttershy got more of an Everfree Experience just by checking on the property borders, while Fleur had approached some degree of the real thing through accompanying her love to visit a zebra. (Pundamilia Makazi didn't experience major snow accumulation, the hut's lone resident refused to temporarily move into town for anything short of a blizzard, and somepony always tried to check on Zecora after a storm.) The touring zeppelin followed a carefully-managed, scrupulously-maintained air path of its own design. Making sure nothing could readily breach those protections was a considerable expense, and justified as much as a fourth of the Additional Charges. The overnight tour of the Everfree Experience was for those who wanted to say they'd looked down towards danger once, and had almost risked seeing some. Most of what reached the zeppelin were distant growls, and ponies who currently existed within somewhat more security than was found at the average horror film delighted in telling themselves they were scared.

It was the illusion of having taken a chance.
Or, looked at another way, the lie.

The weather along the Experience corridor was managed, which meant that having the airship go out into a storm just served to enhance a different kind of atmosphere: after all, what could possibly be a better way of dealing with wild weather than through not truly meeting it at all? The normal path looped almost all the way to Ponyville, coming within a tenth-gallop at the furthest end of the curve -- and the protections for that last portion of distance weren't activated unless the airship needed to make an emergency landing.

You couldn't really use the zeppelin corridor for a commute. But pegasi still flew within it.

The zeppelin line did their best to discourage winged passengers from leaving the ship, reasonably pointing out that nearly all legal obligations towards their ticket buyers flew out the window at the same moment the pony did. However, the government had rather reasonably pointed out that if a pegasus happened to be going above the Everfree for some Moon-touched reason and had to reach safety in a hurry, then there was an extra protected air path right there.

Some discussions with the tour company followed, and then the capital had announced that the corporate corridor was open to all, with the company's blessing -- during emergencies. Something which had rendered just about every flying resident of Canterlot aware of the extra air path which looped out over the Everfree. And some of them had decided that as long as it was there... well, who really wanted to pay a zeppelin cruise line, anyway?

It was something of a minor sport. Get into the air path without being seen by company management, fly as far as you dared and, if spotted by a zeppelin crew, fake an instant case of Ow, My Wing: the airship was then obligated to take you back into the capital and, to add insult onto injury, couldn't officially hit their extra, unbooked passenger with any Additional Charges.

Fleur could just barely make out the Experience through the thickening clouds, and that was mostly because the airship carried lights: all the better to highlight what the passengers weren't really going to see. But the radiance seemed to thin the clouds for some distance around the zeppelin, and... there was a flyer moving ahead of the airship. The unicorn couldn't determine much more than that, because there were too many clouds in the way. The twisting vapors distorted outlines, rendered the flyer's shape into something other than that of a pony. The brief offering of a miraculously clear and utterly narrow sight line let Fleur get a glimpse of brown feathers, and... that was it.

Possibly not a pegasus. But if it was in the corridor, it was unlikely to be a monster -- and the zeppelin, which almost had to be in view of the flyer, wasn't reacting that way to begin with. There was a chance that it was just one of the larger birds. Another migrator, just passing through.

(It wasn't.)

Her air carriage followed the government's arranged path, because diverting from it was more risk than the pegasi wanted to take on. And it left Fleur staring ahead, with no true wind rippling her fur and the sight of the familiar coming ever-closer. They wouldn't turn towards the cottage until they were across the border into Ponyville proper, which meant that just about all Fleur could see in the corridor between storms was Ponyville and...

...all she could truly make out was the settled zone. And it made her feel as if she was moving through a world made of lies, because she couldn't see the cottage and that was what made the emotion rise within her heart. Not the town.

She lived there. The majority of the residents had accepted her. She had a place.

But she took the air carriage back every time, because she hadn't quite been able to make the palace pay for the other kind of escort. Seeing the same vistas and, when she recognized the ongoing presence of the inner vacuum, having the same thoughts.

It was different once she saw the cottage. But when it was the settled zone, one personal lie never managed to arise.

It was last spring.

The palace arranged the trip. The other escorts relayed us through most of it, because they didn't want us to be away from the cottage for too long. And they needed to be capable of retrieving Fluttershy in a hurry, in case -- something happened.

Most of the distance was covered by teleports. But nopony had an arrival point set up for our destination. There was no gatehouse to use. So once we were across the border, at the end of the relays... it was an air carriage. And it was the type where you have to wear safety harnesses. Lines which play around from reels on the walls. Even if you're being careful and there's only two ponies inside, it's easy to get tangled.

Trying to get untangled was...

...I was trying to keep it all inside. To hold myself together. But the wind isn't controlled, and the insulation isn't perfect. The walls of the carriage rippled. There's some ventilation to go with the viewing panels and as we started to drop, a few of the scents got through. I smelled palms. It was getting warmer with every flap, and the wings finally sounded right. There was a coconut somewhere. And then I saw the baobabs, and...

...I couldn't stop crying.

Fluttershy had to nudge me off the carriage, because I didn't want to disembark. My legs wouldn't work. As soon as I got out there, the good part of the dream would end. They would see me, and they would blame me for everything just like they always should have, and...

...they were outside. Waiting for us.

I wanted to be stronger. Stronger for them. To trot out with my head high, moving slowly so they would have the chance to see me, recognize all the changes and...

...figure out what they wanted to do...

...but I could barely move.

I couldn't get my head up.

I wanted to be stronger. But the tears were what they needed.

There were gusts of wind. The backblasts from short flights. And then it was soft feathers pressed against me, contact and whispers and love from three directions.

I was

I was finally

The Protoceran looked towards Ponyville.

(Not the cottage. Not yet.)

And she wondered how many journeys would be required before she finally felt like she was coming home.

Performing 'Rashomon' As A One-Mare Play Never Really Caught On

Checking the grounds before going into the cottage was a lot like being a ranch kid. There was a certain obligation to work and in both cases, it was a labor of love.

Besides, her hoof polish was already chipped. There was no need to remove it first.

The kennels had to be checked. Spring meant a few ponies were traveling, and the ones who couldn't bring their companions along trusted animal care to the cottage. Cleaning, making sure the occupants got some exercise, a little interaction time, and soft words for those who were still too disoriented from the change in environment to be doing anything other than growling. Fluttershy was the only one who could truly make the guests understand her, but Fleur could occasionally get a lot across on tone.

The stream was examined. Fleur noted the water level, then checked the visible state of the storm both above the cottage and across the border. They probably weren't going to see any flooding, but she fully expected the flow to be decidedly higher within the banks by morning.

A chicken coop which didn't need a touch of cleaning was a chicken coop which had never been occupied.

There was usually at least one exotic visitor being hosted on the grounds: a one-of-a-kind pet whose former owner hadn't known how to care for it, or an animal recovered from a smuggling operation which was getting some time to rest and recuperate before it was sent home. Fleur, understanding that she was doing nothing more than very slightly beating her love to it, still needed a few minutes before she located the echidna's hole, carefully made sure the entrance was protected against any excess water runoff, and never got more than a brief glimpse of frightened narrow beak for her troubles.

And then she went inside.

Fluttershy was in the sitting room, resting with her barrel and belly on the floor, surrounded by tiny felines. Something which meant Angel was going to be right there with her, because the pegasus was giving the kittens a lesson in pouncing. Careful movements of the incredible tail were good for that -- but there were always those who accidentally took it too far, and the rabbit's job was to protect the dock.

The coral fall shifted. Multiple kittens moved. Two of them went into each other, then rolled across the floor together because they'd just learned that a sibling was something that could be pounced and there was no need to stop now.

The pegasus looked up.

"...how did it go?" emerged from the visible side of the mouth. It was the most Fluttershy ever asked about the sessions, and Fleur considered that to be giving the therapy visits more local privacy than they strictly deserved.

Half her face visible.
Just half.

It wasn't a good sign.

"It went," was the most she typically offered back.

It's harder to push you. I never wanted to hurt you, but... I had to push. To get you to the point where you could go on without me.

But you never want to hurt the one you love.

It's harder. But this is two days now, when it feels like there's more of your mane slipping in front of your face every hour.

I don't want to hurt you. But I don't know how long it'll take to get him out of Ponyville. What's required to keep him from coming back. And if I go too fast, do too much...

(There was a price for that.)
(There were other dreams.)
(Eventually, Princess Luna was going to find one.)

Doctor Lorem wants me to listen to his lies.
He'll lie. I'm sure he'll --
-- but before that happens...

"I checked on Treme," the unicorn said. "She's secure for the night. Or as secure as she's going to be, when she's still so scared." The echidna was a long way from home.

"...I'll talk to her," Fluttershy promised, and all four legs shifted: hooves bracing for the push. "...I have dinner simmering, if you wanted to check on it."

Fleur nodded.

And you'll do a dozen other things while you're outside.
Because you always do.

"The kennels are fine," she told her love, trying to take one stop off the list.

Placidly, "...that's good."

"And when you get inside..." Fleur took a slow breath. "...I think we need to talk." Just a little more quickly, "If you're ready."

Don't push.
Don't push...

Fluttershy's legs nearly paused in the middle of straightening.

"...about Zephyr," the pegasus quietly said. "Is that it?"

The unicorn had to force the nod.

"About what happened the first time he was here," Fleur tried. "That's all."

Because it's something you didn't tell me about, when you finally showed me the picture. All I have is what Snowflake said, and I can't get any more from him because you were the source.
Narrow the boundaries. Offer to let her talk about just one thing --
-- is what Doctor Lorem would probably do.
Sundamn it.

"...just that?" Fluttershy softly checked.

Another breath.

"I know it's going to hurt. But... I just talked to my therapist." She wasn't happy about the possessive. "Who keeps telling me that one of the important things for talking about all of it is having someone there to listen. So if you're ready, I'll listen. But if you need to wait another day or --"

"...yes."

The unicorn had been living with the pegasus for over a year. She'd trained herself to pick up on her love's frequently-low level of volume. And the single word, wafted through the air from a weary, head-down exhale, still barely held together long enough to reach Fleur's ears.

"...but after we eat," Fluttershy quietly added. "Because if we have dinner after, then... I might not want to eat at all. I'll be back in a little while, Fleur. Please check the brown pot. I think that probably needs to be stirred soon."

And after the last dish had been washed, they were in the sitting room again.

There was more privacy available in the bedroom. Fluttershy had established multiple signals for telling every cottage resident that they needed to clear out of the bedroom now, and just about all of them led to additional sticks. But this was something which was going to hurt. And there were worse ways to talk about pain than when you were surrounded by warm curls of innocent young life.

...something else which just made Fleur think of the stupid sticks.

Both mares were technically on the floor. Fleur had arranged a number of cushions for Fluttershy, because that took away a little of the height advantage. The pegasus had more of the available kittens around her, and Fleur had gotten used to it. She didn't have that talent, and there were some situations where you just had to settle for second place.

They remained still for a little while, close enough to touch. Letting the newborns get comfortable. Waiting.

The first drops of soft rain struck the front of the cottage. A gust lightly rattled the back door.

"...I'll have to check that," the pegasus observed. "The wind shouldn't be so strong this early --"

-- stopped. Sighed, as her head went down. Tilting to the right, with the mane shifting accordingly.

"-- later," Fluttershy decided. "...I can check it later. Because doing it now is stalling. We can talk, Fleur. But... just about that one visit. Just what he did..."

The single visible eye slowly closed.

"...before you were adopted," the pegasus went on, "you were a lone foal. And then you had a sister. So you know both sides of it. I don't. Zephyr... is younger than me." And for the first time in days, her lips quirked into a smile. "...older than you, though. Not by much. He's an adult, but... just on the calendar. Maybe not in his head."

She sighed. The kittens, who already recognized certain signals, pressed a little more tightly. Angel redoubled a thumping claim to the soft right shoulder and refused to move.

"...I remember him being there," Fluttershy quietly said. "For just about everything I can remember. For being a lone foal, it's... like it never happened to me. I know I was, for a while. But I barely have anything from that time. He's... just about a constant. Because usually, when we went anywhere -- we had to go together. If our parents were away, if there was a storm somewhere and they had to help... then we were almost always watched together. There were only a few times when I was away from him. Flight camp was one of them."

Where you fell.
(Rainbow still didn't know if she'd been the one responsible.)
Where you nearly died.
Just about every major event in Fluttershy's life seemed to center on coming close to death. Pulled into deepest relevance by the ultimate gravity.

"...but for the rest," her love informed Fleur, "...almost always there. Until the day I went to ground. And that's part of why it's so hard to talk about him, Fleur. There's too much. It's... probably the same reason you don't talk about your birth mother very often..."

This time, Fleur's head dipped.

"...I'm sorry."

"No," Fleur heavily said. "You're right. When it's a lifetime..."

When it's all you can remember.
No matter how much you try.
No matter how much I wish.

There had been a time when her mother hadn't been sick, and Fleur... didn't remember.

Fluttershy silently nodded. The right leg reached out, and a hoof gently rubbed at Fleur's sternum for a few seconds before the limb refolded again.

"...it was about a year after I came to ground," she quietly began. "Almost the start of summer. I wasn't expecting him. I didn't expect anypony on most days, really. Nothing was very well established yet, not in the way the town saw the cottage. I had some business, a little pony traffic, but... there were a lot of quiet days. But he didn't send a letter, to let me know he was coming. I... probably would have gone under the bed, if I'd had a day to wait for. Hidden until he gave up and left. Because I'd gone a year without seeing him, without hearing him, and... when he talked, it... usually made me feel bad. About myself. I was really good at putting those words into my own head. I didn't need him for that. Having him around made it head and ears. And that was..."

The wings vibrated, and it took a visible effort to keep the tail still.

"...crowded," Fluttershy temporarily finished. "Like it didn't leave enough room for me."

Let her talk.
Her truth. His lies.
...the fantasies are okay. I can fantasize about kicking him as much as I like. I just can't actually --

"...I wasn't under the bed when he came," the pegasus softly reminisced. "It was the bridge. Beneath the span, wondering if there was any way to shore up the arch. I heard the birds. Even then, I had birds. Some of them are... still here, from those days. They remember..."

She sighed, and that too was soft -- but the emotional force of it hit Fleur like a runaway cart, because the one visible eye had just closed.

"...the worst part," Fluttershy said as she stared into the past, "...is that... it was almost fun."

"Fun," Fleur's hollowed tones failed to inquire.

Sun was being lowered. The encroaching night, added to the increasing cloud cover, was robbing the light from the room. Neither mare moved towards an illuminating device. They lay within intensifying shadows, and Fleur waited.

"...he... wasn't acting like... well, like Zephyr," the pegasus summarized. "Which took a while to see. It's... not so much that I decided to let him visit as just not being able to get away in time. And he didn't really have a reason for visiting. Not that he ever said. Stratuston isn't close, you know... it's about nine gallops inland from the east coast. Ponies don't make that trip without a reason, without trying, and... Zephyr doesn't try very much. He's never really had to."

Keep my horn dark.
No spikes. She knows what field spikes mean.
Just let her talk.

"...I think, looking back..." Fluttershy carefully proposed, "he was... shaken? Like something might have happened. But it was hard to see, because it was Zephyr, and -- he wasn't like that. He was always in control, especially when he wasn't. Or that's what he told himself. Or told our parents. That it was him. Not me, because... he said it sometimes. That I couldn't be in control, when I could barely look after myself..."

No field.
No field.
No field.

But Fleur could feel her tail shaking.

"...that day, though..." the pegasus slowly offered, "...I was wondering... if it was what -- having a brother was supposed to be like. I couldn't make him go away. I... didn't really know how. I sort of kept waiting for our parents to tell me that he was right, and... the usual. The same things everypony always said, when it was him. That he had to take the lead, when it was me. That he had to be right. But he... was talking to me, and some of the words didn't hurt. He wanted to see the cottage. The grounds. And I thought that if I did what he wanted, he would leave. And then..."

It was just for a second. Barely long enough to notice at all. But Fluttershy giggled.

"...he was so bad at everything. Because if I was doing something, then he had to do it better. Usually, that meant it had to be important. My talent wasn't important. Magic, techniques... those were. But it was just me to impress. So... it was like Blueblood, only -- Zephyr kept trying. I'd never seen him try at something before. Not trying and failing, and -- not making excuses." She paused. "Too many excuses." Again. "There were excuses. But he... laughed at one. Just once. After he poured most of the feed down his own throat. Once he could make sounds again, he made an excuse. And then he laughed at it. At himself. He'd never done that before, and..."

The smile lasted for less than three heartbeats.

"...it was a good day," Fluttershy said. "For a while. A good day with my brother. I... didn't know what those were like. And it was only a year after I came to ground, Fleur. There weren't as many animals... but it was harder to leave the cottage. This was where I was safe. Going into town wasn't just hard because I didn't have anypony to watch the grounds. It was hard because... it had only been a year. I only went into Ponyville if I had to. But we were having such a good day. We talked about what I'd been doing." The tone was openly amazed. "About me. And he didn't make me feel as bad. It... was so strange. To talk about the animals, about how I was managing the cottage. The eggs, and the first-alert duties -- I thought he'd say something about that, how it was all I could ever do, and..."

She stopped, and the next sigh burned into Fleur's ears. Emotional acid.

"...I had to go into town," the pegasus went on. "I'd needed to go for a few days. I kept putting it off. But he was there. And... it was a good day. I couldn't remember any days like that. I... asked him if he could just watch the grounds for me. It didn't mean much, then. Just if anypony came by, he could ask them to wait. Or if there was a new animal, to... well, I guess he mostly could have just nodded at them a lot. But I told the residents to just let him be, because... I didn't know what to warn them about. I didn't think to warn them, even after everything which had happened before. Because it had been a good day, and... I didn't know how to deal with those. I left. I did what I had to. And when I came back..."

They'd been together for over a year: enough time for Fleur to become accustomed to the silences which preceded speech. And yet, for the duration which was measured only by breath, heartbeats, and the wriggling of kittens, it felt like one of the longest pauses of the unicorn's life.

The next words were far too calm.

"...I still don't know where he got the cart."

Fleur blinked.

"The --"

"...I didn't think to ask at the time," Fluttershy wearily admitted. "I had... other things to think about. But I saw the cart first. It was a very old one. Mostly grey, but... the sort of grey you get when all the paint is gone, and the wood should have been replaced a long time ago. Some of the cottage was that kind of grey, when I got it. And it had an air hitch. That was pretty new. You've seen them, I know: where a pegasus can get into the harness, and... take the load. I saw the cart, and then... I saw some of the things around it. Nothing had been loaded yet. Just... a selection of pieces from the cottage." Slowly, "A little furniture. The pieces I'd scavenged from when stable sales ended, left out by the curb because nopony would pay for it. Some of the older equipment. I think there were a few blankets. Other things. Just... waiting to be packed. The animals, the ones who were outside... they were just milling around. Confused. Because they didn't understand what was going on, and I'd told them to let him be, and... there was a scraping sound. He came out. Pushing my couch, with his head down. The couch sort of -- fell out. Tumbling along the path..."

There was more water running down the windows now. The cottage crying, when the pegasus would not.

"...Fleur?"

The unicorn became aware that her love's visible eye had opened again. It was easy to see, with the increased light in the room.

"...your horn," Fluttershy whispered. "You have to..."

It took a moment of furious concentration before the radiant field spikes vanished.

"Sorry --"

"...don't be," her love said. "It's... just anger. It didn't do anything." And sighed once more. "I did. When I saw him come out. I... got angry. And... I wasn't used to that. Not to the point where it came out. Usually, if I got mad, if I let anypony see I was mad... then he had different excuses. Things our parents always believed, because I could barely take care of myself. So there wasn't any reason to be angry. I just... pushed it down. But they weren't there. And... it was the first time it really happened, where I got mad -- and the animals saw how angry I was, so some of them were furious -- and then they realized who I was mad at..."

She stopped, and they both waited for the burst of thunder to fade.

"...it was... a lesson," Fluttershy eventually finished. "To be more careful."

"You're allowed to be angry," Fleur immediately argued. "If I can --"

"-- your corona didn't try to reach anything," Fluttershy cut her off. "The animals -- did. And some of them remember. Still."

More thunder, but -- no flash. Something which suggested a strike well behind the cottage.

"Did they hurt him?" Fleur made herself ask.

"...no. He's... quick, when he wants to be. For a little while. He ran for the cart. Got into the hitch before they could do anything more than try to scratch him. And that was it. I didn't see him again until a few days ago. Because my parents knew... I wouldn't be visiting home often. Not with how far away they are, everything it took to get somepony looking after the cottage, and -- not knowing if they would even be there. It was easier... for them to come here. And that only happened a few times. But they never brought Zephyr."

Immediately, "Did you tell them?"

"...no. There... wasn't much point."

The unicorn heard the resignation. The weight, and just barely managed to push some portion of it off into the future.

"...so that's what happened," Fluttershy finished. "Why I don't want him here." Her head shook, just enough to clear a little bit of manefall, and she looked at the living half-blanket. "...everyone has to move now. I need to get up. Turn on the lights..."

"I'll get them --"

"-- I have to start the border check. I need to get up anyway --"

Fleur moved. So did Fluttershy.

The mares, both standing, looked at each other. Each winced.

"I'll get the lights," Fleur said. "Please."

Fluttershy nodded. Fleur trotted to the first, activated it. A few of the shadows were falsely banished.

You keep secrets, when you're a couple. You tell little lies to keep the peace.
But you have to decide which ones are worth it, because some words could cost you everything.
And there are things she's probably going to learn on her own.

She didn't want to say it. She had to.

"I told Miranda."

In one sense, the lone visible eye wasn't staring at her. Fleur knew what the true stare looked like now -- but never from the receiving end. Even witnessing it happen from a distance could be discomforting, but -- it was part of who her love was.

Fluttershy had accepted Fleur's talent and origins. The unicorn accepted the pegasus, for all that she was. Even when so few others truly knew about any of it, and those who did had so much trouble understanding the why.

But they wanted to keep Kindness happy.

Too steadily, "...how much did you tell her?"

Here we go...

"That there had been a robbery attempt," Fleur admitted. "No details, because I didn't have them. But I asked her to look for active warrants across the continent, in case he'd tried it somewhere else. That was a few days ago. Nothing yet. I thought that if he did have something current, and it started looking for him -- he'd leave."

"...or," Fluttershy quietly observed, "...he could wind up in prison."

"Which still effectively makes him leave," offered up some classic Protoceran boneyard humor. "Possibly for several years. Not counting the chance of early parole."

There was no laugh, and Fleur hadn't really been expecting one -- but the sudden downcast eye and sorrowful expression shocked her.

Did I just --
-- if she doesn't want --

"Fluttershy?" she quickly asked. "I --" And realized she didn't really have anything to follow the pronoun, because she couldn't exactly call Miranda off --

"-- I don't want him here," the pegasus whispered. "Because I know how he makes me feel, and I don't want to feel like that again. Because I can't trust him. But at the same time... he's my brother. And when I think about my anger, and that I can't trust him... it makes me feel like I failed. That I did something wrong, that I failed because I don't want him here. He's my brother, and... doesn't that mean I should love him?"

The thunder went off again, nearly drowning out the call of some rather wet birdsong. Neither mare truly listened to that, because Fluttershy seemed to be waiting for Fleur's answer, and... the unicorn was listening to her own thoughts. Hoping for words to miraculously arise from within.

Nothing came.

Finally, Fluttershy's shoulders and hips slumped.

"...did you tell anypony else?"

"Just Miranda," Fleur promised. "Not the others. Because you haven't told them yet, and -- I wanted to leave that to you." A little more quickly, "But he's still in town, as far as I know. Somewhere. And that might mean you have to tell them."

She hadn't been expecting the little smile, either.

"...thank you," Fluttershy offered. "For... making it my decision. I don't want to, but... at least I'm the one who gets to --"

The birds went off again, and did so one second before the knocks hit the door.

It was possible to time the sounds, and just about every interval would have matched to two decimal places. It was the sort of knock which was delivered by a mare who was counting off the seconds between hoof impacts, and also using the delay to worry about whether she was being properly polite about the whole thing. The sounds were emerging from a fairly low place on the wood.

So of course there's an emergency. And Fluttershy was closer to the door --

-- the pegasus got there first, opened it onto the lighter side of the storm, and there was a moment when Fleur couldn't see who was outside.

Which, in some ways, was the first clue.

"I need to come in," Twilight said, with the words making their way past Fluttershy's shadow. "I'm sorry for dropping by at this hour --" and the little mare's wet head appeared at the right side of the blocking yellow form, neck straining forward as she tried to look inside "-- but this could be really important --"

-- which was when she spotted Fleur.

The blush was immediate. Fleur's natural presumption was that the tinge of accompanying corona which briefly lit Twilight's horn came from an instinctive desire to counter the unicorn's talent.

"-- I'm not interrupting something, am I?" the alicorn awkwardly asked. "Because I think this is important enough to interrupt. But I'd really rather -- if it's something you two need to..." The blush visibly intensified. "-- finish..."

"...we were just talking," Fluttershy skillfully interrupted. "Come in."

She stepped aside, and the alicorn entered. Fleur fetched a towel.

Twilight almost never teleported to the cottage, because ensuring safety on the arrival end meant maintaining an empty space. It was possible to pick something outdoors, but -- animals wandered. The long-term residents could be asked to avoid a roped-off area: the newborns needed some education time, and the alicorn dreaded arriving in the same space as a living being, having her arrival point displaced into rebounding ropes, and subsequently falling on someone.

And you didn't have to know the librarian for very long before realizing that her flight skills were still a work in progress. Twilight generally walked, occasionally trotted, and reportedly did rather well in endurance races -- but she seldom casually flew. And now her feathers were in disarray, while the drip pattern from wet wings indicated that the joints had been both unfolded and active. The mane stripe was also rather visibly out of alignment.

An upset alicorn. In the capital, that was an especially bad thing. For Ponyville, it potentially indicated the need to consult on a future scroll. (It had taken some time for Fleur to learn about the scrolls. She'd never sent one herself, and had no intention of ever doing so. 'Dear Grimcess' probably wasn't going to go over well.) And since there had been no flash of warning fire, it couldn't be a mission...

Fleur's corona offered up the towel, receded from a corner to allow Twilight a chance at taking custody. The little alicorn accepted, and draped the glowing fabric across her back before letting her horn go dark. Rubbing down with an active corona did odd things to the water.

'Little.' Still true, but... Twilight was visibly taller than she'd been a year ago: the minimal starting point meant every fresh difference stood out all the more. Fleur was also feeling oddly height-sensitive.

"So I was just in Barnyard Bargains," the librarian abruptly began, because social cues and proper points for launching a conversation occasionally felt like scrolls-in-waiting.

Fleur internally offered up a modicum of respect to an alicorn who did her own shopping.

(Well, some of it. Spike ran a lot of errands, and Fleur had struggled to make sure his allowance reflected all of the work time. There was also a guest staying at the tree, and she presumably left it on occasion. Possibly to do some shopping, for whatever was still available after Moon was raised.)

"...if there's a sale I need to know about," Fluttershy cautiously tried, "it's a little late to head over. And I need to start a border check soon. The storm --"

"-- there was this stallion," Twilight cut in, and Fleur's heart grew cold.

(There would be a pattern of sorts: an aspect which required some time to fully identify. A decision would be under consideration, and then...)

It was raining faster now.

"Tall," the alicorn added. "Sort of aquamarine. I think his mark talent might be keeping gravity from noticing his mane. And he was at a cashier station, talking to Mr. Rich. I think the cashier sent for him, because they usually don't want to manage that kind of request on their own. Not when somepony's asking if they can start up a line of store credit. And you know Mr. Rich: he wants to be reasonable, especially when somepony's new in town and might just be getting started. But there's questions he has to ask. If somepony's working. If they have a permanent address set up. And when that wasn't helping, he asked the usual. If there was anypony who could vouch for the stallion, somepony local..."

The small left forehoof came up, and almost succeeded in slamming down again. The resulting echo was still somewhat lacking.

"Fluttershy," Twilight angrily declared, "there is a stallion in Barnyard Bargains trying to get a credit line through claiming to be your brother. And I know he isn't related to the other brothers, because that's the stupidest con ever! So I'm asking if you can come with me, so we can both tell Mr. Rich --"

"-- um..." Fluttershy said. All four yellow hooves shuffled, and did so without actually going anywhere. Slightly-oversized wings unfolded, then curled partway back in. "...um..."

"Fluttershy?" the alicorn carefully asked, with every feature visibly fighting not to twist with confusion. "I know you still don't like confrontation all that much, but this --"

"...um..." Fluttershy voiced, and Twilight stopped.

The rest took a while.

Anutter Brutter?

It hadn't just been about finding out who all of the Bearers were, during the early part of what she'd once seen as her durance -- and again, anypony who felt she'd taken a surprisingly long time in doing so was welcome to both confront the ways in which the settled zone protected them and try to deal with having one's primary information source as Fluttershy.

There was also the question of how they interacted with each other.

Fleur had worked her way into more than a few gangs. (The majority had been social clubs with insignias, providing little more than a place where she could rest. Others had been considerably more serious about it.) She understood that every group was going to have its own dynamics. Some bonds would be stronger than others. More fragile connections might be constantly tested by the weak acids of ongoing arguments. There were favorites, sapients who only managed to maintain identification with a group through hovering on the outskirts of any gathering, and she could just about always find that one griffon who was just waiting for everything to go wrong because that way, the first enemies had already been chosen.

She'd needed to watch the Bearers interact because she... had been trying to figure out how to work her way in. It would have helped if one (or more) had been attracted to her, but simply liking Fleur would have been something of a boon. And once she knew what the disagreements were, picked out the little social wounds which never fully healed and followed that by subtly picking at the scabs -- when she not only knew how the group worked, but had isolated sufficient levers to provide her with the force required to move the majority...

There had been a time when Fleur had seen her time in Ponyville as a durance or, more accurately, a prison sentence: the tracking spells built into the titanium circlet on her right foreleg more than hinted at the latter. It had led to what she'd seen as a perfectly understandable tendency to search for some way out of it.

But things had changed.

(The situation had changed.)
(Fleur...)

Working herself into the group... she'd accompanied them on two missions, and she still didn't feel as if that had truly happened. They accepted her presence in Fluttershy's life, but -- Fleur wasn't sure just how much of that was about keeping the pegasus happy. If the couple was ever pushed apart --

-- if Fleur ever made a mistake --
-- the last mistake --

-- she was almost sure Rainbow would keep talking to her. Possibly the farmer as well, depending on just how it all ended: Applejack liked Fleur, and... the former escort wasn't always sure why. But Rarity's gratitude over Sweetie might only go so far. Pinkie... there was a single true link, because both mares had been adopted. It gave them something to talk about -- but the unicorn wasn't sure it was enough. She didn't want to lose her time with Spike. And Twilight...

Fleur unnerved the little alicorn. The librarian had never been comfortable with her own sexuality: something which had been made all the worse by the arrival of wings, because that had quickly been followed by all of those whose dreams resided at the intersection of feathers and something not quite bone. Getting used to somepony who was so open about her own sex appeal would have been a challenge before the change, and when Fleur factored in Twilight's ongoing skittishness regarding the unicorn's talent...

But they accepted her as part of Fluttershy's life, even if that might only hold true for as long as the pegasus felt the same. And she wasn't truly part of the group, any more than Snowflake was. (She often felt as if he was more welcome among them. He didn't have a criminal record.) And it let her watch all the ways in which they interacted, if from a moderate distance. It had let her learn a number of things, and too many of them would have served as barrier-breaking gossip for the highest levels of Canterlot society. Just for starters, the mere existence of Fleur's original assignment had fully disproven the group marriage miniherd theory.

And it was amazing just how much they all pissed each other off.

There was a group, and it was composed from seven very different personalities. (Any fair count had to include the little dragon.) The workaholic didn't always want to deal with the napper -- who had just failed to meet the compulsive organizer's schedule requirements, and that level of obsession wasn't sitting well with a designer who wanted to know why everypony wasn't obsessing over her problems, and the baker's attempts to get everypony in the same room to talk it out could easily wind up wrecking the meeting area. Which assumed the caretaker was part of 'everypony', because any fight which became too loud...

They argued. They clashed. Come to know the assemblage, and you might start to swear that the only real commonality was in occasionally wearing pieces from the same line of oddly-designed jewelry. But they also reflected each other in small ways, and all of the mares intersected at Spike. Every last one loved the little dragon in their own way. They weren't always speaking to each other, but they would always talk to Spike -- and there were times when it made him the peacekeeper.

(Fleur had tried discussing the matter with Twilight, pointing out that it was a significant burden to place upon a youth. The little alicorn had sighed, and sadly said that she didn't know who else was capable of carrying it.)

The former escort knew more about them now. She watched some of the interactions, usually from that moderate distance. And she was in the sitting room with Twilight and Fluttershy, because she'd wanted to provide her love with the reassurance which came from presence -- but she wasn't sharing the fainting couch, because there were times when the pegasus needed a little space. Confession could clear out a room, and just about every animal had left the area. It was down to Angel, Katherine, and a few kittens who were too young to understand how any of the rules worked.

Fleur had been going back and forth. Some of that had been fetching drinks from the kitchen, and her most recent hoofsteps had put her in a position to check on the windows: the storm seemed to be testing the border, and she needed to make sure all of the water was staying on the outside of the glass. But she was usually able to see both Bearers.

Fluttershy, who had just finished, had her head down. The body was partially curled, and the tail's movement into a defensive position was exposing some very surprised kittens. A single visible eye was roughly half-closed.

Twilight, occupying a very small portion of the guest couch, mostly looked worried. Her feathers awkwardly rustled, but... that was typical for the alicorn, who usually carried her wings as if she wasn't entirely certain whether they were supposed to be there. The smaller tail was slowly shifting back and forth, and narrow features were twisted with concern.

The librarian mostly looked worried.

"How long have we all known each other now?"

The pegasus blinked.

"...it'll be... five years at the Summer Sun Celebration. Or the day before, really." Fur shifted across a shallow breath. "...that's really something to think about. Five whole years. It doesn't feel like that much time --"

"How long," Twilight slowly said, "had we all known each other when I first told you about Shining?"

It was mostly worry. There was also a certain undercurrent of irritation.

The pegasus winced.

"...a little under two years."

"And how much grief did you all give me?" was a natural query. "For not bringing him up before that? For -- how did Rarity put it? -- oh, right. For treating a sibling as a cross between classified information and something I just couldn't be bothered to mention?"

"...a lot," Fluttershy softly acknowledged.

"And we're going on five years now."

Silence.

"And you're just bringing this up. For the first time. In nearly five years. And only because he's in town and you don't have any other choice."

The quiet began to echo.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

The pegasus visibly thought it over, and a lowered head offered a response to limp forelegs.

"...don't be mad just because I beat your record."

Twilight blinked.

The alicorn didn't seem to find that form of reaction to be adequate. Doing it a second time wasn't improving matters. Lancing a desperate look across the room toward Fleur just intercepted the unicorn's own blinks, and then they were both staring at Fluttershy --

-- the pegasus sighed.

"...I'm not funny," she softly declared. "Still." Her head lifted, just enough to let some of the slumping mane go under her chin. "Twilight... Shining is somepony worth knowing about."

It got a weak smile from the alicorn. "He's kind of a moron."

Fleur, who would have once seen the exchange as the world's perfect offering of future blackmail material, still had to consider the source. Siblings didn't always assess each other fairly, especially if not doing so would lead to humor. Or... hurt.

Even so... she'd only been in Cadance's presence once, and only for a few seconds. She'd been in too much shock to consider looking at the third alicorn's puzzle, and likely wouldn't have risked it in Celestia's presence anyway. Fleur genuinely didn't know if --

-- she wouldn't be the first.
I've seen pictures. He's got a decent rib cage. Good shoulders. Tail is a little too regimented. Features were fine.
Skull doesn't necessarily have anything in it.

Thickening rivulets of rainwater streamed down the glass. Fleur adjusted the lighting devices, made the room a little brighter.

"...he's good at tactics."

Twilight's lips quirked.

"He tried to deal with a tactical problem by flinging his spouse at it."

Being on the outskirts of a Bearer conversation could feel like trotting into the cinema during the movie's tenth reel, asking a neighbor for a plot summary, and being told that Reels One through Nine were classified.

"...which worked," Fluttershy quietly said. "Even if it wasn't quite... what everypony was expecting. Your brother is somepony you can be proud of, Twilight. And he's... nice. Mine... isn't. So I didn't talk about him. And you have good memories of your brother. Things you could talk about, if you wanted to. I..."

She stopped. Her head went down again, and Fleur moved closer.

Twilight sighed.

"I understand," the little alicorn gently offered. "It was just... the coincidence of it." Somewhat wryly, "Even if one of us has to quiz Rainbow and make sure she's still a lone foal." Her tones dropped. "But with him in town -- we have to know, Fluttershy. Especially if he's trying to use you as a reference, setting up a credit line --"

"-- which already tells us something about him," Fleur stated.

It had taken an effort to keep the harshness out of her voice, and being at the immediate center of the mares' attention made her wonder if she'd fully succeeded.

"Such as?" Twilight carefully asked, and discomfort set wings to rustling again. The alicorn's feathers were misaligned: dried out from the storm, but not yet preened into position -- and Twilight wasn't all that good at preening. It was lack of experience.

Misaligned feathers. It reminded her that there was something off about Zephyr's wings, and Fleur still hadn't isolated it. Something which would take additional exposure, and the maximum number of times she wanted to see him again was once. The count required to watch him leave.

"Just for starters? That he either doesn't have money," the former escort told them, "or he's trying not to spend it. Did you see what he was trying to buy?"

Twilight shook her head. "Not everything. There were some things on the sales counter, but he was sort of -- in the way. I couldn't make out what they all were. All I really saw was some tooth polish."

The unicorn nodded. Maintaining his appearance, in a time when he's being careful about resources. Of course, there were times when keeping up your looks was the best resource available.

Fleur hadn't had very much money when she'd first entered Canterlot. Getting ponies to buy her things had been the easy part.

"Mr. Rich asked if he was working, and whether he had a permanent address in town," the former escort continued. "You said that didn't help. So it was no on both?"

"No job," Twilight confirmed. "He didn't say where he was staying. It was almost like he'd barely heard that one."

And still no word from Miranda on that, or anything else. "Do you know if he established the credit line?"

The librarian shook her head. "I left as soon as he started talking about being related. I wanted to make sure Flut -- you two found out what was going on, before there were any consequences for Flu -- for the cottage. I didn't think I could get Fluttershy into town before Barnyard Bargains closed for the night --" she glanced at the nearest clock "-- and we've been talking long enough that it's too late for that now. But if we went in tomorrow morning, Mr. Rich would understand. He'd make it right."

"...there's a lot going on tomorrow," Fluttershy quietly said. "...especially in the morning. I don't know if I can --"

"-- I can go," Fleur announced. "As soon as we get through the worst of it, if you want me to go."

If you'll let me do something for you.

"...please," her love softly asked. "He'll... understand that you're there for me. And if he had the late shift tonight, then he'll take the early one tomorrow. He likes to spread things out... make sure he sees everypony..."

Twilight's slender forelegs unfolded, stretched out.

"I should head back," she announced. "Spike's going to --" and the slim features scrunched into a hard wince "-- worry. He's probably already worried, because I came straight here..." The small mare hastily scrambled to her hooves. "At least I can teleport directly back. Fluttershy -- if I see any of the others -- do you want me to tell them?"

The pegasus sighed. "...he's in town. I don't know how long he's going to be here. He might not come across any of them, but..." They both watched her think it over. "...tell them. But -- ask them not to start anything."

"Fluttershy --" Both mares, at the same time.

"-- it can... get out of control," Fluttershy softly told them. "...slip out from underhoof, and then it's never pinned down again. If he tries something... it's okay to respond. Carefully, because I don't want to post bail for anypony. But if he's not doing anything, then... just leave him alone. Ignore him. Like he isn't even there. And Fleur, if you see anypony tomorrow, you can tell them. But -- tell them that. Just that."

Ignoring a problem doesn't make it go away. It just gives the issue more freedom to act --

But it had been an instruction from her guardian.

"Okay," Twilight reluctantly agreed. "We'll be careful. All of us." One more look at Fluttershy. "You're going to be okay for tonight?"

The pegasus looked to the unicorn.

"...yes."

It took a few seconds before the little mare responded to that. But she finally smiled. And then her horn ignited, and she vanished.

"...late feedings," Fluttershy announced, and started to get up. "Come with me?"

"If you want to talk about this a little more," Fleur tried, "before I go into town --"

"...I want to do something normal," the pegasus stated. "With you."

They wound up in bed together afterwards. They lived together. They loved each other. That was normal. But one slept less than the other. Their cycles didn't match. The unicorn usually fell asleep first, needed more rest.

It took hours of close contact within the cloud's nest before they both slipped into the nightscape. Normalcy had been banished.

Mr. Rich's office had a door, and rumor claimed that it had once been found in a closed state. The presumption was that somepony had either been trying to oil the hinges at the time, or had simply succumbed to curiosity as to whether they still worked at all.

If you lived in Ponyville, getting to meet one of the continent's economic forces had all the inherent complications of stepping into a store and asking to see the manager -- because when it came to the everyday operations of the franchise's flagship, that was what he was: the manager. He helped to plan advertising campaigns. He was often caught straightening up in the aisles. There were times when he made deliveries, especially when it came to seniors who could seldom reach the store on their own. Mr. Rich typically operated at a hooves-on distance of none-removed. And he worked in an office where the door never closed, because ponies were going to come in anyway and besides, you could always just knock on the frame.

It was a very basic office. The desk was older than the owner, and featured every last one of the original scratches. The visitor's bench was nicer than that given over to the central occupant, and had seen its padding more recently refreshed. One wall featured a map of Equestria, and sixteen small pins showed every piece of non-conquered territory. There were two file cabinets, an In tray with a regular flow to the Out, and four small pieces of framed artwork decorated the area.

The office was perfectly ordinary, and the rather plain brown earth pony stallion on the other side of the desk was almost utterly unremarkable. He blended into crowds, possessed the capacity for fading into a few backgrounds, and had all the readily-identifiable characteristics of grass: an observer might not be sure of having located exactly the right blade, but one was surely as good as any other and if not, some more would be along in a minute.

If you failed to recognize that his mark was one of the few icons known to be an expression of a pure business talent... then he became very easy to overlook.

But if you knew who he was...
...then it still might not matter.
Because in Ponyville, you went into Barnyard Bargains. Told a member of the staff that there was a problem. And then you asked to see the manager.

He was looking at Fleur across the desk, and there was no particular interest in his gaze. She'd solved his puzzle some time ago, doing so during the period when she'd still felt herself to be trapped within durance and -- well, if she was going to be trapped somewhere, then effectively being locked in with one of the wealthiest single ponies in Equestria might have something going for it. An early curiosity regarding unicorns had left enough embers to potentially be stoked --

-- but she was taken. And he was dating.

Fleur looked into weary blue eyes, noted the faint bags and creases which so often underlined them, and considered recommending a cream.

"It's a very limited credit line," Mr. Rich told her. "Enough to let him get by for a while, but not much more. And the first payment is coming due soon." The rather plain stallion sighed. "I had to think about whether I was going to give him that much."

"Why?" It was a very direct question, but that just made it a good lead-in. There was a worse one to follow.

The stallion's tired gaze briefly flickered to his mark.

"Something didn't feel right," he admitted. "Not to the point where I would have just turned him out, but... enough that I had concerns. Enough to stall him for a little while, so I could check a few things."

"Such as?" (That hadn't been it.)

A middle-aged female pegasus came down the corridor, paused at the doorway. Mr. Rich shook his head, and she moved on.

"We keep records on those who've failed to pay in the past," he said. "Something shared between franchises, as some ponies feel they can move fast enough to stay ahead of their debt." The head shake also came across as weary. "They can be right -- for a little while. It takes time for every store to update every other. We're usually a couple of moons behind. But we do all talk. And distribute the occasional picture, if anypony has one. He didn't match anypony who flew out on a bill. A blank history, at least with the franchise. But..."

Another glance at the icon on his hip.

"...I didn't feel fully comfortable," Mr. Rich continued. "So I put a stronger initial limit on it than I might have for most."

"And he tried to cite Fluttershy as a reference," Fleur checked.

It got her a nod. "But only as a relative." And a brief frown. "That was the only way he described her. As his sister. It wasn't exactly a claim I'd ever expected to hear anypony make. Not with Miss Phylia, and not when it was isolated."

Fleur's carefully-crafted right eyebrow went up.

"Isolated?"

Carefully, in tones which suggested a parent passing on a hard-won lesson to a child, "Ponies in search of credit -- or discounts, and the occasional free nudge-over -- have claimed ties to Bearers before. One said they'd been assigned to a mission, and the palace had forbidden her from explaining exactly why so much of the Cookery aisle now qualified as vital supplies. Others say they're relatives, or..."

There were ways in which it spoke well of him, that the pause before the next word had mostly given the blush a chance to rise under the fur.

"...lovers," he reluctantly finished. "But those ponies want to make me feel their needs are important. So they attach the title. Claim connection to the Bearers. And he simply invoked his sister."

Fleur took a breath.

"And did you make her liable? If he doesn't pay?"

when

Something about those tired blue eyes snapped into sharp focus, and the strengthened gaze went over her features. There was still no attraction anywhere within that regard. Just... inspection.

"Miss Dis Lee," Mr. Rich carefully said, "exactly what do you think I am?"

Her head almost dipped.

There were a lot of claims about the stallion in the settled zone, and a mare whose central acquaintance with the profit motive came from attending parties hosted by its Canterlot incarnations had found some initial trouble in believing them. But it had been more than a year...

A pony who understands that a living wage doesn't mean bare survival. Who basically pioneered the modern sick leave policy. Somepony whose mark tells him to chase bits, and whose conscience demands that they all be honest ones. Who... still has something of a blind spot where his daughter is concerned.

She would have tried to acquire him simply for the bits...

"If he fails to pay..." This sigh was deeper. "I didn't allow him to list Miss Phylia as a guarantor, because she wasn't there. She would have had to swear for him personally. And it's not exactly a secret, Miss Dis Lee: that chasing a debt can cost more than the lost amount. There are times when all I can do is write up a name and description, then pass it to the other stores. And, when possible, add a picture. So it's a limited credit line. Nothing which the franchise can't afford to lose. And... I'm hoping my instincts are wrong. The limit can be raised. Gradually, if he's faithful with his payments."

She nodded. It was about as much as she currently trusted herself to do.

"I'd ask if you wanted to be notified of unusual expenditures," he added, "but I don't feel as if I left him enough room to create any." Carefully, "Even so -- is there something I should be watching for?"

Fleur had been given permission to tell the Bearers. Mr. Rich was on the outside of that. And --

-- did ponies change?
Did anypony? Ever?
She... wasn't sure.

"I don't know," she told him. "I don't know very much about him." And there was only so much she could ask Fluttershy to tell her at once.

He nodded -- but there was something cautious in his eyes. "I'll still send word to the cottage if I feel he's getting something strange. Last night was mostly toiletries. And..." A little more slowly, "...I'm not offended, Miss Dis Lee. You're just trying to protect your own."

Her only response was to look at the artwork.

"That one's different," Fleur observed. "For style."

Mr. Rich smiled.

"You can tell?" he asked. "Mouth-drawn scribbles can blend into each other after a while."

"She was clearly trying to draw you."

"Not the best choice of subject," the stallion allowed. "But she asked me to keep it. So I put it up with Diamond's." He glanced at the most recent frame. "They go well together, don't you think?"

She looked at it for a while.

Everypony says you have a blind spot. Your daughter. It used to be her behavior, but -- you got past that, and she's better than she was. But you still miss a few things, when it's Diamond. And I don't know if you've thought about this part. What could happen when she realizes that all it takes to create a plural is one vow. Daughters.

And even so...

Dulci's lucky.

She stopped at the police station: something which didn't quite require an act of will. However, Miranda was currently failing to exist for Fleur's convenience, and waiting for the five hours required until the mare got back from the capital was going to be a waste of time. There was also very little point to asking any of the officers about how things were going, because she was fairly sure that the dark unicorn would have kept matters personal. Additionally, most of the ponies in the station had been assigned to watch Fleur at some point, several had been present when she'd been carried into the cell, and all were now aware that she worked for the palace in some capacity. It meant the station as a whole was never entirely certain as to what was actually going on with her, and it tended to color interactions in the twisting hues of mass confusion.

And after that...

She had the option to make the rounds under an overcast sky: warning the other Bearers about Zephyr. But Fleur had gained some personal experience with Twilight, and recognized that the librarian was probably going around Ponyville with a checklist, an order of vocal operations, and a map designed for maximum route efficiency. That made it easier to just head back towards the cottage.

However, when it came to tracking Bearers, one target was notoriously mobile -- right up until the moment she decided to settle in for a quick snooze. And Fleur, with no immediate plans beyond heading towards the necessary bridge, getting back onto the grounds, and being there for her love, just happened to see the sleep-limp prismatic tail dangling over the edge of the three-level store roof first.

Rainbow had landed.

Fleur felt it was most of what was currently drawing attention. There were ponies passing by on the street, and the herd was doing so at a distance: giving the two mares some space. And they didn't have a lot of viewing time to begin with, not when moving at a normal pace. The discussion was taking place at a corner: something which meant that ponies curved into sight slowly at the northern part of the turn, then vanished quickly to the east. Fleur usually had about forty seconds of warning time for the majority of approaches: more than enough to let her determine if somepony was trying to overhear. It was something she had to do over and over again, because the unicorn had ventured into town fairly early. There was something of a morning commute in Ponyville: from homes to train, or just heading to workplaces within the settled zone. It usually took a while to complete.

But they kept slowing in trot and flight, staring at the ongoing interaction, and some of that came from the shock of seeing four cyan hooves on cobblestone. Firmly planted and staying in one place.

Rainbow had landed. It was just that bad.

Fleur told the weather coordinator what she could. About halfway through, she belatedly recalled that Fluttershy had never gotten outside to perform the border check, and vowed not to tell the Bureau's most local representative. Not that Rainbow would particularly care and the pay voucher would undoubtedly come through regardless, but Zephyr was more than enough to deal with for one day. It was an understandable slip, and nopony had to know.

Which means Fluttershy may turn herself in. From guilt.

"So," Fleur quietly finished, "somepony was supposed to check. Any siblings?"

"Nah," Rainbow quickly said. "I was such an awesome kid, it would have just been mean to stick somepony else in second place." She shrugged. "I get the brother experience with Spike anyway. And then he goes home. Fluttershy's sure she doesn't want us starting anything?"

Fleur hesitated.

She'd known the group for a while, and had an easy time picturing the Bearers creating a situation which got Zephyr to leave. The difficult part was creating a scenario which left most of the town standing.

It still gets him out of what's left of Ponyville --
-- her guardian had provided instructions.

"Yes," the unicorn reluctantly said. "It doesn't mean you can't respond if he initiates."

Rainbow snorted. "If I move fast enough, I just might respond while he's still doing something. Make it Rainboom speed and I could get all the way to 'before'." Quickly, "What about pranks? I could try a few --"

"-- I think that counts," Fleur made herself say.

"Even if he doesn't know I'm doing it?"

This hesitation was longer.

"...yes."

Flower Wishes galloped in from the north, took the turn at speed and vanished to the east. Both mares, acting with the ease of long experience, ignored her. Having one member of the Trio race by in a visible panic was just about a sign of normalcy: the problems came when they convinced others to follow.

"Figures," Rainbow muttered. "No pranks. I haven't had a good pranking spree in moons, I've got somepony in town who deserves it, and no pranks..." Her wings unfolded, flapped a few times and completely failed to shed any of the irritation before returning to the rest position. "At least he'll be easy to spot. Your height -- that's big for a pegasus. And I can make out that mane from overhead."

A very loud snort of pure irritation reached them. This was followed by the echoes of hooves hard-stomping against stone, and then the visual caught up. Neither mare thought very much of it. To have Berry marching about in a state of open irritation was effectively the default: the only unusual part was seeing it so early in the day.

"Probably something going on with the school," Rainbow decided as the bartender vanished around the corner. "Ruby's a weird kid. Nice filly. But weird. So no pranks, don't start anything -- what if I do something which gets him to start?"

Fleur, only partially in spite of herself, was momentarily intrigued. "Like what?"

"Dunno," Rainbow admitted. "I was hoping you had an idea --"

It was normal for Flower Wishes to be in a panic: a falling leaf could do it, or a leaf which should have fallen days ago and was clearly being kept in place by the Conspiracy. You expected Berry to be frustrated with the world entire: narrowing down to an exact target was entirely optional.

But Time Turner was one of nature's amblers. He knew where he was going, he would get there at his own pace, and he just about always reached the destination at the intended minute. He didn't rush, not unless it was an all-out evacuation gallop. And he certainly didn't slam his hooves into stone with every step.

It got their attention, as something a little too far removed from the ordinary. They watched as he moved past them, listened to every impact until he went around the curve.

"That's weird," Rainbow summarized. "Maybe there's something going on?" Her wings spread out, and did so at the same moment her ears rotated. "And they're all coming from that way --"

It took Fleur a moment before she realized why the next sound was unusual at all.

Not hooves contacting stone. Keratin still, but -- more of a scratching. And she had to strain in order to pick up on the other aspect, something which mostly existed as an absence of sound. Two scratching patterns, and close behind them -- aural vacuum. A surface which was too soft to produce noise on rock.

It was a combination too familiar to be considered unusual. It was also too far from home, and she didn't realize it until the moment when its creator, whose golden eyes were staring straight down as if trying to decide which parts of the unworthy road had to be broken first, came into sight.

There were some who might have claimed the stranger possessed an aspect of fallen nobility, and they would have been lying. There had been an ancient lie which had tried to declare that a link could be claimed solely through that which rose from the blood, and it had taken very little time before it had fallen apart because a place in the Great Chain had to be earned. Any combination of great cat and hunting bird could appear from the blood, any at all. To say that something special was attached simply to displaying aspects of eagle and lion was purest falsehood. For the body alone, it was impossible to lose what the tiercel had never truly possessed.

She was somewhat taller than Rainbow, longer from the tip of the beak to the end of the roughly-tufted tail, but... that didn't make her particularly large for her species. Much more notable were the talons which finished off the forelegs: the digits seemed unusually flexible, bent a little too far with each step. And the beak...

It was rough. Nearly everything about the tiercel was rough. The beak's edges suggested a diet which needed adjusting, and the dingy white feathers at the front of the head seemed to be holding their projecting position through the bonding power of road dirt -- although Fleur wasn't entirely sure that a clean grouping would have sat any more properly. But brown wings begged for preening, and the most local party wasn't paying attention. Any non-visual focus was being devoted to movement and to Fleur, that walk looked like nothing so much as The Stalk Of Shame. The signature of a tiercel who'd just left a bed which she really hadn't wanted to be in, and that realization had only arrived with Sun.

When it came to Ponyville, she was completely out of place, and perhaps that was why those huge golden eyes refused to take in the settled zone. She kept staring at the ground as if demanding that the world put her somewhere else, and every step taken across Equestrian territory made the fur twist that much more against its natural grain.

And given another second, Fleur might have said something. Tried to see what was so very wrong, when it came to someone this far from home.

But there was no opportunity.

The wind hit her first: a tremendous blast which half-bounced off the stone, produced by a strong pegasus taking off in a little too much of a hurry. And then the shadow covered her back, followed immediately by sleek cyan legs pressing far too tightly against her sides.

There was a moment of struggle. The weather coordinator was strong in the air, one of the most powerful flyers Fleur had ever seen -- but the unicorn was significantly larger, and represented mass being told to shift from a motionless start. Pressure carries were easier when both initiated in flight and applied to something which was already moving: Rainbow was essentially attempting to perform a feat more suited to Snowflake, and doing so with very little warning time --

-- but the weather coordinator was strong in the air.

Wind blasted down again, bounced enough to completely disrupt Fleur's fur while rebounding into a portion of additional lift. Her hooves parted from the street, the mares were moving up and Rainbow's legs were clamped tightly enough to hurt, keeping the unicorn in place through pressure alone --

-- it wasn't a position which could be maintained for long, and the pegasus didn't try. Three floors straight up, and then she roughly placed Fleur on the roof.

It was a hiss of sound, jolted loose by the landing: very little volume, released with considerable force. "Rainbow!"

Who ignored her.

The tiercel, who hadn't noticed any of it, kept stalking forward. The elevated position allowed Fleur to spot multiple ponies well behind her, none of whom were trying to get any closer. Nopony had looked up at the thump of the landing because it was a mixed town and when you shared a settled zone with the weather coordinator, you only moved towards the sound of a crash. And Rainbow, with her legs freed, was weaving them in a pattern under her own body, as vapor thickened and billowed outwards from fast-shifting hooves, the cloud forming around the mares and gaining density by the second...

Moisture was soaking into white fur. It was getting harder to see.

"Don't look up," Rainbow frantically muttered. "Sun and Moon, don't look up..."

"Rainbow, I know you can see in this --" at least for spotting body heat, and Fleur wasn't sure how well it worked when surrounded by chill vapor "-- but I --" She shivered. "-- what are you even --"

A single word. Plain, stark, with no brashness at all.

"Gilda."

Fleur instantly tried to focus, staring down at the street. Most of what she could see was fog.

"That's Gilda? The griffon from your flight camp?"

"Yeah! So keep it down! I'll find somewhere to put you after she's out of the area! I didn't want to move too far with you! If anypony should understand about griffons and moving objects --"

Almost frantic now, wondering if any of it had reached her voice, "-- Rainbow, I understand if you don't want her to see you, but --"

"-- me?" The harsh laugh was mostly suggested by whisper, cut off almost instantly. "This isn't about me!"

Talons scratching on stone, the near-silent passage of paws, and all drowned out by inner shock because you didn't have to know Rainbow for very long to recognize the last statement as being somewhat unusual. "What do you --"

"It's about us!" the pegasus hissed. "She can spot me any time! I can deal with her! But I don't want her spotting you with me! I don't want her seeing you at all!"

As short, cut-off phrases went, this particular trio of words seemed to be worth repeating. "What do you --"

"-- she's from Protocera, Fleur! What happens when she sees you?"

The fog had become too thick. The unicorn could no longer see the street, and trying to regard anything further away than her own snout would rapidly become pointless. And yet, her head turned. Looking back.

Fleur peered through the fog, and stared at the inescapable icon of her mark.

But Did She Drag Herself In?

Unlike so many of the ponies around her, Fleur didn't panic easily: one of the many benefits to having grown up with a Protoceran's heart. There were certainly times when circumstances dictated that action needed to be taken immediately, and the majority would have been familiar to any who had once been part of a hunt. Situations clearly existed which necessitated an immediate retreat, because reaching a place of safety could be crucial in getting the chance to create a response. And there were also scenarios for which panic was in fact the proper answer, because the reaction lay close to the core of survival instinct and on rare occasions, pounding legs would figure out what had been the best course of action long before the brain ever got involved. Fleur had encountered one of those, and the resulting dreams were changing.

But if there was time... you paused. Thought about the nature of what you were facing. Considered. Evaluated. And then, even if you had to do so while standing among the debris of what had once been your existence... you made a plan.

She was currently hidden by billowing white vapors. There didn't seem to be any need for the unicorn to be in much of a hurry.

I'm standing in the middle of a fresh cloud. Something Rainbow just wove together from most of the humidity in the area.

I'm breathing a cloud.

...it's like pouring trickles of water into my lungs. And every square hoofwidth of my fur is damp, some of it's going to be soaked before I can get out of here, I don't know what this is doing to my mane and tail but I've got some pretty good guesses for the cosmetics, and that's before considering what that takeoff backblast did to my grooming. Plus there has to be a certain temperature present to keep a cloud together when it's this close to the ground, so it's colder in here. So cold and damp and becoming progressively more disheveled while breathing in what's almost pure humidity. Which doesn't help.

I'm concealed enough to theoretically try fixing everything before I can get back into public sight, but I don't have some of the supplies with me and as long as I'm inside the cloud, whatever I do is just going to get ruined again. Almost instantly.

Thanks, Rainbow. Thank you oh so very much.

Almost Killed Her count: possible plus-one to be determined.

...admittedly, when outside of an immediate crisis, there could be a few issues with picking out exactly what she was supposed to be evaluating first. But there was a good chance that Rainbow was still concentrating on expanding the cloud and with the surface temperature of Fleur's body quickly falling, it was potentially becoming all that much harder for the pegasus to watch her.

She carefully slid her hooves forward across the roof, trying to create a minimum of sound while moving slowly enough that she could pull back at the instant the forward edge of her keratin encountered a lack of rim. Fleur hadn't seen this particular part of Ponyville from the air and didn't know if the roof had a rim.

The cloud was probably still expanding. But it might not have completely covered the roof, and if she could just get the right angle...

Her snout cleared the vapor first, and she immediately took one of the deepest breaths of her life: something which did little more than dilute the new internal pools. But then her eyes were free, the unicorn blinked away sunlight and tried to keep her movements slow while making sure that the bulk of her mane remained hidden within the cloud.

She'd spent much of her youth in traveling with the worst of the gangs. Some of that had meant engaging in criminal activities, typically while trying to operate from some degree of concealment. Fleur had seldom found any opportunity to be grateful for possessing white fur --

-- the griffon was still moving down the road.

Evaluate.

Her first impression had been that the tiercel looked rough. This was still very much in play: grooming was required, preening was close to becoming a necessity, and at least two good meals were probably going to be needed just to take part of the edge off. But now that she had a little more time, knew who she was looking at --

-- I don't know anything about --

-- it was possible to see somewhat more.

Brown wings. And the unfolded shape can be distinguished from a pegasus.

That wasn't distortion created by trying to look through shifting clouds. It was you, wasn't it? Moving ahead of the Experience. Flying towards Ponyville, and -- doing so in a way where you wouldn't be seen from the usual air paths? But you're certainly visible now...

Not just visible. The griffon was making sure everypony knew she was there. Followed by trying to discover what they were willing to do about it.

Fleur didn't currently have a sight line which allowed her to get a good look at the griffon's expression. She didn't need one, because the full-body posture was enough. It took a Protoceran native (or someone with a lot of experience) to spot the Stalk Of Shame -- but some things didn't require much in the way of perception. Instinct could serve when experience was lacking, and that meant just about everypony in Equestria was capable of identifying a pissed-off predator who was in the middle of treating the world as something which needed to share her mood. Every step was an announcement of confrontation: she was simply searching for a place in which it could happen. Several places, along with all of those to whom it could happen. She'd been at it for a while before reaching Fleur's sight, and that explained all of the angered and disturbed ponies who'd been going by.

Confronting.
Challenging.
Dominating.

She's out of her normal chain. This is natural.
...more angry than the usual, but for every domination tactic which could ever exist, there's a griffon...
...is she completely disconnected? Had she been in town before this, and stayed long enough to set up a few links? Rainbow would be the most immediate, but I don't know if they share one. Where Gilda considers herself to be on that length, or how Rainbow sees it --
-- in town before this...

...Fluttershy had said something. That there had been a day when her love had truly seen a griffon for the first time, and Fleur knew very little about what had happened next because Fluttershy. It had been a single brief mention, words spoken during a Nightmare Night which had effectively taken place in another lifetime, and there had been a name. And when Rainbow had spoken about having become friends with a griffon, a name had been freely offered. The same name.

Fleur hadn't thought much of it at the time or rather, there simply hadn't been any need to think about it at all. Not when she'd been lost in the emotional rush of discovering that there was a pegasus in the settled zone who had been to Protocera and spent time on a ranch. Somepony who might understand the unicorn a little more than most. It had been the initial foundation stone for their connection.

Something which had given Fleur the chance to make a friend.

You've been here before. But you didn't stay long, did you?

(She had to remember exactly what her love had told her.)

And now you're back.
Why now?

The griffon reached an intersection. Glared down each branch path as if they had all done her a great personal offense, then visibly chose the one which seemed to be producing more pony sounds. Turned, with talons scratching stone as the soft pads of the paws almost managed to glide through the stalk. And then she was gone.

Migration season, and it was probably too much to hope that Gilda was just passing through.
(She wasn't.)
The problems generally arrived with the ones who stayed.
Or couldn't be made to leave.

Rainbow wasn't known for her patience, much less for being willing to stall on anything. (There was a certain notoriety when it came to being delayed, but quite a bit of that could be laid at the slowly sleep-shifting forehooves of naps.) She tended to follow up thought with immediate action, and that was when she could be bothered to think at all. Fluttershy had once told Fleur that if what you said before entering a fight could be considered as your battlecry, then the semi-official declaration of hostilities for the Bearers was "Rainbow, wait!" because the pegasus who'd just gotten ahead of the others was about to be very hostile indeed.

She hated having to wait for anything: part of her eternal problems with new book releases, slow-burn training techniques, and cider lines. And yet she kept Fleur within the vapors for five extra minutes before bringing the unicorn back to ground level -- although in a rather more typical display, she did so through starting the second pressure carry before Fleur could launch the very practical sentence about how the unicorn was capable of just levitating herself back down. And then the irritated immigrant got to wait it out while Rainbow's legs pressed inwards against what was now exceptionally slick fur, doing so with horn ignited so that she could catch herself at the moment she began to slip.

It took about a minute for the weather coordinator to pick a landing spot, and then Fleur's hooves met cobblestone in the center of an isolated alleyway. Set down within the thickest cluster of protective shadows.

Rainbow landed again, and did so directly in front of her. Wide magenta eyes looked up into Fleur's, and the Protoceran failed to read every last one of the emotions which cascaded through them in the two seconds she had before the pegasus got control.

"All right," Rainbow hurriedly said. "You should be okay. She was heading in a different direction, and you've got a clear shot to the bridge from here --"

"-- Rainbow, what was that?" Because they'd been friends long enough for Fleur to recognize what it meant when the weather coordinator was speaking so quickly, and she likely had mere seconds before the pegasus took off again. "I know you don't want her to see me, but why --"

"-- but if you spot her, just get out of sight. Not too fast, because she'll focus on mov -- you know that..." There was a split-second spared for the act and art of totally not facehoofing. "And use your tail to cover your mark, because you've got good tail control."

"-- and you said you didn't want her spotting you with me. Does she see one of you as being the end link? Nothing else can ever be forged --"

"-- and be careful about coming into town! Not that you shouldn't come into town." The prismatic tail completely failed to lash apologetically, mostly because its owner probably had no idea how to do that. "Just wear dresses. Or one of those half-capes. But probably dresses. Lots of dresses. Ask Rarity about her spring line for the dresses. And don't come up to me in public unless I tell you we're clear! But if you do, make sure you're wearing a dress. I'll tell you when to stop."

"-- because if that's what's going on, then we need to --"

"-- I've gotta get out of here!" The sleek head tossed, and several mane hues rearranged themselves. "Get another cloud going! Make the concealment mobile! Find her again without her seeing me, and then find out where she's going! I'll get a message to the cottage when I know what's going on, Fleur, I promise!" The nostrils were far too flared, breath was coming and going in near-gasping snorts... "Or I'll just come myself, since she's got no real reason to go out there! Sun's spots, she'd better not think of a reason to go out there... Keep one eye looking up, just in case. You've got that doctor's appointment tomorrow, right? Go to the appointment. I probably wouldn't be checking in with you until after that, and the appointment's too important. But wear a dress!" There was the briefest of pauses. "And maybe Fluttershy should wear a hat. A wide-brimmed hat. Maybe a dress. But definitely something that covers her face. More of her face. And mane. And I know it's hard to hide her tail, but try."

"-- we have to talk --"

Cyan wings spread.

There wasn't enough time to dodge the final burst of takeoff wind. There never was.

However, there was time available for grooming herself, because Fluttershy wasn't expecting her back at the cottage just yet and Fleur wasn't stepping back into public view like this.

The former escort knew a few tricks for getting her fur back in line (and grain), while drying off was just a matter of moving to the section of alley which was receiving some sunlight and waiting -- although she only intended to wait until the surface would pass inspection: the undercoat would take too long. The restoration of her mane and tail was also a fairly simple matter. And even so, the lack of cosmetics supplies impeded her efforts to the point where she knew she was going to be dodging groups and gazes until she got across the bridge -- and possibly for some time after, because there was going to be hoof and wing traffic heading out towards the cottage. Scheduled clients.

Listen for wings. Griffon wings don't produce the same sound as pegasi --

-- why?

What was Rainbow so worried about?

She smoothed the fur over her pasterns. Checked her mane, looked out of the alley to make sure she had a relatively clear shot, and headed for the bridge.

Trotting towards the cottage.

Thinking.

There was a lot to think about, and only so much time to think at all.

It wasn't a particularly short trot, and Fleur had found numerous opportunities to become acquainted with some of the problems involved in the journey. There were three places where water tended to gather after a storm, and it took careful stepping to prevent hooves from sinking into fresh mud. During the winter, a pair of different locations tended towards snowdrifts. And there was a new river with a fused bed which tried to call for her attention now and again, especially since its mere existence could potentially be seen as her fault --

-- she tried not to think that way. But for anypony moving on hoof from the settled zone, there was one main path to the cottage. Those who'd started closer to the borders had other options: in particular, there was a fairly direct trail coming in from the Acres. But when she started from Ponyville -- eventually, she would have to pass a hollow in the forest. The place where something had once been, currently occupied by open space, some wood chips which had managed to stake out a place beyond the initial cleanup, portions of a lost foundation, and -- saplings. Young ones, eagerly reaching towards the gift of unimpeded Sun.

It was still possible to tell that something else had once been there. But given enough time...

Time.

Once she got back, the needs of the grounds would effectively take over. There was always something to do, along with the knowledge that all of it had to be done. The majority of those activities would then have to be repeated tomorrow, right up until the point when Snowflake arrived. Watching over everything, so Fleur and Fluttershy could go to the appointment. The one she hadn't wanted to keep, or desired to keep for a different reason. A factor which wasn't in play.

The requirements of the cottage had a way of displacing thought, or at least postponing it. This was Fleur's chance to think. Try to make internally-created words fill the void. A gap which she'd just recognized to exist. The previous invisible chasm which broke up a verbal landslide.

Rainbow claimed to favor instinct over any number of things. High among those were thought, planning, and extended discussion -- none of which ever prevented the pegasus from talking. Even when she wasn't using the flow of sound as some sort of screening process for potential hookups, Rainbow was capable of talking for a very long time, and most of it would be about herself: prominent subtopics included Wonderbolts trivia and tortoise care. It could be described as a potential test of loyalty, trying to find out who was willing to put up with all of it -- but the more frequently accurate shorthoof was 'irritating'.

She talked about herself. Her stunts. (This tended to leave out most of the crashes.) She spent a lot of time in not talking about the missions, because Rainbow understood what 'classified' meant and occasionally liked to rub pony snouts in the fact that when it came to palace-sanctioned Bearer activity, frequent boastful uses of the term were all they would ever hear. And when the weather coordinator felt that Fleur needed some level of emotional boost, she talked about ranching. About Protocera. About everything which still tried to call Fleur home.

(She wasn't quite allowed to travel of her own free will just yet. Not without giving the palace full advance notice, because they needed to be capable of bringing her back if -- something happened.)
(There was, in theory, one event which could truly free her. It would even allow the removal of the titanium circlet, should she wish it.)
(The cottage was an anchor. It weighed her down, kept her in a single place.)
(The cottage...)

When it came to her own life, Rainbow talked about almost everything. But there were gaps. Fleur still didn't know how the pegasus had gained the post of town weather coordinator. Being hired by the Bureau had led into a direct assignment to Ponyville -- as part of the settled zone's weather team. Rainbow had been working under somepony's supervision. And then something had happened, and... that supervisor hadn't been there any more. Rainbow would freely boast about being one of the youngest coordinators on the continent, and do so without ever saying a word about what had happened to the old one.

And Rainbow would talk about Protocera, if she felt that doing so would help a friend.

But...

"I had a friend. Maybe I still do. I... we haven't spoken since --"

Since what?

"Her name's Gilda. We met at Junior Speedster flight camp, because her parents wanted her to pick up some other-species tricks. They thought it would give her an edge. And we kicked it off. I mean, big-time kick. We hung around each other all the time at camp."

But not recently.

"I think she made me sort of competitive. Anyway, it got to the point where all of our parents thought we should spend some summers together. So there were two years where I visited her at her family's ranch --"

And that had been it.

Rainbow had presented that part of her personal history as -- credentials of a sort. Explaining the reason why she had spent time in Protocera, spoke some atrociously-accented Griffonant, understood ranches, and knew more about griffons than just about every other true Equestrian native in the settled zone. Giving Fleur something which the immigrant could understand. Connect with.

Rainbow would freely talk about the distant nation. But when it came to the friend who had been her reason for going there... the memory of that first mention was just about the whole of it.

The name had come up a few times in conversations since: if Rainbow was going to weave the tale of a victorious ranch wager, then she clearly needed to say who she'd been betting with. But the name had been almost all there was. A name which hadn't arisen frequently enough for the unicorn to forge a link with what Fluttershy had once said, and...

Fleur hadn't even known what Gilda looked like.

"-- she's from Protocera, Fleur! What happens when she sees you?"

What would happen?

In leaving Protocera, Fleur had... run. (It had taken several sessions with Doctor Lorem before she'd been willing to openly acknowledge that, and she'd fought the words to the last.) Fled from everything which had happened, and done so while living in terror of the day when it might follow. She had crossed the border in possession of falsified documents and a talent which didn't let its bearer take up a career for a lifetime. It had taken a long time for her to recognize what had felt like the only way to make it produce income, and...

She'd had a plan. But it required her to live near the heart of power, working her way ever-inward. She had to be in Canterlot.

And when she'd moved into the city, she'd placed herself next to the Aviary.

Not within the miniature griffon neighborhood, because there were limits. But she'd needed to be nearby. Close enough to catch rumors, hear about any search which might have crossed nations in order to hunt down a criminal. She'd worn a lot of dresses -- being an escort had helped there, as her booking schedule often had an evening start in formal wear -- and even a few capes. Hiding her mark, because the iconography...

She'd been at events which had griffons in attendance. None of them had ever seen her wear any dress which featured peek-a-boo gaps over the hips. And in the event that a griffon had somehow spotted her mark, there was always an excuse ready to go. Relatives in the old country: that alone was known to produce a visual manifestation within pony magic -- or so she'd been prepared to tell them. As many times as necessary, because the most important things about that kind of story were plausibility and consistency.

Fleur had lived with a constant fear of exposure, and done so to the point where it had mostly been relegated to the background. The terror of being found out had just become part of the routine, to the point where she could pretend it didn't exist at all. But she'd persisted. She'd told a different lie, the same lie again and again, and done so through the mere act of living in Canterlot: I am a native Equestrian. Why would anypony believe anything else?

But now she was in Ponyville.

What would Gilda do, if she saw a Protoceran icon for a mark? Well, for starters, there was a chance that the tiercel wouldn't spot it at all. Fleur's triad icon for acies was the classic shape, and not every griffon became fully familiar with that style of writing. But if she did know what it was, if not what it represented for the unicorn's talent...

There were old lies waiting to be trotted out again. Fleur felt there was some chance they would hold up. But she had to plan --

-- wings moving ahead. She didn't have to worry about that flyer, because one of the carrier saddlebags was barking --

-- just in case she was wrong.

And there was something else. Rainbow didn't want Gilda to see Fleur in the company of the pegasus. Exactly how did the griffon perceive the relationship with Rainbow? How did she feel about additional links? Because the implication was that something had happened.

Her first reaction on seeing Gilda was to get out of sight. Get me out of sight, but she was concealing herself too. And then she told me that she was basically going to watch for a while, if she could. Figure out what was going on. Instead of asking.

It more than implied a shattering of links. Something so severe that Rainbow hadn't spoken to Gilda for an unknown amount of time, because she was no longer sure the tiercel was a friend.

A former friend, who might not react well to the presence of a new one...

Does Gilda know about the Bearers?

It was a question Fleur couldn't answer. All she knew was that the griffon had been in Ponyville at least once before, and that trip had somehow brought her into contact with Fluttershy. And she had the option to ask her love for the details -- but it was too soon after discussing the robbery attempt. She couldn't push. Not just yet, especially not when the next day's appointment was for both of them.

Fluttershy was in Ponyville well before that one Summer Sun Celebration. So it didn't necessarily happen after she and Rainbow became friends. And Rainbow's not talking -- it almost felt like an insult -- and Fluttershy may not be ready yet...

Who else might know?

Hooves were coming up the path behind her. She paused, greeted the client, checked Sun's position, assured him that he and his companion were on pace, and then moved on.

The hollow in the forest was getting close. Something to not look at.

Who else...

...Pinkie.

It was a reasonable guess. The baker lived very close to the heart of the town's social web -- and had a certain way of picking up on new arrivals.

Admittedly, the second factor frequently seemed to be limited to those who were going to live in Ponyville, and the parties were certainly limited accordingly: the other option was to live at the train station and keep a perpetual celebration going for all of those who'd disembarked for an hour on a quest for fresh food. But this would have been a griffon arrival. In Ponyville, that would have stood out. Pinkie might have looked into it and if she hadn't, there was a good chance of her having heard stories from those who had. Griffons arriving in pony territory for the first time, trying to work out a new chain from scratch -- they tended to create stories, and it could take a while before any of the recitals got around to the apologies --

"...Gilda wasn't in town that long. But when somepony stopped her... she just left."

"Oh. One of those. You're better off."

She'd just remembered that.

Trying to work out a new chain, when you don't know what the local system is and when it's a completely different species, with no griffon hearts... you flounder. You need to find out where you stand. And the fastest means is through attempting to dominate everything.

Those who can't stop you are the inferiors. The ones who can are stronger than you. Degrees are recognized. The links form accordingly. About a week of testing, a lot of apologies after it all ends, and then you're settled in.

Somepony stopped her. And she just left.

It wasn't a good sign.
It was one of the worst signs.

How long had she been out of the chain?

Fleur didn't know. Pinkie wouldn't either. But if the baker knew anything about what happened...

Pinkie. The next time I see her. Make time to see her. (Although it was now too late to double back towards town.) It's a place to start. And after I learn what I can from her, then try Fluttershy and Rainbow.

The forest hollow was off to the side. Vacuum called for her attention, tried to pull her in. Her legs trotted on.

Zephyr in town, and he may not leave unless I find a way to make it happen.
Gilda just arrived...

The bad smidgen turning up and getting stuck in a hoof crack, trying to work its way in deep enough to start an infection. And now it had been joined by a potential bad quadran. Fleur wasn't sure what the current exchange rate was, and suspected it would be complicated by Zephyr being utterly worthless.

Careful. Don't completely dismiss him. Not yet. He's got some power. Brains may be optional, but he's clearly stronger in the air than Fluttershy and his command of pegasus magic may be closer to what their parents have.

...fiscal command may need some work. Mr. Rich said he mostly picked up toiletries. Grooming supplies? But not food, or it just wasn't mentioned. Barnyard Bargains wasn't a full grocery and at least one major edible product was strictly seasonal, but there were enough basics available for a pony to live on. So what's he eating? Is that what he's spending most of his money on, and using the credit line to keep himself looking good because he sees his appearance as its own resource? Paying for a temporary residence? Do I need to check for his hotel myself if Miranda doesn't get back to me soon?

Or is he just going for the cheap way out?

Find some grass. Lower your head. Bite and chew. Repeat as necessary.

Zephyr in town, and Fluttershy's upset. Gilda arrives, and Rainbow's as worried as I've ever seen her. To the point where she's willing to let somepony see that she's worried at all.

Both here, at the same time...

Coincidence. Bad luck. A reversal of fortune, if not an outright backlash. And when luck turned, it could easily become its very own monster.

She could hear the stream now. A few more hoofsteps would see her come around the bend, and then the birds would alert her love.

Fleur distantly wondered if Thistle Burr was scheduled for anything. She was still trying to drive him away, and when it came to having somepony she could take it all out on...

He wasn't.

The cottage took over. It always did.

Appointments. Veterinary services. Grooming. Cleaning up the examination area. Checking stock in the surgery. Harvest from the herb patch, bring the results down the ramp. Mix and stir. Wait for a message from Rainbow, and it never arrived. Perfect company for Miranda's ongoing written silence.

Feedings. You never ran out of feedings, or those who needed to be fed.

You worked, because that was what the cottage demanded. Labor and the hours required to fulfill it.

Fleur had once been obsessed with time. The client schedule of a very active escort, trying to work as much as possible without driving herself to exhaustion. This was factored against the limited span available in which her looks would be at their peak: the only period during which she could work her way close to power and find the information she needed to buy security. A different internal clock ticked down the years until the one who was responsible for so much was released from prison and if she'd still been alive on that final day, she might have found herself lurking outside the building.

But now she had the cottage.

(She had her love.)

And the cottage took so much of her time.
You didn't have a clock: you had the cottage.
You didn't have a life: you had the cottage.

(Her love was her life.)

You didn't think.

She'd been trying to find hours for dealing with Zephyr. She had the cottage. Now there was Gilda, and she still had the cottage. And she was a veterinary student, so she had to study. She was taking citizenship classes because one of the other conditions of her pardon was that she become a real Equestrian, and there was an essay which needed to be written. But that could be mailed in: stopping by the post office on the way to tomorrow's train would do it. Fleur was allowed to do some things by mail, because it was less time lost to travel.

There were so many demands on her time. She had once been obsessed with time, and now so much of it wasn't her own. She was busy, almost constantly busy, and she wondered if that had been part of Celestia's plan. That Fleur would be so thoroughly occupied that there would be no opportunity left to be...

...to be what?

To be myself?

The cottage demanded so much. And long after Moon had been raised, it ordered the pony occupants to seek out their bed, because it required them to recover the strength necessary for doing it all again.

Both mares settled into the soft cloud nest. Neither fell asleep. Not immediately.

Zephyr. Gilda. Two things going wrong at once. And they needed to rest, so they could recover some strength -- but tomorrow wasn't for the cottage. It was for the doctor's appointment. Two things going wrong at once, and now they were going to take most of a day to confront the one which simply stayed wrong. That was what the calendar had dictated.

The calendar, with the Square looming...

They were both tired. Stressed. There would be no fresh stick in the morning. No chance.

But there was still a chance to make it happen before the Square arrived. To get it right.

Her love wriggled a little, pressed tightly against Fleur. The unicorn tried to get closer. It didn't seem to be working.

Or maybe there's just something wrong with me.

Solutions Which Require Rainbow To Shut Up Are Automatically Dubious

When it came to what had turned ultimately out to be the most important part of the operation, Fleur hadn't been a particularly skilled blackmailer: the good ones didn't get caught. Similarly, she wasn't sure that she truly qualified as a detective. With ponies, the latter skill set was usually indicated through an extremely specialized, rather rare icon, and when it came to the former... she supposed it was possible for somepony to have 'extortion' as their mark talent, and also felt that the associated imagery wouldn't openly advertise.

She hadn't exactly compiled clues in order to find out what some of her clients would pay to keep secret. Fleur had put herself in a position where her talent could go to work and once those puzzles were within her gallery, the answers had essentially offered themselves up: it was then her job to figure out which ones could be used to commit a crime. Yes, there had been the occasional need for backup evidence: something physical tended to be a tremendous assistance. And a few of the more obscure sex toys had been assembled from carefully-stored parts, in part to see how everything went together and, with a number of the stranger specimens, so she could figure out how a pony was supposed to get it out.

So that hadn't really been detective work. (Locating where said toys had been hidden was mostly a matter of instinct and some well-practiced skills in burglary, along with merely understanding that just about anypony who owned a painting that big was probably storing something behind it.) And when it came to the times when the palace called upon her --

-- she knew it was necessary.
She did what she could.
She would have given nearly anything to never be summoned again --

-- in Fleur's opinion, that wasn't working with clues either. She would simply find herself confronted with living evidence, and then do whatever was necessary to prevent more of it from being forced into the world.

Neither her criminal activities nor her law enforcement duties qualified for detective work. But she'd galloped with the gangs in her youth, spent the early part of adulthood moving through Canterlot's gossip circuit. In both cases, it had put her into situations where she generally needed to figure out what was actually going on in a hurry -- preferably before anyone managed a strike against her.

It meant she listened. Fleur felt there were some commonalities between the tracking of clues and gossip: in both cases, you were looking for the places where ponies slipped. And when survival depended on paying close attention to words...

Don't just follow the gossip. Watch the speaker. What's their body posture like? How are they carrying their tail? An instinctive tucking against the body can be the outwards expression of an internal need to defend -- or a sudden surge of fear: in order to determine exactly which is taking place, it's probably necessary to check the ears. Did they hesitate before they brought out that last name? Speaking a little too fast, or much too slowly? A surge into excessive volume can substitute for confidence, or show exactly where the lie began.

And what about the times when terms slip? Using words they don't quite understand, accelerating somewhat to get through them and slurring it all together. Sudden changes of subject can point towards something else entirely, especially when they come right after the speaker has been challenged.

It could all mean something, although discovering exactly what often required the observer to learn quite a bit about the sapient who had been doing most of the talking. Because Fleur knew it wasn't just about what they said. There was usually a why. The reason for speaking could be crucial.

And there was a flipside to that.

Fleur and Fluttershy had remained at Sugarcube Corner for a little while after the unicorn's talk had ended, because the pegasus had been trying to review the books and any conversation with a baker in an active shop was going to wind up taking place across multiple customer transactions. Pinkie rejoining the workforce had done a lot to lighten the verbal distraction load. And Fleur had waited for everything to finish, staying a little closer to Pinkie's side of the counter because there was only so much of the display cases which could be blocked before customers started to complain --

-- ponies generally came into Sugarcube Corner to make purchases. Place future orders and, as long as they were standing around, they gossiped. Pinkie heard most of it, and surprisingly few ponies recognized just how much she remembered.

But they also entered for other reasons.

Fleur automatically shifted away from the blue unicorn mare who approached Pinkie's portion of the counter: she was no longer quite so obsessed with time's passage, but the former escort had a long way to go before feeling comfortable at the sight of an hourglass mark. The mare had signaled the baker, Pinkie had gone over, and then a periwinkle mane had done its best to obscure lip movements as words were whispered across the counter.

The lips were obscured. The whisper itself was rather inexpert.

"...I just saw her. Stomping around, with her talons scratching up the street. And I remembered the party, and -- how it ended. So I came straight here. I thought you needed to know she was in town, Pinkie. Just in case she --"

"-- I knew," the earth pony softly answered. "And I'll be careful. But it really really means a lot to me, that you thought I needed to be told first. Thank you."

Fleur wasn't a detective. But the acquisition and sorting of information was a survival skill, something which lay very close to instinct. It meant she'd had to learn.

Clues potentially existed within the vacuum where words weren't.
Because Minuette had come in to warn Pinkie.
Rainbow hadn't.

Why?

One word, summarizing much more than a single question. The things she needed to answer.

The queries didn't exactly haunt Fleur as she accompanied her love through Ponyville, because ghosts didn't exist. It simply lurked in the vicinity of her hindbrain and, whenever she was trying to concentrate on something else, tried to get in a kick.

They'd planned on visiting the open-air market before heading back, because they were both away from the cottage and that kind of time was precious: scarcity had a way of increasing value. Fleur took the time to adjust Fluttershy's hat before they left the bakery, and watched the pegasus wriggle.

She still thinks I want to get her out of the dress later. When we weren't scheduled to be gone the whole day, there's a few late afternoon clients coming in, and she hardly ever works while wearing anything because the cottage has a thousand kinds of staining to offer and Barnyard Bargains can't quite match that number on soap. So she'll have to get undressed anyway, and then it'll be hours before --

-- it had been a trip to the fertility doctor, and Fleur's saddlebags were packed with a moon's worth of supposed hope. The wriggling indicated a fully reasonable expectation: the execution was just going to take place on time delay.

They reached the market in fairly short order, and found a surprising amount of variety on display. Most of that fell outside of the produce booths: even with earth ponies at work, there hadn't been quite enough springtime yet for there to be more than a few samples of fresh crops to offer. But the season also meant that some ponies had felt the urge for spring cleaning, and surely a stable sale held in the market had to draw more traffic than one which just coated half the street in front of their home in desperately-priced junk. And it did, which meant a truly impressive number of ponies trotted away without buying anything.

Fleur recognized a couple who only seemed to set up their space on a seasonal basis, because creating enough small, solid black ironwood sculptures to fully occupy three tables required quite a bit of time. The former escort had yet to learn their names -- there were several thousand residents in the settled zone, she had no real need for the product, plus one-half of the pairing was visibly socially reticent to the point where she very nearly possessed the same reluctance to communicate that Fluttershy had --

-- used to have --

-- but they both were distinctive enough to have set up a place in her memory. The actual sculptor was a pale-pink unicorn with a somewhat oversized horn, added to a mane so deeply brown as to approach black and a field to match her eyes: deep grey. She was almost always in the company of a tall (if not on Fleur's scale) pearl pegasus with vibrant blue eyes and what was very nearly a pure white mane: a certain hitch of the hips suggested that one had done some (unpaid) modeling work, and currently did nearly all of the selling. And they always set up near the edge of the market, presumably so the sculptor would have a clear escape path during any sudden urge to run.

But it was a pleasant day, just as the Bureau's schedule had dictated: it took a major weather breach from the wild zone to teach ponies about the concept of 'rainout', and a number had been known to go weak at all four knees just from looking up the word in a dictionary. And they'd just escaped the fertility clinic, the cottage was on temporary hold, and there were booths, tables, and cart setups to examine.

(Fleur had to gently steer Fluttershy away from the stable sales. The majority of the cottage was already decorated in Stable Sale or worse, Things Left In Front Of The Fence After The Sale Ended Because Nopony Was Ever Going To Pay For Them. The unicorn was still trying to replace the majority, and had found that a pegasus who was prone to bringing home lost voles had a lesser tendency to give that poor abandoned armoire one last chance.)

The first stop was a certain produce stand run by a familiar pegasus stallion: one whose non-decision in facial hair styling had recently been duplicated. He spotted them coming, and once again found himself unable to close up his entire business before Fleur was upon him. The former escort had once been told all about some extremely creative pricing within the cherry market and, when it came to showing that particular male how negotiating really worked, still took great pleasure in verbally walking all over Mr. Bunko. Slowly, with quiet intensity of syllables and while taking special care to occasionally pause and grind her hooves directly into the heart of what had once been his profits.

After finally releasing the stunned seller to curl up and protectively whimper next to the tenth-bits which represented her generous payment of two percent over cost, they moved to pick up the one fruit category which Fluttershy would never purchase from anypony else.

They got a little lucky at the apple cart. It was too early in the season for its mistress to put out more than a few teasers, and the majority of what Applejack had brought along was already making its way to pony homes. It meant there wasn't any customer traffic, and the earth pony, who was visibly happy to see them drop by, actually had the chance to talk. And because news of sibling existence was still spreading, Fleur then got to watch the hat slowly slip forward as the farmer become progressively less happy.

"Brother," Applejack finally said.

"...yes," Fluttershy softly tried. "I'm pretty sure I --"

"Okay," emerged at the rather low speed of stun. "Brother. That really rare specimen which takes 'bout a decade for the verbal pregnancy."

"...Applejack?"

With just a little too much calm, "'cause based on when y'first came t' ground, Ah'm pretty sure we needed around ten years for that word t' come out of your mouth. Anythin' else Ah should know 'bout your family?"

"...such as?"

"Ah don't know," however, came out as a rapid-fire burst of frustration. "It's your family. An' given Surprise Brother Number Two in our little set, Ah ain't entirely sure where t' start. But since we're on the topic... ain't sure you ever really covered your parents with me. Better get 'em pinned down now."

"...okay. What did you want to --"

"-- for starters? Which Princess is your mom?"

Fluttershy blinked.

"...I... Applejack, what...?"

"Look," the earth pony somewhat too reasonably said, "at this point, Ah'm jus' gonna start with the craziest possibilities an' work mah way down. An' your dad? That would be Moon, right? Explains why you're usually up for most of the night."

Fleur, who had more or less seen it coming and knew her love wasn't going to suffer more than a light (and virtual) ear blistering, took a few casual steps away from the cart. Bearing Honesty took a number of conversational options out of Applejack's groupings and unfortunately for any number of those who'd done the farmer some degree of offense, sarcasm wasn't one of them. Regardless of cause, not bothering to bring up family meant Fluttershy had a few hundred syllables of payback coming. Fleur could step back in if matters went beyond that and since it was Applejack, it wouldn't.

The unicorn positioned herself slightly to the left of the unfolded cart, then let her gaze wander across nearby booths and wandering shoppers. It left her facing the wrong way for registering the one whose eyes had just found her, and she only registered the pony who'd just trotted into the lamppost on audio.

Oh, Fleur casually noted as one of the senior residents came to the non-victim's aid. New arrival in town. Glanced back at the two Bearers, noted the set of both Applejack's hat and Fluttershy's ears, then judged that the payback was going to be doled out for some time.

So think. Before they got back to the cottage, and Fleur was sto -- and time and thought were stolen away. Why?

Narrow it down...

Gilda. Start with the way she acted when she was here.

'Griffon in a completely new area' usually explained a lot, although it took locals with some previous experience to consider extending that into forgiveness. The new chain had to be worked out from scratch, challenging everything was the fastest way to do so and for every form of domination to exist, there was a griffon.

But it didn't explain what Gilda had done to Spike, because there were dragons in Protocera. Not many -- but enough that any citizen knew they were part of the population. Some of Fleur's earliest memories from school concerned having been taught just how many species had learned to have a griffon's heart -- and because she had been too young for the majority of words, there had been a lot of pictures.

It hadn't been a question of not recognizing the species and figuring Spike for a rather small adult. A Protoceran who'd been to primary school knew what a dragon youth looked like. Hearing him speak simply reinforced the lack of years: his vocabulary was well beyond what it normally would have been (which could be blamed on the Gifted School, Twilight, and living in a library: not necessarily in that order), but the tones had yet to reach adolescence.

Gilda would have known Spike was a child, and done so on sight. And she'd shoved him anyway.

And there's another factor.

'Griffon in a completely new area' could explain a lot -- but it assumed that every last link needed to be freshly forged, because the griffon knew nothing about anything. It all had to be figured out from first peck. And when it came to Gilda --

-- Rainbow was already here.

If you reach new territory and have an established connection in place, part of the initial instinct can be to initially follow their chain. There's always a few who will just strike out on their own, no matter what -- but for the majority, it's a place to start. It makes everything easier, and you can always adjust later.

If you trust the person you're following...

But if Gilda had gone that route while truly trusting Rainbow, then she would have treated Pinkie with a degree of respect. There would have been some degree of pushing and prodding, trying to figure out just who was stronger: there always was. An attempt to determine whether the baker was worthy of Rainbow wasn't exactly off the table. But for the most part, if somepony new had been accepted by your local link as a friend -- then you had to grant them some degree of chance.

Somepony you trusted.
Saw as an equal.
Who was in charge?
What was the relationship between them like at the time?
What kind of relationship --

"Okay, Ah think we've got that cleared up. Let's move on t' uncles. An' Ah mean other than Discord."

"...Applejack!"

"Tell me that wouldn't go an' explain nearly everythin'."

-- no. In Protocera, maybe. But here...

At home, griffon-pony relationships were... 'a significant minority' was fair. Lump them in with every other species combination which had entered linklock, and the grand total might wind up at about four percent of the adult population. In Equestria, a city the size of Canterlot was lucky to get up to four marriages and a few dating couples. And with Rainbow...

...no. I've solved her puzzle. I know pieces can change over time. New ones appear, and some of the oldest can fade until I can barely make out what was on them at the start. And she's reciprosexual. If somepony looks, she's at least going to think about looking back. But that's somepony. There's a species barrier.

Or maybe there's just one now --

-- no. Faded or not, Fleur was sure she would have spotted that. She'd grown up in a part of the world where she'd been -- well, not exactly surrounded by it, but at least in the midst of an ongoing chance to spot the brass ring as the rotating dovecote's accelerating chains swung the ride's laughing children out from the central pole.

And those were just the real pieces, because sapients occasionally tried to tell themselves that they might find themselves sexually attracted to something if they simply tried it out a few times. Something which registered to Fleur's unique sense as a light coating of thin liquid watercolors: easy to see through, incapable of drying, and forever dripping off the edges.

Quite a few Protoceran adolescents talked themselves into experimental phases, because there were a lot of species around to experiment with: for most, the pieces eventually dripped clean. But with a few...

Which means I'd need to get a look at Gilda's puzzle. It didn't feel like a particularly strong theory: if nothing else, the weight of odds worked against it. But it was still something Fleur prospectively needed to check.

She also had to speak to Rainbow, and soon.

Fleur had been keeping watch, searching for a prismatic streak moving through the sky or sleep-limp tail dangling off the edge of a roof. Nothing. And the planned path for the day didn't take them anywhere near the right part of town.

Who was in charge?

Rainbow's been trying to keep Gilda from seeing her. But Gilda knows where she lives. The molded cloud had a little bit of natural drift, because it was hard to make any vapor structure completely motionless -- but it tended to stay over the same patch of land. Rainbow's impulse spending could mean a lot of incoming packages, the mailbox was at ground level, and there was a special annoyance in missing out on a delivery because the house had moved. Are they avoiding each other?

And why hadn't Rainbow warned Pinkie? All of the cautions had been frantically applied to Fleur.

Too many questions. Too many thoughts. She seemed to be crowding an increasing amount of thinking into the hours spent away from the cottage, as if those were the only times when she truly got to think at all --

"An' those are the last cousins?"

"...yes."

"Good. Are they ponies?"

Fluttershy blinked.

"...what?"

"Look," Applejack reasonably pointed out, "with this family? Ah've gotta ask. Are the twins ponies? 'cause they could be griffons --" paused "-- huh. Ain't sure this ever came up in school. Fleur? Griffons. Eggs or live births?"

"Live births," the Protoceran distractedly replied without so much as a glance towards the cart.

"Thanks. Wasn't sure how you'd get twins out of an egg."

"...it happens!" Fluttershy half-protested. "I see it sometimes with the chickens. Applejack --"

"-- so Ah'm jus' gonna assume griffon twins," the farmer contemplated. "They walk alike, they talk alike, Ah guess they'd even squawk alike --"

-- which was when Fleur saw Zephyr.

She was the only one facing the right way to spot him, and he never noticed her from his position on the absolute outskirts of the market. He wasn't quite within shopping range of any booth, and hawker calls didn't seem to reach him. Actually listening to the activity going on behind him would have required rotating his ears. It was a sacrifice which his mane just wasn't willing to make. And to be entirely-if-painfully fair about it, he was also somewhat distracted.

Fleur had spotted him, and she wasn't the only one.

When it came to the sheer power of his appearance, Zephyr wasn't on the same level as Blueblood and on an absolute scale, he was also somewhat below Fluttershy. It was possible that somepony might one day swoon from Zephyr's mere presence, but they would be reacting to the needs of some very particular puzzle pieces. Blueblood could potentially create a ten-pony faint just by breathing a little too deeply and exactly as with Zephyr, any attraction incited by the movement tended to last until the followup exhale formed actual words.

But there were three mares and one stallion who were regarding Zephyr, because he offered something to look at. (Fleur tried not to question their taste: after all, to her knowledge, Zephyr hadn't talked yet.) And he hadn't noticed any of that either, which meant he got to completely miss out on the one earth pony who was openly tracking the movements of his rear.

And the tail.

At the current stage of insect attack, it was mostly about the tail.

Fleur had yet to decide whether Zephyr had a healthy musk or an artificial one. The bugs didn't particularly care. All the horn flies knew was that there was pony musk in the air, and that gave them something which could be tracked to the source. After that, it was just a matter of finding the right place to bite, and it was generally advised for each fly to move quickly because there was quite a bit of competition for the best spots.

It was a special problem of spring: that all of the bugs came back, and that included the ones who found ponies delicious. It was also a problem which Fleur and Fluttershy didn't have. Both mares made use of a rather special soap: something which kept all of the cottage's odors off their bodies -- while simultaneously negating nearly all of their natural scent. Biting flies who landed directly on them tended to do so more or less by accident, because there was just about nothing left to seek. But to insect senses, Zephyr reeked. And his tail was swishing in a way which suggested that a pony with somewhat more energy would have been at full lash (or a more sensible open retreat) some time ago, his legs were actually moving up and down, and Fleur suspected that the ears might budge just as soon as a fly tried to get into one. Or they might wind up trying to nest in the mane.

That might have already happened. It looks a little bulkier --
-- can't go after him: too many witnesses --
-- Mr. Rich said he mostly got grooming items. Fur isn't bad. Nothing being done about the jaw shadow. The mane is still a mistake. It doesn't look like he's been missing meals, but I can't get a look at his teeth from here; no idea what he's been eating.
There's still something off about his wings.
I can't pin it down --

-- and Zephyr decided he'd had enough.

The limbs unfolded. Moved out to their full span, and flapped.

It was almost casual.

The results were not.

Air surged around the stallion, moved outbound in a spheroid.

The gust hit the flies first. Every last one was blasted away. Some went into the ground, others found themselves in a fully-unintended part of the atmosphere, and more than a few reached the vendor tables. Several hit with enough force to stun, it was possible that a number had died from the impact, and far too many went directly into the sculptures.

Which, as damage to merchandise went, wasn't a primary problem for very long. The actual gust was right behind them.

Multiple sculptures fell over. Some had the dense wood clatter against their table. Others plummeted towards cobblestone.

The pink unicorn's horn immediately ignited, and the grey field lunged -- but the artist could only manage to split her attention in five directions at once, and only three of those projections managed to reach their targets. The other nine pieces hit. And while the dense ironwood would not break from such a short fall, it could still dent and splinter.

Multiple cracking sounds split the air, and none of them made it through the sarcasm which now surrounded the apple cart. The wind kept racing outwards from there, jolting paintings, sending cloth pieces off their hangers, and making multiple Sun-shading portable roofs jump.

The sculptor's features twisted into misery, her eyes wet with newborn tears. The pearl pegasus began to race out from behind the table, mouth opening for the shout --

-- Zephyr never noticed. And if he had, then... Fleur couldn't make herself believe that he would have cared.

The spread wings flapped again, and the stallion took off. Flew away and, within seconds, was out of sight.

...okay. He's got some power.
(This felt like an understatement.)
But he could have just flown away from them. A pegasus can outrace a horn fly. And if he was going to use wind, there's subtler methods available. Things which would have been more controlled.

He'd freed himself from the swarm. The rest hadn't mattered.

The four ponies who'd been watching Zephyr were now staring at the place where he'd been. One of the mares snorted, then turned to face the sculptor's table, lowered her head, and carefully began to pick up fallen pieces. After a moment, Fleur ignited her horn and moved to join in.

"...and I think that covers just about every known living sapient species native to the world," Fluttershy's exasperation announced. "Unless you want to make sure none of my relatives are seaponies?"

"Naw. Ain't no such thing as seaponies. But why stick with the natives?" The farmer arced her neck forward. "How y'all fixed for centaurs?"

She didn't tell Fluttershy everything. Fleur never had, and often felt as if she never should. It was another reason why she didn't understand Honesty as a virtue, because to bring absolute truth into every part of a relationship was like tempering metal. Bring the heat to the right level, and it was possible to make the bond that much stronger. But apply too much for too long, and everything dissolved.

So she didn't tell Fluttershy about having seen Zephyr, because there was no reason to inflict that level of stress upon her love. But some things couldn't be hidden, not without risking greater damage. And unlike Rainbow, Fleur felt that the second problematic arrival in town was unlikely to come anywhere near the cottage. If there was a target among the Bearers, it was probably Pinkie --

-- why didn't she warn --

-- but there had been a roar. Something born from an attempt to dominate, and the tiercel had arguably won. It was possible that a griffon who was trying to establish a new chain for the second time might attempt a shortcut. Simply pick a previous victory, and... repeat it.

So the topic which Fleur currently saw as the most important was raised as they began to pass the place where a mill had once been. Because Fluttershy had to know. And because she could look directly into her love's face --

-- what's visible of her face --
-- Zephyr arrives, and the mane goes forward --

-- instead of having to constantly force her attention away from vacuum.

"There were ponies talking in the bakery," Fleur technically didn't lie. Minuette and Pinkie qualified for a plural.

"...they do that," the pegasus observed. "What were they talking about?"

Fleur forced a breath.

"About having seen a griffon in town," the Protoceran said. "And I heard a name --"

"-- Gilda," her love softly cut in. "If they're talking about a griffon, and you had to tell me... then it's Gilda." Her head raised, turned towards Fleur until the one visible eye was focused on the unicorn's face. "Am I right?"

Fleur nodded. Fluttershy silently turned to face the path again, and several hoofsteps went by.

It wasn't ignoring Fleur: the unicorn knew that well enough. There were a lot of requirements for being in a relationship with Fluttershy, and one of them meant regularly producing the semi-illusion of being comfortable with long silences. The pegasus was just using the time to think: something which was indicated by a certain rustle of the wings. There was a completely different posture associated with actually being ignored.

"...I don't know how much you've heard about what happened," Fluttershy eventually said. "The first time she was here."

And the more I say, the more you'll want to know where I heard it. And when. "Pinkie told me a few things," seemed safe enough.

"...because it came up at the bakery," the pegasus decided.

"I know she roared at you."

More hoofsteps. They were getting close to a bend in the path. The bridge would be visible all too soon.

"...I know you're worried," Fluttershy softly acknowledged. "Because I did run. I wasn't ready for what she did, and she was loud, and... she was my first. I hadn't dealt with a griffon before that, not really. It felt like... running was the only thing I could do. Because that way, the ducks would follow." A brief pause. "I flew. After the first few hoofsteps. The ducks caught up eventually. I understand why you're worried, Fleur. And maybe she's just here to... try and be friends with Rainbow again. I think that might be good for Rainbow, if they could work things out. I hope that's what happens, because... Rainbow wasn't in the best shape after Gilda left Ponyville. I'd... like to see her be happy. To have her friend back, if that's possible. If it can happen without her being hurt..."

The birds would sing. They would cross the arch together. And then the cottage would take over.

"...but I can take care of myself," her love finished. "I'm... not quite who I used to be."

No. You're not. But you're not quite the mare I've been living with for more than a year. You're backsliding a little. And that's from Zephyr, and I have to get him out...

"...you're very quiet," the pegasus said.

Fleur's lips quirked.

"I think that's my line."

"...because you're still worried?"

Because I'm thinking. While there's still a chance to think.
Before the cottage starts thinking for me.

The unicorn risked a nod.

"...you can be worried," Fluttershy told her. "But... don't start anything with her. Please."

The words were even, controlled. The intent behind them was edged in steel. "And if she starts something with me?"

Fluttershy's duties towards the cottage and those who came there were effectively endless. One of them was veterinarian. A profession which, on any given day, might find death waiting at the door. And there might be a fierce, angry demand to know what the pegasus could ever do to stop it, at least for now: the victory was always going to go to the opposition in the end.

But just as often, if death came calling... it would be with a gentle knock. Quietly asking if this was the time, because if the ponies had nothing left which might take away the pain... then one option still remained. The last one.

Fluttershy had to make potentially fatal decisions in every moon of her adult life, and it hurt her. There were nights when it left the pegasus weeping into Fleur's fur for hours.

But it also encouraged a certain amount of practicality.

"...then what she'll get," Fluttershy quietly stated, "may not be what she was expecting. Don't start with her, Fleur. But if she starts with you? Then I want you to be the one to finish."

They crossed the bridge.

Snowflake went home. Fleur was briefly possessed by a vague, uncertain sense that there was something she should have told him. But Fluttershy asked for some help with getting the dress off, and wriggled just a little too much the whole time.

It stopped at wriggling, because there were clients waiting in the sitting room. They had to go back to the working part of the cottage.

(Every part was the working part.)

And as soon as they arrived, a fresh arrival opened the door -- which gave one nervous canine the perfect opportunity to make a break for freedom, and life more or less resumed from there.

There was labor. There always was. Feedings and appointments and still more feedings and Angel had picked a fight which he couldn't win while expecting the mares to get him out of it. Bookings arrived on time and got stalled out by the animals who'd found a way to make sure their time ran late. Fleur just barely managed to get into the bathroom for a few minutes, and The Square loomed.

Eventually, Sun was lowered. They both ate. And there was a fresh supply of miracles in Fleur's saddlebags, waiting next to their nest. So Fluttershy put a portion of the day's outfit back on, largely because she wanted to have Fleur remove it for the second time. And then they went into the bedroom. Cleared out every last animal, hung the double mirror over the nest, and made sure the slightly-glossier side was aligned properly.

The device was triggered. The mares climbed into the nest. And a trained escort offered the first nuzzle, then allowed her horn to ignite as gentle, softly-vibrating energies went there and there...

It was Fluttershy and for Fleur, joy came from being with her. But there was none in the act.

They were just... trying again.

If He Was Still In Stone, He'd Be A CONvalescent

There was a calendar in the bathroom, and it served to track the potential arrival of major events: related functions allowed it to remind Fleur of her own inadequacies while simultaneously offering a steady countdown of the time remaining until their public reveal. Veterinary appointments were noted separately: kept within a book, where they shared increasingly-crowded space with grooming visits, blocks of time set aside for general pet care advice, along with kennel dropoffs, pickups, and every other service which the cottage tried to offer Ponyville.

A calendar and an appointment book. Two creations which shared both purpose and failure: the only true difference was in the scale. Ultimately, they each offered the same illusion: that it was possible for a sapient to exert some degree of control over time -- and because that offering was nothing more than illusion, it always shattered quickly. Appointments ran long. Clients arrived late. Shaving some degree of fur away during a grooming could easily uncover issues with the skin: something which quickly changed the nature of the visit while putting a near-mandatory tripling on its length. And even with the kennel services...

There were very few ponies so heartless as to truly abandon their pets, towing all possessions but one away from the empty home in an overloaded cart, ears pressed firmly down against the skulls in an effort to block out forlorn barks. Trotting away from a companion who'd been left in the Everfree qualified for a few extra criminal charges. But there were those who took their pets to the cottage, because kennel services offered security: you couldn't bring your companion on the trip, so somepony else would look after them for the duration. And then the hired time would run out, the pony wouldn't return, and the actual (now unpaid) duration turned out to be for life. Or until Fluttershy managed to match the animal to somepony else, because surely leaving a former pet at the cottage was doing nothing more than offering a second chance and that meant the pony was doing the right thing, really they were and they could keep telling themselves that all the way to the next settled zone. Or perhaps the first border. It seldom truly mattered, as such clients were generally careful not to leave an accurate forwarding address.

The calendar and appointment book could only try to indicate when things were supposed to happen or, in the case of The Square, indicate something which Fleur currently preferred not to happen at all. It was nothing more than the illusion of control, and that was something which always shattered quickly. Because it was the cottage and if you were trying to truly dictate an order of events, then you were attempting to impose a schedule upon chaos.

However, when it came to the cottage's schedule, any actual appointments made with chaos were never written down. They existed as a void within the words, perhaps because the blank space was considerably more imposing. Realistically, there was also the chance that somepony would get a peek at the appointment book, or ask to use the bathroom and, with the unerring lack of direction possessed by the average client, wander through the cottage until they wound up in exactly the wrong one. In both cases, seeing the actual words had the potential to trigger a reaction.

Knowing that chaos was going to turn up tended to produce -- 'reactions' was fair, if rather drastically understated. Having it happen right in front of somepony just about guaranteed it, along with the chance for some fascinating studies in sonics as some of those reactions had their ongoing scream doppler over the horizon --

-- that... didn't happen as much any more. Oh, it still took place: there were always new ponies in the settled zone, some of whom were going to spot the abrupt arrival of chaos for their personal first time and take it exactly the right --

-- the wrong way.

(It was 'the wrong way'. It had been so for a while now, and Fleur still wasn't entirely sure if that was going to last.)

But there wasn't as much raw panic these days. Ponyville kept acquiring new residents, the construction never truly stopped and more than a few fresh houses found themselves hosting the Flower Trio's spiritual cousins for a week or so -- but for most part, the reactions had shifted. Because those ponies would witness the arrival of chaos, fresh off the air carriage, and...

...it was the crutches.
Fleur was almost certain that some of the new instinctive reactions were initially based on the presence of crutches.
The cane hadn't done much to change that.
(On a good day, he used a cane.)
(There had only been a few good days.)

These days, the more sapient variety of chaos generally arrived by appointment. But they didn't write down the times. It felt less offensive that way.

There were still things to do before that arrival. On the morning after the fertility clinic visit, with one double-sided piece of framed glass expended and accordingly, one stick maliciously punished for the failure of another, Fleur was busy doing most of them. Because there was a tipping point to be found on the lever of manual labor: the place where the brain decided it wasn't currently needed and let the body take over. Eventually, she was going to discover where it was.

The cottage needed to be cleared down. Every visit required a block of time with no active appointments: this meant looking at the moment when the last one was supposed to end, then adding a generous portion of minutes to correct for error: the hour kicked onto the back end of that represented Fleur's attempt to account for the universe's direct malice.

But it had to be done. The imminent arrival of chaos had imposed certain rules, and one of the most prominent said that if there were any clients on the grounds, then they had to be over the bridge and well on their way home well before he arrived. Because there was always a reaction, along with a typical minimum of one pony who wasn't entirely sure what theirs was supposed to be and thus spent a full minute in having four legs attempting to run away from each other.

(Fleur had irritably considered that the mayor really needed to issue a mandatory one-sheet to all new arrivals. Things To Expect In Ponyville: Now Including The Ones We're Reasonably Sure Won't Kill You, especially as she'd gotten sick of personally giving out the impromptu briefings: something which typically required about ten minutes for The Talk, and that was preceded by the variable amount of time necessary for Catching Up To The Blindly Fleeing Target. She'd nearly started into the composition of a first draft before realizing that Town Hall wasn't paying her for that either.)

Certain times were clearly better than others. Early evening was fairly safe, while anything which took place deep under Moon could do so in the dual relative reassurance that very few emergencies came up the path at that hour and the caretaker was probably going to be awake anyway. By comparison, early morning was one of the worst possibilities, because any number of companion medical problems were initially revealed by Sun's light and after that, it was generally a race to see who could reach the cottage first -- but you couldn't impose too much of a schedule on chaos, especially when it seemed to have most of its night hours occupied. They allowed enough morning leeway to have some chance of clearing the earliest crises, and then you just hoped nothing turned up during the appointment itself. Because if there was a drop-in, then it went to Fleur. She could fetch Fluttershy if she had to: as a student, some tasks were still beyond her capabilities, and the most intelligent decision she could make after recognizing such a situation was to pass it off. It just meant listening to a lot of grumbling, most of which unerringly centered itself within her right ear.

The cottage didn't necessarily require organizing before a visit: he rather naturally liked things to be at least somewhat disorderly. However, it was generally crucial to make sure there was nothing in view which could be considered as actual work. There had been times when he'd decided that it was his duty as a friend to take up some part of the perpetual labors, and that was typically followed by several hours of trying to correct for whatever he'd done: the next level of aftermath usually came from desperate attempts to make those corrections end.

(He'd decided to assist in tidying up once, four moons before Fleur's arrival. According to Fluttershy, the Bearers' collective attempts to make the brooms stop cleaning had finally gotten to the point of implementing Rainbow's solution and while breaking everything into splinters had seemed like a good idea at the time, that was when the regenerative properties had kicked in. Preventing the citizenry from being swept out of their homes had ultimately involved torching one of the bridges (and not the one they've been planning to burn), and ponies were still advised not to approach any fragment of pale beige wood unless they were fully certain it wasn't moving.)

There wasn't much need to do anything with the animals. Fluttershy had been coaching him on that for over a year: proper behavior (which he still occasionally chafed at), approach (same), and scent. His natural odor was like nothing else in the world -- when he actually chose to have one. The default setting for the manifestation of anything olfactory could be described as 'things you've only scented while in the core of dream, only twisted together and shot through with doenjang'. The pegasus had instructed him on producing something which the majority of nature wouldn't flee from, and now most of the cottage denizens were willing to approach him -- carefully. The exception was Angel: the rabbit visibly recognized a significant competitor for the attention of his mistress -- and had apparently decided there was only so far he could push his luck.

He wasn't bad with the animals. And still, new arrivals were warned. Ponies were cleared out. The need to remove all clients from the grounds meant the last grooming session before the visit was done with some degree of haste, and Fleur took a little pride in managing to sell the non-fact that buzz cuts were just beginning to come into fashion: in fact, if that pony took her canine to Canterlot, she would find her companion well ahead of the trend.

They cleared the grounds. And then they waited.

There was a relatively new song which signaled that he was coming over the bridge and appropriately, none of the notes went with each other.

Fleur opened the door for Fluttershy, watched her love go down the Sun-lit path under clear sky to greet him. For his part, the guest did his best to meet her halfway -- and was lucky to cover a fifth of the distance. He moved like someone who had to concentrate on every part of the process: this included remembering where his legs were, the number of joints each was supposed to have, and the limits on how far any given one of them was meant to bend. Given just who was visiting, it was rather likely that he hadn't spent any significant amount of his lifespan in previously working that out. When you had once been capable of appearing anywhere with a thought, the whole 'walking' thing was very much a learn-as-you-go process.

Perhaps that was part of why he usually chose to take the walk. The air carriage which generally dropped him off in the heart of Ponyville could have just as easily landed at the cottage, but -- he'd said that walking was interesting. That you saw more when moving at lower speeds, especially when the majority of the living view was no longer galloping for its life. Additionally, he was still getting used to the crutches --

-- it's crutches again.
He gets a better grip with the talons than the paw. The paw just sort of presses in. Even when it's got that stuffed shopping bag hanging off the wrist --
-- is that for Fluttershy?
Plush toys go to the animals. And she never uses colors that bright. It's more suited for a nursery...
There was a cane on the last visit. And now it's back to crutches --

-- and that was the sort of thing which benefited from practice.

The thumps created by the crutches moving up the path were uneven, which perfectly suited his natural tread. Both paused when he called out a greeting to his friend, and then all other sounds were temporarily drowned out by grumbling because he'd lost a degree of focus and now had to deal with the consequences.

Fluttershy reached him, helped to extract the half-tangible walking claw from where it had sunken into the path. Something which never would have been necessary before, but...

...Discord had... done something.
Overdone it.
Drastically.

There were times when the draconequus openly resented his newfound weakness. He was still capable of pulling off a few tricks, but -- small ones, and not too many in quick succession. And as with everyone who had to recover from a near-fatal exertion, there were times when he forgot himself, started to overdo it and made matters just that much worse for himself. He needed more than occasional reminders to keep from slipping into old habits, especially since his physicality was no longer fully under his control. It had always been intermittent, but -- too much distraction, a lapse in concentration, and it became possible to watch the wind whistle through the antler. Using too much of his magic visibly made that worse.

Fluttershy helped him reach the door: soft words of encouragement was most of it, along with gentle suggestions on how to place the crutches for maximum effectiveness.

He paused to check on the health of the date palm. He always did.

Fleur stood aside, and then the friends entered the cottage together. He had arrived for tea and sympathy: the latter would be sincere, while the former was likely to be rather weak and saturated with milk. He wasn't quite up to straight tea yet, and magma was at least three moons away.

She watched them head towards the kitchen. Eventually, the back porch. And that was all Fleur generally did, because somepony had to watch the cottage. And... she wasn't his friend. At best, they had an ongoing truce. Something where it could be argued that neither party was entirely thrilled about the situation, but -- they both wanted Fluttershy to be happy and whether draconequus and unicorn liked it or not, each had managed to reconcile that maintaining that happiness meant the other was required. And he was still weak, being around Fluttershy made him feel better...

He resented his weakness. But he also recognized that it would pass. And in many ways, he was proud of having brought himself down to this level.

After all, the cause had been a noble one.

Fleur watched as pegasus and draconequus slipped out of sight. The thumping of the crutches became softer. A few more breaths, and then a door opened.

She tried to give them privacy. Asking Fluttershy what they'd talked about was a truly rare event, and answers were never guaranteed. She didn't ask him, because -- Fleur wasn't his friend. They rarely spoke because, at best, there was a truce.

They weren't friends.

The most recent discussion between them had arisen because Fluttershy had been on a mission: one where Fleur hadn't been so fortunate as to go along. That topic had been a familiar one.

Two sapients with a pegasus in common. A situation which required a truce.

We don't talk...

But there was a new factor to deal with.

She almost found herself hoping for a situation which would get Fluttershy off the porch. All it required was a veterinary emergency -- no, not an actual crisis, just an emergency: anything which Fleur either hadn't been formally taught to deal with yet or wasn't entirely confident in her ability to pass the abrupt test. If it was a question of a quick stomach tonic and the unicorn didn't have the mix for that species memorized, then it was clearly time to send in the pegasus.

Fleur told herself that it wasn't really wishing harm on an innocent. Then she caught herself lying and paced around the sitting room, with her hooves propelled by the force of moderate fuming. And the sunlit cottage, which only partially existed to thwart her plans, quietly enjoyed its chance to have absolutely nothing arrive.

There was no veterinary excuse to pull the pegasus away from her friend. Fleur couldn't seem to come up with anything else, and that bothered her. Fleur was used to lying. Every relationship needed a few casual lies in order to keep it galloping smoothly, and when it came to just making her way through life...

She didn't seem to have any falsehoods ready to go. Blaming the stick felt mandatory.

So she moved around the sitting room, cleaning a little here and there as animals watched, occasionally followed, and frequently shed a little more of their winter coats because cleaning was already in progress and this was clearly a good time. She kept her hearing focused. And after the clock had told her that the tea party was just about over, at the moment she finally heard the back door starting to open, Fleur moved for the kitchen.

She could move quickly enough, when she wanted to. It frequently came across as being a rather casual thing. Reaching a target within a crowded party (or getting away from one) without seeming as if you'd been trying to do so was an art all its own.

"Fluttershy?"

The pegasus, who'd had just enough time to get her head through the slowly-opening gap, froze in place. One curious eye regarded Fleur.

"...yes?" her love cautiously asked. Somewhere behind the hidden lushness of the tail, two crutches were trying to plant themselves for the seat-dislodging push.

"I'd like to speak with him," Fleur told her. "Just for a few minutes. If he has time."

The next sound to make its way past the yellow fur was a rather singular nonverbal grumble. This was quickly followed by the twinned impacts of crutches falling onto wood.

"...speak with him," Fluttershy carefully repeated. "By yourself?"

Just nod.
One even, calm nod.
...oh, good. So at least my neck can still lie.

"...it's okay with me," the pegasus quietly decided. "But it's really about what he wants to --"

"-- oh, just send her back here," the draconequus grumbled. "Before she tries to follow me down the path. Or get in front of me. I am fully aware that there are those who, for reasons known only to themselves and possibly their therapists, not-faulting-your-taste-of-course, consider her to be fully worthy of an extended viewing, but I was rather hoping for the chance to find some snowdrops on the way back. Something which would likely become lost against her coat, because she simply must block anything with a fully natural appeal." Snidely, "A few minutes only, Fleur. As I do have another appointment?"

You've said that a few times, when you visit. That there's another place you have to be.
But not where.

Fluttershy calmly nodded, came all the way inside. Fleur went out the door, and her left hind leg carefully nudged it shut.

Discord's chair had been manifested fairly early into the friendship, because a sapient with a singular configuration who knew he would be dropping by fairly regularly was clearly going to need a comfortable place to sit. It rested at the left edge of the porch, and remained so in spite of the universe's attempts to heal over the falsely wooden wound.

Its features included a built-in (occupied) tea tray, quite a bit of vaguely reddish padding, and being at least half a normal spacial dimension over the typical limit. It was possible to look directly at it for periods of up to twenty seconds: after that, the upholstery noticed, began to glare back, and then started openly considering whether to make its move. Fortunately, there was no need to make physical contact, as the chair never became dirty, wet, or dusty. This was presumably for the same reason animals avoided sitting in it, although Fleur was rather more impressed by having the inanimate avoid something which could so clearly lead to death. Contemplating it for too long usually sent a pony's attention towards its occupant: something which happened not so much in an attempt to find the blameworthy party as from a desperate quest to find a better view. The fact that this was usually successful said a lot about the styling, and slightly more regarding the way the tea tray kept any drinks at the perfect temperature. Which was an admittedly nice feature to have in a chair, but the patch of embedded vacuum with its tiny star was still rather hard to look at.

Discord claimed it did a lot for his spinal support, and had continued to do so right up until the moment when his lack of strength had forced him to discover what a spine was actually for.

He tilted his head slightly to the right, and the horn phased partway through the wood. Fleur was almost certain he hadn't meant to do that.

"This is rather unusual," the draconequus grumbled. "Sufficiently so as to gain my attention."

She stayed close to the door. Not that it meant much as a retreat point: he was weak, and -- there was a truce. But there was usually some distance between them.

His head tilted again and, rather unusually, did so while remaining fully on the neck. "So what is this about?"

Fleur was fully aware that deliberately trying to get Discord to do something bore a strong resemblance to what a minotaur client had described as 'juggling explosives'. (She'd had to look up 'juggling'.) She'd made the decision to speak with him, and -- she didn't know what was safe to say. There was an argument to be made that she was best off keeping her mouth shut, but Discord didn't always drop by on schedule and had a habit of going for limping strolls around Ponyville. There was a good chance that given enough time, he was going to see --

The thick white eyebrows arched.

"Is this about Zephyr?" Discord casually asked.

She managed to hold back the wince: the resulting cramp immediately took up residence near the base of her tail.

"Because I feel like this is probably about Zephyr," the draconequus added as he raised a paw, gestured towards Fleur. "And if so, then in the interests of saving time...?"

"Fluttershy mentioned him." Her tones felt too stark.

"In rather exacting lack of detail," Discord nodded. "Almost a suspicious absence of true information. There is a brother -- something of a shock, wouldn't you say? -- and he is in town. And then she started into the list."

She took a hoofstep forward. "What was the list?"

Aggravated talons attempted to slice through the air: this was followed by a frustrated red glare as pieces of sundered atmosphere failed to shatter against wood. "'Things an honorable draconequus should not do to somepony's sibling.' Something so long and obnoxiously elaborate as to make one suspect the librarian played a part in its creation. And the precision wasn't even the worst part! She had the sheer nerve to bring matters into the realm of generalities. 'Neither through action or inaction'..."

The repressed smirk, however, settled in at the back of her jaw and waited for another opportunity.

"Do you have any idea how irritating that is, Fleur?" Both arms were now attempting to ward off invisible sprites of deep offense, and every last one of the opponents was getting through. "For her to behave as if she can give me orders? To not make a single move against him, to threaten him in any one of those specific or general ways? Especially when she refused to explain why she felt such 'instructions' were necessary in the first place?"

"I might," Fleur allowed.

And when the argument ends, you find yourself doing what she wanted. And you're not sure how she managed that. Or why it keeps happening...

"I suppose you might at that," Discord muttered.

He tried to lean forward. Then he brought both arms back, took a moment to remember what the elbows did, braced against the upholstery, and pushed. The results left him sitting up more or less straight, or as much as the half-foreign spine would ever truly allow.

His arms came forward again. The paw and talon touched in front of his torso, as the draconequus attempted to steeple digits which he didn't fully have.

"It was a rather detailed list," he told her. "Even in the generalities, because those were intended to cover anything she might have forgotten. All of those things which she'd rather I didn't do to him, this sibling whose existence I was not permitted to even suspect for so much time. So many ways and means, blocked -- at least, for one who might consider both listening and following the letter of her attempted laws. But --" and something about the red eyes seemed to deepen "-- she is many things, Fleur. When she wishes to be. And she did her best -- but she is incapable of galloping down infinity."

He kept looking at her. Eventually, the hoof began to tap.

"Which means?" Fleur finally asked.

"There were loopholes," Discord informed her. "Quite a few. Enough that, even with my current -- limits... I could do something. If I wished."

She'd taken a psychiatry class: something which had been mandatory for securing her license. It had required memorizing nearly all of the material, while trying not to snicker at most of it. But it meant she remembered things, and one of them was the teacher's theory regarding intrusive thoughts. That they were potentially meant as the brain's means of running a self-test. Come up with something horrible, parade it through the conscious mind and if disgust immediately surged...

Having the thought didn't necessarily make you a bad pony, because the subconscious was capable of spinning out nearly anything and nopony could hope to control what emerged. It was all about whether you acted on it.

Maybe if it was only a seventh of Tartarus --
-- no.

So she was still sane.

As the acid fumes coming off the shell reach his mane and start to evaporate it, making him scream and scream long before it ever reaches the skin because that mane is all he has, all he loves and he hasn't even noticed the fact that his tail vanished thirty seconds ago...

Possibly enjoying the image just a little too much, but sane.

"So what are you going to do?"

It was a risky question. Any words spoken to Discord took on an element of chance. Spinning a giant wheel, when you didn't fully understand how the game was played, couldn't see every possible result, and someone had set the payout table on fire.

It could have been argued that there were no good words. Something likely would have happened no matter what she'd chosen to say. The right question might not have existed at all. And there was no way to tell what might come from that --

"There are often reasons to supervise a friend during a potentially troublesome period in their life," the draconequus observed. "Necessity can be one of them, especially if there are concerns about whether they can truly manage on their own. Acting out of caring. Between the two, even when the situation isn't fully understood -- yet -- it's rather easy to perceive a need to personally step in --"

She became aware that she was holding her breath.

Talon and paw separated. Gravity noticed the presence of both arms, and they descended towards the chair.

"-- and as you might recall," Discord added, "on a previous occasion when I chose to act, I wound up stuck with you." With the lightest, briefest of smirks, "I would call that a rather strong argument for hesitating. Past performance may not necessarily indicate future results, but I don't feel I can afford to take that chance."

She was now equally aware that she was staring at him.
Also that she was starting to feel somewhat -- angry.
And he was still looking at her.

"However," the draconequus slowly said, "the mere fact that she felt the need to dictate such a list is... a cause for some concern. So tell me something, Fleur. As we appear to be talking, and I know that Fluttershy has granted us privacy." And leaned in just a little more, as both ears rotated forward. Waiting for her words, and hers alone. "Has he hurt her?"

They had been even words. Soft. Measured. Controlled.

A soft spring breeze blew across most of the porch. All of it avoided the chair.

Yes.
But I'm still trying to work out how.
And if I tell you that, if I say one thing which makes him responsible --
-- this was a mistake, I never should have come out here, I --

"They're siblings," Fleur quietly answered. "There's always some fighting, when it's a sibling. Even when you don't mean to fight, or know you're fighting --"

"-- yes." The nod felt oddly solemn. "I've seen that."

...where?

"And where there is fighting," the draconequus calmly continued, "there can be pain. But -- what is it that Protocerans say, Fleur? 'No blood, no squawk, no foul?' Is she bleeding?"

I don't know.
She acts as if pain can be cured. But she carries her own scars.
Maybe her wounds were healing. But his being here reminds her of the hurts. Makes them raw again.
I can't tell him that.
I don't know what to say --

She felt her body take another hoofstep forward.

"Not if I can stop it."

And then he was truly staring at her.

He -- wasn't particularly good at it, not when the red eyes didn't have the strength to leave their sockets. It took surprisingly little time before he blinked, and she could make out each of the rough lashes. Sense their weight.

"A pony who requires such a list," Discord finally observed, "is perhaps a pony who needs -- special measures. But you seem to have a way with trouble, Fleur. It's one of the reasons I allowed the truce to form: because you can protect. After a fashion. So for now, I pass the duty of dealing with him to you. I expect you can manage it."

'You're on your own.'

She genuinely wasn't sure whether she was better off.

"Is there anything else?" the draconequus inquired. "As once again, there is that other appointment...?"

Should I bring up Gilda?
Did Fluttershy already --

-- she'd pushed her luck far enough already.

He stretched, tried to reach down for the crutches. Her horn ignited, and a quick touch of glow raised them up towards his grip.

"...yes," he muttered. "There we go. And the bag?"

She levitated it towards him.

Toys. Soft and bright. Why is he --

Discord visibly concentrated, pushed crutches and limbs against the porch. The chair added a helpful boost, and it all got him standing on the third attempt.

"It was a good talk, Fleur," he decided as he made his thumping way towards the door. "In that there were words spoken, and people listening. I'm fairly sure those are the base requirements. We'll have to do it again sometime. Inevitably. And likely regrettably."

He awkwardly reached down. Gripped the lever as he ducked his head in anticipation of the door frame (because that necessity had taken three visits to fully sink in), started to push --

-- stopped.

"She's wearing her mane forward again," the draconequus said. "Covering part of her face."

Fleur managed a nod.

"It reminds me of how she looked when we first met," Discord softly declared. "But at the same time... I'd grown accustomed to seeing more of her features. Because she had changed. Part of that change came from being with you. And now she may be changing back."

He looked down at her. Steadily, and neither gaze faltered.

"Keep an eye on that," he told her.

The door opened, and the wounded draconequus thumped away.

It's A Lot Of Material To Cover

And then the cottage tried to take over.

There were times when Fleur would have sworn that the structure was both sapient and partially telepathic. It almost had to be capable of spotting those moments when she truly needed a chance to think, followed immediately by moving in to stop it. But to truly believe that meant giving the building credit for possessing several additional forms of magic, most of which would have centered around changing reality to its liking. Having feedbags rip open at inconvenient moments, which would lead into scuffles between new residents as they squabbled over who could get more of the unexpected bounty. Such little battles could quickly lead into minor veterinary emergencies, and then another hour had bled out from the clock.

To believe the cottage was fully capable of that was to allow it magic which, even when expressed on a very localized level, partially matched Discord. And Fleur knew that was very nearly the purest of nonsense. There were any number of differences between the two. Just for starters, it was possible for a sufficiently delusional or desperate sapient to talk themselves into believing it was possible to reach some level of mutual accommodation with Discord, and you clearly couldn't say the same about the cottage.

She needed a chance to think. To plan

to be myself

and that meant everything began to work against her. But what she required just as much was fresh information to consider, and Fleur knew she was missing too many pieces of the story -- especially since Gilda's arrival had brought an extra character onto the stage. One for which the displaced Protoceran had no true concept of the griffon's self-assigned role.

Time to think, and things to think about.

She had to get off the grounds.

And the cottage kept blocking her.

Of course, even the cottage had its limits -- at least in theory. Fleur would have needed to personally witness wood chomping down on paper before she would have believed it capable of eating the mail. Of course, practically speaking, summoning a gust of wind or having a stray animal run off with a crucial envelope was probably a much simpler affair --

-- but none of that happened, and so Miranda's note got through.

Of course it arrived, required only a few seconds of reading. There's nothing here.

On one level, Fleur knew the investigation required more time. There had only been enough to see the nearest neighboring settled zones check in, and they had reported that Zephyr had no outstanding warrants in those locations. Beyond that, the mail was traveling, and Miranda's carefully-written words took pains to remind the former escort that the police chief was still waiting on the majority of a continent. But Fleur had been hoping for something, anything to shift Zephyr out of the area. It just made the unicorn feel as if Miranda was living up to every last expectation of uselessness. Some of that probably had to be blamed on the profession: something which was producing the same immediate lack of results as the use of Most Special Spell and stick --

-- although unlike that particular increasingly-loathed combination, at least something was being produced from vacuum. Fleur found another negative deeper into the note, managed to somehow focus on it while several mice searched her tail for nesting material, and immediately birthed a question.

Miranda had also checked Ponyville's hotels. Zephyr wasn't booked with any of them.

So where is he staying?

It was possible that he was commuting in from a Canterlot room, but prices were higher in the capital. Even if he was saving the trainfare through flying to Ponyville, the difference in booking costs alone...

Or he could be perching with a friend in Canterlot.

She tried to picture Zephyr having friends.

...maybe they haven't sobered up yet.

No, that was unfair. That level of ego might have simply found somepony who was willing to agree with all of it, at least until the bills truly started to come in. Or... Zephyr might have simply signed up for a rental somewhere in Ponyville. It was even remotely possible that he had Fleur's old rental. She certainly knew how to get into that building, although Miranda would have objected to most of the methods.

Or he could have a swagger-lair. Mold a cloud hollow every night, push it to wherever nopony's looking, close the entrance and sleep in. And hope nopony's scheduled to disperse that area in the morning. But swagger-lairs were very much an adolescent thing, and --

-- it's probably a swagger-lair.

She needed more information. But when it came to Zephyr, the sources were limited. And the mare who might have known the most was letting more of the coral mane slip in front of her features with every successive day.

I don't want to hurt her...

She needed privacy in order to confront Zephyr. Privacy and time. But when it came to Gilda, what Fleur currently needed was information.

She had to meet with Rainbow.

Trying to set up a meeting with Rainbow was a rather involved process, and came with the additional option to renew a rather frustrated exploration of advanced thaumatology theory.

On the global scale, Equestria was sometimes considered to lead the world in sheer magical strength. Fleur was willing to admit this was likely true -- right up until the moment you factored the alicorns out because once that happened, you had a society which was 98% ponies. The nation had limited access to the magic of the other sapient species, because it barely had any other species within its borders. And for what was there... just about every citizen of Equestria seemed unwilling to explore their true potential, because the vast majority of ponies avoided whatever they feared and to truly recognize what their magic might be capable of might leave the residents trying to get away from their own skin. By contrast, Protocera, whose population was considerably more mixed, typically enjoyed chances to experiment and did so with a citizenry which was rather more inclined to be bold.

Equestrians didn't have all of the power. Every species brought something to the table, and nearly all of them seemed to specialize in a category of magic. Something which could potentially be summarized as a single word: strength, domination, stability, destruction, harmonics -- and true power came from recognition of just how much that word might fully define.

(Nearly every species. The exception was the unicorns, and Fleur had wondered about the scattershot, near-random nature of those magics. There was the telekinesis granted by a field, and then there was -- well, when regarded across the whole of the population, just about anything else. Her own kind lacked not just a unifying theme, but a true definition of their abilities -- and there didn't seem to be any Equestrians who were really thinking about that either. Twilight might have been an exception, but Fleur had enough trouble with just getting the little alicorn to speak with her about finding a good time to visit Spike.)

Take a species. Find its power, record that word. And if you assembled all of the terms on a single page...

...you would see the gaps.

Because there were gaps, and Fleur occasionally wondered if that was because a number of sapients simply hadn't been found. Perhaps each portion of vacuum upon the page represented a hidden nation which existed within the vastness of the unexplored wild zones, each waiting to step forward and claim their place within magic's glossary. The most recent discovery of such a species had been a mere twenty-nine years ago, and that had provided an entry for exchange. And it had taken the rather unexpected arrival of a decidedly singular centaur to create an entirely new, moderately terrifying section: countermagic.

Gaps, each of which potentially represented an unknown species.

Unfortunately for Fleur, whoever had drawn communication from the pool had yet to announce themselves. This was possibly ironic, potentially paradoxical -- and when it came to setting up a meeting with Rainbow, mostly came across as extremely annoying.

There were a few exceptions. Spike could send scrolls, but Fleur had known him long enough to have learned the secret: it was the result of retraining, taking the normal dragon potential for teleporting their hoard away and focusing it onto paper. And it was sending: something which happened in one direction, and the youth had to serve as the launching point into the aether.

Of course, if you couldn't reach the library while carrying the required fueling gem and a few kind words, there was the option to stretch a taut wire between two cans. This was extremely effective for any distance up to fifteen body lengths: after that, somepony would usually fly into the wire. And Fleur had heard legends of paired devices, supposedly made in the North: stand in front of one facet and even if the matching surface was gallops away, your image would still appear in the other. Anything which happened after that was presumably a matter of holding up signs. And the Empire had returned to the world -- but the crystals were rumored to be in the process of recovering most of their own magic and until that happened, the majority of their exports were going to be either decorative or canine. (The howls of the latter were likely intended to keep ponies ordering replacements for the former. Shaddap had yet to shatter glass, much less crystal -- but it was just a matter of time.)

Fleur couldn't get into town: something which didn't so much exclude Spike's kindness as make it unnecessary because if she could have escaped from the cottage for a few hours, it would have been much more practical to just head directly to Rainbow. Using the postal system for sending letters within the settled zone was typically at least a day in each direction, with a chance for two. Private couriers were available, but the price was too high. She couldn't talk to Rainbow just by wishing for it. And when the weather coordinator hadn't dropped by (or crashed into) the cottage...

There was no help for it. She had to use the birds. And that meant involving Fluttershy.

Fleur had been somewhat surprised to learn about the cottage's private airmail system, and had initially seen it as a potential source of income -- but her love's soft words of explanation had torn down that theoretical support pillar within minutes. Because sending scrolls via flame required Spike -- Celestia could work a version of the effect, but that was still one-way -- and if you wanted to post a letter by bird, you needed Fluttershy. And then you had to be willing to work with a lot of limits.

The pegasus didn't use homing pigeons. Fleur understood how those avians operated: you took them a very long way from their home, tied a tightly-rolled letter to one leg, and then hoped that whoever you wanted to communicate with was close to the original nest because as soon as you let go, that was where the bird was headed. This had uses, particularly in military operations for anyone willing to take the pigeons along -- but it was still one way. However, it was possible to train a pigeon by taking it to one place, feeding it there, then carrying it to a distant location and providing another meal. Repeat the process a few dozen times and eventually, the pigeon would start commuting on its own. Between those two spots, at predictable hours, and there had better be a food bowl put out every time. Also, it meant that whoever you were communicating with needed to be willing to host a pigeon. The food had to be paid for, but the shed feathers and guano were absolutely free.

With Fluttershy involved, it was easier. The pegasus just needed birds who possessed some carrying capacity. Ideally, they would be more intelligent than the average pigeon. (This wasn't a particularly difficult requirement.) And then she took them around town. This is the bakery. This is the library. This is the right cloud, and please don't get too close to the fountains.

She taught them to recognize the places they were supposed to go. Told them that when a letter was being delivered, they had to wait patiently while the pony took it off their leg. (Normally, that would have been the tricky part -- but Fluttershy knew a surprising amount about sewing, and had memorized several temporarily-secure knots which came with long, trailing pieces of string.) And then they had to keep waiting until the pony had finished composing a response, followed by absolutely not flying away while the next letter was being placed on their leg by somepony who couldn't simply ask them to hold still.

'Please don't peck' had been a natural followup request and as such things went, had been made just a little too late.

The airmail system was still limited. Each participating bird only had a few locations memorized. The majority were strictly short-range, and some of them became distracted easily. Any message sent to the Boutique had to contend with Opal, and a bird who'd been asked to wait patiently until the unicorn arrived usually dumped several kinds of non-letter weight at the moment the cat turned up. Owlowiscious would only treat small predators with respect, Winona barked at just about everything...

The cloud house presented additional problems. Any bird who went to Rainbow's home had to find ways of alerting the owner that there was a message waiting: this had eventually led to the weather coordinator hanging a small pecking bell outside her bedroom window, and the Bearers had promptly discovered that she was perfectly capable of sleeping through that too. However, Tank usually heard the alert and would loyally take the walk to his napping pony, ready to nudge her awake. This typically added at least ten minutes to the delivery time, or up to an hour if the tortoise had been on the porch.

Fluttershy was willing to send out birds on Fleur's behalf. She never asked to see just what Fleur was writing down, any more than she tried to get a look at the responses. (Admittedly, you had to look at the responses from about half a hoofwidth away to have any hope of making them out: Rainbow's mouthwriting was horrible.) But it meant making the request. Requests. Over and over. Because Rainbow wasn't committing to anything in a hurry.

...except for not coming out to the cottage. The weather coordinator immediately announced that she wasn't going to visit the cottage. Rainbow wanted the meeting to take place at her house.

No, not under. In.

...well, why couldn't Fleur just cast the cloudwalking --

-- oh.

Well, you can self-levitate, right? So just come on up! Through the floor. I'll tell you which section of floor. You'll want to avoid the parts of the cloud which have the plumbing storage areas. There's pockets for the post-dehydration uric salts. And pucky. You don't want to know about the pucky. And once you're in, just pick a piece of furniture! The furniture's solid enough. Just don't get up. Ever. Or go into the kitchen. Or try for the bathroom unless you absolutely have to. I'll have to explain how the bathroom works -- okay, maybe we do need to talk about pucky. Also, you'll need to be in disguise. Or at least a dress. And bring your own food. Actually, you should bring enough for two -- maybe you do need to go into the kitchen. Can you self-levitate and move things around the kitchen at the same time? Also, my kitchen needs cleaning. So arrive early --

--- and why aren't we doing that?

Fine. Not my house. For some dumb reason. But you WILL be in disguise -- in a dress. Or at least layered. So what are you wearing?

(It would have been irritating enough as a normal conversation. Having to wait an average of two hours between each round of Ego wasn't exactly helping.)

It took some time to set up. Three days of it, as the cottage continued to steal hours and all Fleur could do was fume, try to hurry the process along, use a few moments of scant respite within the bathroom to rephrase the next missive for extra (implied) urgency, and feel vaguely thankful that at least Zephyr hadn't tried to drop by again.

Which was also three days of attending to Fluttershy's emotional, social, and occasionally physical dowry.

She was trying whatever she could to keep her partner's spirits lofted. It wound up leading to two more sticks.

Another pair of failures.

It was a heavily overcast day, one where the air was heavy with moisture and the promise (or rather, schedule) of a heavy spring thunderstorm shortly after sunset. The day had been designated as muggy, and the fact that Ponyville was effectively and eternally under construction had added some unwanted heat to the local mix: there was a crew working on a nearby building, and the black contents of a vat were bubbling away at ground level. Fleur had already ordered her appetizer, and was expecting the drifting odor of tar to add unwelcome spices.

The sky was a nearly uniform dull, leaden grey: something the approaching weather coordinator had been at least partially responsible for -- and yet she kept glaring at the thick clouds, with magenta flashing open malice every time she looked up. Half-stalking across the cobblestones while directing her anger into the atmosphere.

Fleur wasn't entirely sure why Rainbow was stalking. It was rare enough to see the pegasus trotting: stalking was a whole new lack of refinement. Possibly it had something to do with the disguise, or at least what Rainbow had decided currently passed for one. Because a disguise was about changing your appearance and Rainbow was arguably the Bearer most dedicated to meeting the world while covered in nothing more than her fur. So for a disguise, Rainbow had -- gotten dressed.

For whatever it was worth, the dress itself was a quality creation. Every Bearer had at least a few dresses in their closet, and they all came from the same source. Fluttershy, as one of Rarity's more frequent models and sources of inspiration, arguably had too many. Fleur was currently at -- two. She associated with Rarity now, but... it was hard to be in the Boutique. There was a certain discomfort built into the design sessions: one still thankful, and the other having no idea what to do with that. And Rarity liked to talk during the fitting process. A lot.

So Fleur had two dresses from the Boutique. (She was perfectly aware that Rarity wanted to make more. The designer had even asked if Fleur was willing to model. Her excuse for avoiding both was that it took more material to cover Fleur than it did for nearly any other mare, and it made her an exceptionally bad example to bring before the public. Fluttershy's wings were slightly oversized and the tail came along roughly once in every ten thousand mares. Fleur was one of the tallest unicorn mares to exist, capable of just about looking Cadance in the eye. A more average pony envisioning how they might look in a dress after seeing Fleur wearing it had to do a lot of scaling.) Rainbow presumably had a half-dozen or so, and long hours of osmosis-based learning had given her some idea of how to wear them. However, the hat was still giving her some trouble, and all of the upward glares had to work their way past the wide brim.

Cyan went exceptionally well with cool grays and soft whites, both of which were currently covering the pegasus from neck to hidden tail. Most of her features were shaded by the hat. And yet just about everypony she passed on the street was capable of identifying and (just barely) reconciling a trotting, dressed Rainbow, because the pegasus absolutely refused to cover her wings. Not a single feather had been concealed by fabric, and the exposed limbs occasionally flared out as an expression of irritation, flapped a few times before Rainbow remembered that she was apparently supposed to be trotting and flying was currently right out. That last didn't exactly help her mood.

Ponyville knew those wings, remembered most of the places they had turned up, and their owner refused to put them away.

Fleur, who'd been waiting under the awning on the restaurant's outdoor patio deck, watched her friend reach the first place from where the unicorn could be readily spotted and then made a very visible point of looking at the nearest clock.

Twenty minutes late.
Because Rainbow.

The pegasus didn't notice. She simply stepped onto the deck and half-stalked her way across the last of the distance before hard-plopping the covered sleek form onto the opposing bench.

"I hate this," Rainbow muttered. "Of all the days to have total cloud cover on the schedule. I don't know what's up there. I tried to see as much as I could through it, but it's too thick. If anyone puts a hole in it..."

"We're under the awning," Fleur tried to remind her. "There's some shielding." And there was more inside the actual building, but you usually didn't meet Rainbow within walls. As with most pegasi (with Fluttershy as an exception), the weather coordinator had a degree of claustrophobia. And given what they were about to discuss, Fleur wanted Rainbow to be as comfortable as possible.

"Not enough. Not from the right angles." The frustrated head shake nearly dislodged the hat. "And I could have gone up there to get a look, but then it would have just been me going up there. To get a look. And anyone could have seen --"

She stopped. Shook her head again, a little more slowly.

"It should have been my house," Rainbow decided. "Or a lot more birds. But at least you're in a dress." A Rarity-trained evaluation moved across the unicorn's covered form. "Maybe it should have been more of a dress. I think that one's going to leave your hips exposed if you shift them too much. And you shift your hips a lot. And where's the hat?"

"It's the design," was a near-automatic protest. "And I don't need a hat when it's this cloudy. A hat on an overcast day just draws more attention --"

Which was when Rainbow cut her off. "Fleur, I know this is about Gilda. You said it was about Gilda. We could have just written back and forth about Gilda. I don't know if we're clear or not."

The unicorn had anticipated that. "It takes too long by mail." And I know Twilight's been working on your grammar, but something has to be done about your tooth grip. The quill skids all over the paper. "We can wrap this up more quickly face to face --"

"-- I can't even stay that long."

Fleur blinked.

"Yesterday, you said --"

"I know what I said!" Fabric distorted along the back bulge of the dress: the hidden tail lashing. "I just got the letter this morning, and I can't send you a bird unless Fluttershy sends me one first! I have to go into Canterlot right after this. There's a schedule. And if I'm late --"

So you can be late with me, but not with --

The sleek head dipped.

"-- then it probably gets worse. It's the Bureau, Fleur. I have to meet somepony at the capital office. And I didn't know about that until the courier landed on my porch. I swear. And that's what stalled me."

The unicorn took a slow breath.

"They moved the deadline? It's today?"

The mare's voice felt far too weary. "No. This is just reminding me that the deadline is gonna be there. Personally. Putting on some extra pressure, you know? And seeing if they can get an answer out of me today --" fiercely "-- which they won't, because I'm still thinking. They'll probably come out to Ponyville at the end, and I'm fine with that. Make them work for it. But I've gotta be there on time. Maybe the dress will help. Somehow. But I can't afford to let the schedule slip. Not on this. I would have given you more time, but..."

Fleur gently nodded.

Her own life. Her own problems.
And I'm still not going to bring up Fluttershy's schedule slip. It's Rainbow. Not doing things exactly on time is part of the territory.
...maybe Fluttershy missing an assignment counts for copyright infringement...

"Just go when you have to," she said. (And wanted to ask for an exact minute, but it was Rainbow.) "But until then, we have to talk about Gilda."

"What about her?" Even for Rainbow, the words were far too quick. "I know she hasn't been out to the cottage. At least not where you saw her. You would have written --"

"-- I talked to Pinkie," Fleur calmly broke in. "About what happened when Gilda came to town the first time."

The sleek head went down again.

"I should have figured you'd ask around," the pegasus quietly stated. "It's what you do --"

"-- and I couldn't talk to you, not just then. That's what this is for," Fleur quickly established. "Rainbow -- after I finished with Pinkie, Minuette came into the bakery. To tell her that Gilda was in Ponyville."

"...I forgot she was at the party," Rainbow's lowered gaze told the table. "That was kind of nice of her."

Slowly, "Minuette warned Pinkie. Minuette. Not you."

"...yeah," Rainbow softly Fluttershied.

"Why?"

"I didn't need to," the pegasus said (and the voice was far too soft, too low and tired). "Nopony did. Gilda wasn't going to go anywhere near Pinkie. Or any of the other Bearers."

Carefully, "How do you know?"

"It's..." A too-deep breath, and the wings rustled. "...a long story."

We've been friends for a while.

You talk about yourself. A lot. Enough to turn some ponies off, and scare others away. You can go for hours without repeating yourself. Sometimes you enjoy 'the rest is classified' a little too much. But after a while, I started to see where the gaps were. There's things you never bring up. Like how you became Ponyville's weather coordinator in the first place.

'It's a long story' means this is something you don't want to talk about.

But I need this.

"Rainbow --"

The pegasus had partially turned upon the bench. Facing the construction crew.

Get her on the topic --

"There's Zephyr," Rainbow casually said. "Did you spot him?"

"-- what?"

"Up there." A foreleg gestured. "On the roof."

Fleur looked. Then she got off the bench, trotted forward enough to get her sight line clear of the awning, and looked again.

The stallion was on the edge of the new roof. (She had to search for height and mane: most of the body was covered in a protective blue garment.) Looking down at a patch of hot tar, and the pile of shingles which were supposed to be placed atop the sticky layer. And when it came to activity, 'looking' was the whole of what he was doing.

"It's not the first time I've seen him," Rainbow announced. "He's mostly been getting outdoor jobs."

"Jobs," Fleur carefully repeated. Plural? Is he trying to pay for a rental? Or putting together a lot of money in a hurry so he can get a house and move here --

"Well, he could be working indoors," the pegasus allowed, and snickered again. "I've only seen him get fired from the stuff outside."

The unicorn blinked. Her horn ignited, and a quick flare of field brought her bench around to the side of the table. Set it down again, moved the plate, and then she took her seat again. Repositioned to keep half an eye on Zephyr.

"Fired," she echoed.

Zephyr hadn't noticed either of them, and -- Fleur was starting to wonder about that. A mare who had so many ponies staring towards her beauty quickly developed a sense of when she was being watched, and the fur on the back of her neck seemed to be reacting accordingly. But nopony was in view.

Maybe he's just really good at glancing away in time.

Fleur watched him for a few seconds. His attention remained on the shingles. No labor occurred.

"He's good at getting fired," Rainbow smirked. "I know what Fluttershy wanted, Fleur. For me to back off. But I haven't needed to try anything. I think about getting started, and he sabotages himself! I'm starting to wonder if that's his talent! He's just so good at it --"

Line of credit at Barnyard Bargains, and now this. More proof that he needs money for something.

What is his talent? That mark doesn't suggest construction. Why isn't he looking for work in the right category?

"How many times has he been fired?" Fleur asked.

"That I saw?" One more snicker. "Twice." Which was followed by a giggle. "One of them was for napping -- oh, come on, Fleur! You've at least gotta have the common sense to get a job where naptime is built in! He just fell asleep during his shift! And he didn't hide all that well. I figured out there was a pegasus under that tarp in about a second. So did his boss. Maybe two seconds --"

Maybe he'll fail his way out of town, if he can't keep a job.
Or if he can't earn money, he'll try to steal.
Again.

"-- you're changing the subject," Fleur softly said. "And you're good at it. But this is about Gilda, and you said you don't have a lot of time. Rainbow, if this is a long story -- then I need you to start telling it."

Slowly, far too slowly, the pegasus turned to face her -- or almost so. Both eyelids were half-closed, and the visible portion of the gaze was staring at the table again.

"And now you," Fleur quietly told her.

"Huh?" emerged as something bleak.

"It's been days of dealing with pegasi who only half-look at me," the unicorn morbidly announced. "I was sick of it after the first two minutes. Rainbow, why didn't you have to warn Pinkie?"

The weather coordinator shuffled on her bench.

"Because I won," she quietly offered. "For the last time."

Fleur did the hardest thing. She went silent, and listened.

"There was always a little fighting --" and Rainbow paused. "Competition. And not always. It just felt like that after a while, once we knew each other. Once she felt... safe, I guess. Like there was somepony who was safe. She didn't feel that way at first. Not at camp."

Just let her talk...

"You didn't see her then," the pegasus steadily offered, still looking at the wood. "I've got a picture somewhere. Both of us are in it, because one of the counselors took it on the last day and mailed it to my house after it was developed. Nice guy. But that was after she got better. On the first day..."

Silence for a moment. Magenta eyes briefly came up, searched until they found the clock. Placidly noted the position of the tines, then went down again.

"I told you," Rainbow went on. "Junior Speedster camp. But I don't know if you thought about what that would have been like. Her parents wanted her to pick up some other-species tips. And you can do that in Protocera, but -- the pegasi there mostly fly like griffons. They wanted her to get the pure stuff. But that meant sending her away. The rest of us were away from our homes and she was out of her nation. The only griffon there. And we were young, we were all so young and... I didn't even see her at first, when I got into where we were all staying. I thought I was the first one in. The other kids were way behind me. Still saying goodbye to their parents. And then I just heard this sniffling coming from under the lowest bunk..."

She sighed, soft and low. Feathers rustled, and all of the brashness dropped away.

Fleur could almost picture it. A shadowed room, because first in meant all the lights wouldn't have been on yet. The residual scents of bravado twisted up with fear.

The soft sound of weeping.

"I think you understand," the pegasus decided. "Fluttershy would too. She was hiding. Crying, because she was so far from home and just scared. And... It's like seeing a scared kitten and a frightened eagle chick, only at the same time. Helpless. You can't let anything happen to someone like that, not if you can care at all. So I made some noise. Just a little, so she'd know I was there. And then I asked if I could come under the bunk with her. She... didn't say yes for about a minute..."

Too young. She couldn't be dominant on her own. Too scared to build a chain. Before adolescence, most grifflets just try to follow their parents' lead. Or -- copy off a role model. Pick someone they can trust, then echo.

Helpless. It's part of why you protect them. Because you know how weak they are. Weak and frightened.

And if you raise them properly, they grow up to claim their link.

The kitten became a cat.
The cat was a predator.
Predators killed.
And the cycle went on.

"She needed somepony," Rainbow continued. "The right pony. I'd already had some run-ins with the wrong ones." And snorted. "Not there. Not the first hour, anyway. Some jerks in Cloudsdale who still haven't grown up. So I went under the bunk with her. We talked until she came out. And then she just sort of followed me around for the first week of camp. Doing whatever I did, staying close..."

Who was in charge?

It wasn't necessarily a question with a single answer, because time passed and links shifted. But in those first days, in a new place, frightened and seeking both shelter and guidance -- there had been a single steady portion of chain to which a grifflet could anchor herself.

In the first days, Gilda had needed someone to be in charge. Her parents had likely assumed that the role would be taken by one of the camp's counselors.

But it had been Rainbow.

The pegasus went quiet. Portions of the hat's brim wilted from the moisture.

Fleur glanced towards the construction site. Zephyr had managed to get another pony up to the roof. Based on what the unicorn could see, the stallion was asking for a demonstration of the shingle placement method. The mare accommodated him.

"It was a long way to go," Rainbow finally said. "Maybe too far. But she'd asked her parents for that. To fly with Equestrian pegasi."

"Why?" Fleur softly asked.

It got her a matter-of-fact statement. "Because she wanted to be a Wonderbolt."

She still felt as if she was being watched. She also felt her jaw actively trying to drop, and managed to get control just in time.

"It's been -- almost twenty years," the expert quietly determined. "Almost that long since Celeri retired. Long enough that the casual audience, even some of the self-titled fans start to forget. That there's no species restrictions on applying to the Academy. If you can fly, then there's a routine which is waiting for just that type of wings to be in the center of the formation. Or no wings, because self-levitating unicorns have been on the team." The smile was quick, and oddly faint. "Not gonna be you, though. I've seen your turns, Fleur. Your momentum redirection sucks. But some griffons make it. You just don't see very many during the practical trials, because -- most of them don't think they can get onto an Equestrian team. And Gilda wanted to try. She talked so much about going for it -- once she was talking -- that we sort of..."

Another stop.

Fleur didn't want to look at Rainbow's eyes. She risked another glance towards Zephyr, and found that the mare was still demonstrating for him: something which was making the stallion begin to smile. Then the coworker abruptly realized that she'd demonstrated her way along two complete rows, and the shouting began.

It caught Rainbow's attention.

"Hear that?" the pegasus asked. "Almost got her to do it for him. If that's his forepony, he may be looking for another job in about a minute."

This is basic. I could place shingles. Anypony could. It's time and patience and being willing to deal with the tar --
-- and now I'm the one going off the subject.
Whose dream was it, Rainbow?

It was the wrong question, and the right one was something which couldn't be voiced.

Who had that dream first?

The angry mare went back to ground level, then began waving her forelegs at the rest of the crew: half-caught words suggested it was something about not having anypony else go up to that work area. Zephyr, still at least temporarily employed, was staring at the tiles again. There was still a lot of roof left.

"You had to see her opening up, week by week," Rainbow finally said. "Little games. Competitions. Mostly with me. I played along because it gave her something to do and she was having fun. Then I was having fun. And... when camp ended, all the parents showed up at the same time. I made sure to bring Gilda over to mine. Then we went to hers. Made sure they saw us together. Because she lived in another nation, and -- the only way we were going to see each other again was if they knew we had to."

Fleur slowly nodded.

"I was wondering about that," she admitted. "How the two of you stayed in touch."

"My dad," Rainbow promptly said. "Her mom. We'd say things, they'd write them down and post the letters. It was weeks back and forth, sometimes moons. But our families made sure we didn't lose track. So there were more camps. Then I went to her ranch."

Did you ever go to Protocera as an adult?
Was there any talk of her coming to Cloudsdale? Meeting somewhere in the middle?
-- no. Just listen.

"The thing is..." The pegasus took a deep breath: portions of the dress shifted, and the hat slipped. "...she listened to me. We challenged each other. Pushed. We always had races, because there was someone to race against. But she listened to me. If I told her something was going too far, or felt kind of weird -- she stopped."

Felt kind of --

"Until that last visit," emerged a little too quickly. "Until..." The wings flared, curled back in, and then volume dropped. "Pinkie told you about the party. What was the last part of her story?"

"The..."

"The last thing she saw." And the tone had gone bitter. "Pinkie remembers just about everything. But she can only remember what she was there for. What was the last part?"

Fleur concentrated. "Gilda tried to stalk out. She told you that she was leaving --"

"-- that we were leaving," Rainbow immediately corrected.

It was an order.
Testing the chain.
Potentially seizing the link.
...I still feel like there's someone behind me.
There's a construction crew. Staring at mares is almost part of the job description.

"-- and you refused. You told Pinkie it wasn't her fault. Gilda left town --"

It was barely a whisper, and ears which had been trained through more than a year of living with Fluttershy strained for the words.

"-- she didn't."

And then Fleur was staring at her friend.

"She went to my house," Rainbow softly said. "She was waiting there when I got back. And we had one more fight. That was the last fight. I..."

Watching feathers curl and twist with pain.

"...I don't want to talk about it. I'm..."

The back of the dress jerked to the left, and half of the body fabric twisted from the sheer force of the barely-contained tail lash.

"...not gonna talk about it. Not right now. Not what we said, what we did," Rainbow half-spat. "It was a fight. The last fight. What I thought was going to be the last time we ever talked, and it nearly all turned into screams. And then she was crying again. I made her cry. We became friends because she was crying under a bunk and I couldn't stand to see that, and then she was fighting me and screaming at me and crying at the same time..."

The sleek body slumped, almost collapsed upon itself.

"I got a promise out of her," the Bearer of Loyalty stated. "For the last time, as just about the last thing we ever said to each other. That she would never go after any of my friends. And I had to name everypony, one at a time. She swore that she'd leave them alone. She swore on stuff that mattered. But you weren't there, Fleur. It was years before the palace sent you in. The promise doesn't cover you. And I thought about it, and then I didn't want to come to the cottage because I didn't want her following me out there. Seeing me with you. It's why I'm worried about the cloud cover. About the awning. About everything. And I've been trying to find her, because she came back and maybe we can talk, maybe we can really talk, but I'm not always the best with words and I can't find her. I can catch up if I see her, I can chase her down, but she's got to be going into some strange places and..."

She stopped. Her eyes fully opened, and then she looked past Fleur. Focusing on the clock.

"I've got to go," Rainbow abruptly said. "Keep your eyes open and your ears rotating. You know how to check for a griffon. Better than anypony. And you know what to do if she makes a move. I've got to trust you. I've got to --"

The wings flared to their full span. Wind backblasted against benches, table, and deck. Fleur's plate nearly went onto the floor. And then Rainbow was gone.

The former escort stayed at the restaurant for a few minutes. Almost motionless, and even her mind felt as if it was still. There was some level of thought taking place, but most of that was just -- processing. Trying to come up with the next questions.

She watched Zephyr. The stallion still hadn't made any progress on the shingles. He looked down at the pile, then at the fitted shoes with the flared-out half-hollow metal fork at the front. Something designed to allow anypony to pick up and plant shingles. Then you precisely set them into the tar so that the alignment was right the first time, pressed hard while knowing that your hoof was protected by the garment...

Basic labor. Anypony could do it.

He slowly shifted his left foreleg. Pendulumed it towards the pile of shingles, so that the edge of the fork began to slide forward around the topmost specimen --

-- stopped. Pulled back, setting the hoof down.

Zephyr looked at the shingles.

His wings spread, began to flap.

Afterwards, once she truly had time to think about everything she'd seen (and that would be delayed by far more time than she ever would have wished for) -- Fleur would still have no true idea as to what Zephyr had thought he could accomplish. It was certainly possible to propel an item with wind, and the shingles were light. But the aim would be less than precise. And with shingles, which had to be layered just so...

Perhaps the most talented pegasus in the world -- one who was patient, working with tight, controlled gusts, and focused on a single tile at a time -- that pegasus might have been able to get a few shingles to land in a rough row. Three of them, certainly: Fleur could picture that. Five on a particularly good day. And perhaps they would have hit with enough force to embed them.

Zephyr's generated mega-gust was clearly attempting to send most of the pile into the tar, and he succeeded at that. With the wind speed he'd just created, embedding was effectively guaranteed.

But they went everywhere, creating a scattershot mosaic pattern all the way up the roof. Some of the blast hit the demonstration shingles, and the portions which hadn't completely set went out of alignment. The new pieces hit with enough force to make some of the tar splash --

-- once she truly thought about it, Fleur concluded that the majority of ponies confronted with a spray of tar would have recoiled. So far as basic reactions went, Zephyr had done nothing wrong there. However, she was also sure that those same ponies would have also instinctively tried to protect their eyes.

Zephyr's movements prioritized for what was truly important, and the desperate attempt to shield his mane sent him off the roof.

Everypony who was in range to hear the startled yelp looked up. It meant they saw his wings flare out again, bringing him into a recovery glide before he hit the ground. But looking up meant they saw what had happened to the shingles, potential hours of extra labor just to correct it all, the mare who was rather obviously the forepony raced up to the stallion and began shouting into Zephyr's face (or given their height difference, into his two-tone chin), he was very clearly being fired again --

-- and Fleur laughed.

Even after spending over a year with Fluttershy, it was a rare thing for her. Even then, she generally laughed in front of her love, almost never in public. But there were too many thoughts in her head. The Protoceran was trying to work out everything Rainbow had said, while also attempting to piece together the words which had gone unvoiced. She was distracted and stressed from multiple sources and she kept losing little wars against sticks. Fleur didn't like Zephyr, the stallion had just done something idiotic, and -- she laughed.

He heard it. Ignored the forepony's shouts, quickly turned his head to focus on her alone.

There was very little of his sister in Zephyr's form. A suggestion in the overall shape of that much smaller tail, and little more. Certainly no part of the bloodline had become manifest within the eyes.

But he tried. And at that too, he failed. He couldn't stare at Fleur, not in any way which suggested the capital. There was no true power there. Just frustration and a lack of full comprehension, melded into the horror of having been caught in the midst of failure.

All he could do was glare at her. And the cerise eyes became acid.

Designated Catbird Fight

Time could be regarded as an irreplaceable resource, and... Fleur had been trying to talk herself out of that perspective. It was something else which had the cottage battling against her, because hours spent away from it were precious indeed. No trip into town was ever wasted, and so Fleur had planned to pursue a number of activities before returning to the grounds. She just hadn't been planning to start quite so early.

There were things she had to do, and there was also a certain degree of difficulty in retaining focus on any of them.

She wanted to think. That was what time away from the cottage offered her: the opportunity for her mind to be at work without interruption, distraction, emergencies, and chicken coops which possessed the capacity for time travel because there was no other way for them to have become that filthy when she'd just cleaned them two days ago. And her meeting with Rainbow had provided her with a number of new things to consider.

But she also had to run her errands. Pick up purchases, talk to ponies during lesser meetings, and move around town as if everything was... normal. And she also had to do so while appearing as if she wasn't distracted by a cascade of inner half-thoughts, all of which seemed to keep breaking up against the unexpectedly rocky shore of normal interaction.

And she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Observed. Possibly followed.

For anypony who possessed Fleur's level of appearance, it was a sensation which could easily become part of the background music for their life. The former escort recognized that ponies watched her. Truly close observation was usually either the result of envy or a number of puzzle pieces having abruptly acquired the light glow of dream, and when it came to being followed -- well, some of the best views were available from the rear. And there were situations where she expected to pull in an audience: in fact, on those rare occasions when she used the full palette of cosmetics and reached her peak, she felt somewhat insulted when she didn't get attention.

(Fortunately, her talent allowed her to pick out those whose natural interests never would have focused upon her, and that mitigated the offense somewhat. However, a number of the others were simply that jealous.)

But it wasn't always a situation to enjoy. Her talent allowed her to know when such attention was the result of sexual interest, and so it also told her when that intent was being directed by somepony she needed to avoid. There were times when she simply wanted to be by herself for a while: unheeded, almost anonymous -- and naturally, those were the moments when that sensation would flare. And to simply pick up on when she was being observed, to have those little strands of fur prickling near the base of her mane -- that could potentially serve as a vital alert, and it still wasn't necessarily something which a Protoceran could take pride in. That was a sense possessed by a prey species.

And she couldn't shake it off.

After a while, she activated her talent. It didn't take long to gauge the interests around her, while comparing some of the results to the great gallery of assembled puzzles within her mind allowed her to pick out several of Ponyville's latest arrivals. This was followed by some strategic changes to her walking pattern, which naturally included multiple shifts from her hips. Things which made the fabric of the dress dance, offering glimpses just before the half-shimmering material slipped back into place. The enticement of brief reveals and a rhythm which made the arrival of the next forever uncertain, forcing the observer's attention to focus on her alone. Instead of, just by way of example, where they'd originally been going and if anything was now in the way.

It was somewhat like having a semi-retired athlete stepping onto the hoofball field to see just how much they truly had left. Fleur didn't even have to look at the results: she simply allowed her body to execute near-automatic skills, then tallied up the resulting crashes on audio. She felt the sheer total explained a lot.

The unicorn shut down her talent again. But she kept her eyes open and her ears rotating. There were times when she looked up at the sky, found nothing except a still-thickening layer of dark clouds, and blamed Rainbow for making her paranoid.

But the sensation was still there...

There was some shopping. Her saddlebags rapidly acquired mass, and it felt as if her dress was doing the same. Fully overcast, with grey light and muggy air: a situation for which most of the settled zone tended to blame the weather coordinator --

-- and that was something else which kept distracting her: wondering how the Canterlot meeting was going, and if there was anything Fleur could have said to prepare the pegasus for it --

-- but Rainbow just made sure the schedule was executed, if not always on time. The proper thing to do was blaming the Bureau. And possibly Rarity, because the fabric seemed to be picking up water weight.

Fleur's route took her past the library, and she absently noted the healing scars within the bark. A flicker of memory combined with a low, too-distinct half wail coming from within kept her outside. The shelves were currently being weeded of unread books in anticipation of a remaindered sale, and Spike's current job was to get his sister through the trauma with most of her sanity intact. It wasn't something which could be casually interrupted.

She didn't actually go into the candy shop. Caramel saw her through the glass, took his break on the spot, and came outside for a few minutes. She stood with him within the half-sea of near-liquid air, talking about his dating prospects for a while. One more set of problems she couldn't solve.

The discussion didn't last all that long. Bon-Bon was keeping an eye on both the proceedings and the clock from within. Hoof-tapping was a typical sign of somepony suggesting that the discussion needed to be wrapped up. Having it come from an earth pony with that much raw strength had a way of making chocolates, display cases, the front door, and select portions of the awning dance. And once Caramel had been tap-vibrated back inside, Bon-Bon came out, and...

Fleur retreated quickly. There were still things to do, and it was best to make a hasty escape from any onslaught of excess chocolate. As it was, her saddlebags were starting to run out of room.

(Bon-Bon had come out. So had Caramel. Fleur didn't go into the shop too often. She didn't need the sweets, and... there were times when she could hear soft singing from the back rooms. Because the foal was young, had to be near her parents at all times, and Lyra would sing the infant to sleep...)

She did everything she had to.

And then she had to go back.

Her thoughts didn't truly begin to sort themselves out until she was about halfway down the path to the cottage, following the new river and its fused bed. A permanent reminder of Fleur's corrosive effect upon the world --

-- she had to think. Before everything else started thinking for her.

Assume Zephyr needs money. He's trying to earn it -- so far. If he's looking for a job which offers the opportunity to steal... Construction sites certainly had piles of stuff sitting around for the potential taking: it was just that all you could hope to make off with was construction supplies. But he hasn't been able to keep a job yet -- that I know of. Just because I saw him get fired from one doesn't mean he won't have two others on different shifts.

She pictured the way Zephyr moved. The minimal effort which went into the quasi-operation of every joint.

One other.
...no others. It's probably been one at a time. Maybe he's charming enough to talk himself in -- somehow -- but he hasn't been able to stay there.

She trotted forward beneath the deep grey sky. The cottage wasn't all that far ahead, and it was a quiet enough day on the client schedule to make coming across somepony on the road into an unlikely event. With any luck -- in other words, with the assistance of that thing she couldn't count on and which mostly existed to work against her -- she would be able to get back without trouble. She certainly didn't have to worry about getting drenched along the way, because the storm wasn't scheduled to arrive until after sunset -- and having spent a good part of the day within the arranged humidity, Fleur was still looking forward to getting inside and wringing out her dress. Figuring out a way to do the same thing with her fur and mane was an ongoing process.

And when it comes to things which are just going to stay...

I should have thought about it. How many years it's been since their links first touched. Rainbow doesn't really talk about --

-- and there's an odd concept. (She didn't quite smile.) Things Rainbow doesn't talk about. But if you're going to make out that list -- 'my friends from Cloudsdale' would be somewhere near the top. She talks about her parents, and she loves them.

A few of her teachers and instructors. Mostly the ones she plans on giving zero credit during any awards ceremony.

But when it comes to friends from her birth home -- just about nothing. Gilda may have been her first real connection with anyone her own age. And they made sure they kept in touch. That their links didn't drift apart.

But it wasn't drifting in the end --

-- something was moving through the air. Descending, and it had just reached the level where the sounds produced by beating wings had entered Fleur's hearing range.

She was still within the boundaries of the settled zone. But every settlement was surrounded by the wild. When you were moving away from town and heard powerful wings moving nearby, you looked. You made sure of what you were dealing with, and you got ready to defend.

But she didn't tense, not immediately. Her horn failed to ignite. The sound was too familiar.

Just someone heading home --
-- and felt her own mind kicking itself into a desperate reverse --
-- someone --

Her ears rotated, tried to focus and did so at the same moment she looked up, searching --

-- and the griffon was coming down.

I should have recognized that earlier.
If anypony would know the signs --
-- was I too relaxed?

Was she forgetting?

Gilda's body still looked rough. Part of that likely came from having spent a good part of a day within cloud concealment: Fleur could just spot the fast-closing gap which indicated where the griffon had started the drop, along with quite a bit of road dirt which humidity had rendered into spots of mud within poorly-groomed fur. The tail tuft had fallen in on itself, turning into a small dripping ball of hair. And the feathers... the wings had been recently preened, but every other location on the body was virtually begging for professional care. None of the layers were resting normally. Fleur was starting to wonder if the griffon was getting enough sleep, and a certain dulling of the natural sheen questioned whether she was eating properly.

It didn't affect the tiercel's flight. The descent was fast, smooth, powerful -- and visibly aimed to pass over Fleur.

She's going to land in front of me. Deduction, instinct, and experience speaking as one. That's the visible path. But don't trust it.

Ignite my horn now and it'll show I see her as a threat, when I'm not supposed to know who she is. Keep it dark.

(Fluttershy didn't want Fleur to start anything.)

But if she folds her wings when she's directly over me and tries for the plummet slam, I can get my field up in time to wreck her trajectory --

-- it wasn't necessary. The griffon smoothly maintained the path, passing well above Fleur -- then casually turned in midair, just before starting the last part of the controlled drop.

Paws and talons touched down upon the road.

Paws first. She favors weight over edge. At least to start.

They were four body lengths apart. Facing each other, and Fleur had to look down into the great golden eyes -- and she had to watch the eyes, because the inflexible beak put most of the expressions into the upper half of the face.

It was normal, when you grew up in Protocera. You knew that understanding what a griffon was feeling meant not just tracking body posture, but putting so much focus onto those eyes. And you accepted that.

But you also remembered that their magic was focused through their gaze. And when you had an angry one...

She's just staring at me. Waiting to see what I do.
-- what's the lie on my dress? Are my hips --

-- Fleur instinctively began to shift, trying to rearrange the fabric --

"-- don't bother," the griffon announced, and everything about the eyes smirked. "I saw it already. Back in town, when you were -- I don't know. Showing off?"

...Sundammit felt rather understated.

"For your audience." The left foreleg came up, and the tiercel made a brief show of inspecting the chipped talons. "And maybe I would have thought you just had some relatives across the border, but... you move differently when you're not with ponies, did you know that? You almost move right. But you were doing a pretty good job back there." The paw dropped back into the moist dirt. "You looked just like one of the weaklings. It must be a natural talent." With a soft, insincere laugh, "Not the mark talent, though. Not when you've got a classic icon for acies..."

And this, Fleur's too-calm thoughts offered, is why I wore so many dresses when I was going past the Aviary.

What happens when she sees me, Rainbow? Identification. Exposure. Possibly exposure through exposure, because I just had to show off. She saw the dress shift, and then she watched me move. I relaxed too much...

"Unless it's insight on how to be weak," the tiercel casually decided. "And that's why you came here. To fit in."

Which was followed by a shrug.

"You're not talking," the griffon noted. "Which is why I've been using Equestrian."

"Your accent is good," Fleur steadily offered. It was. The beak hardly clacked at all.

"Yours is better," didn't emerge as a compliment. "Native. You sound just like prey."

There's no point in hiding. Not now. She won't believe any lies, and there's nopony around to hear any of this.

Fleur took a breath. Her lips stiffened.

"Putasti me igitur oblitum me loqui?"

The griffon stared at her. Fleur braced --

"Pretty good!" There was still no humor in the laugh. "So you haven't forgotten how to talk! And if you remember that --"

The tail lashed. Drops of moisture were flung away from the soaked tuft, and the next words were spat.

"-- then you should remember the formalities. Mutual introductions. Because as Solomon Short would say, that's just just common courtesy."

The tiercel hadn't quoted the whole of it.

"Always feel free to give out your name. It's just common courtesy to have someone know exactly who's about to destroy them."

But Solomon understood that it can work in two directions.

...it's been muggy all day, and now I'm about to get mugged.

...as long as I stay alert.
As long as I stay focused.
As long as I'm not afraid...

"Courtesies," the unicorn agreed. "Fleur Dis Lee."

The golden eyes narrowed under the weight of doubt.

"Really?"

"It's what's on the Herdbook Registry's paperwork," Fleur technically didn't lie. "Birth certificate, if you want the usual description. And you are...?"

The weight of the air.
The dress.
The saddlebags.
Remember the saddlebags.

Immediately, "Gilda Griffon."

Fleur allowed the upper half of her face to smirk.

"That's nice," she calmly decided. "Now what's your real name?" And before the beak could fully open, "Because we both know that game, don't we? I'll buy 'Gilda', at least as a translation. But 'Griffon'? Species surnames are for the ones who don't want to be identified. Who avoid responsibility." And felt her own eyes narrow. "It's fine for when you're trying to get away with a prank. But it doesn't work here. Not for this." Her left forehoof ground against the road. "Who are you?"

The griffon didn't blink. Brown wings failed to shift. But the tail vibrated, and the voice nearly trembled from the effort required to push back the surge of anger.

"Auratui Incitatio," the tiercel half-hissed.

Fleur counted off three seconds, as the wet air seemed to boil between them. Finally nodded. "So 'Gilda' is close enough."

But I don't know 'Incitatio'. Not as a ranch brand. And there's a lot of ranches in Protocera, too many to know them all -- but not recognizing yours tells me that you didn't live anywhere near my family. And you're not from one of the famous ones.

"Close enough," Gilda softly agreed. "You can use it, if speaking normally is just too much work. So now we've introduced ourselves. You know what comes next. Terms."

The tiercel took one step forward. The tail lashed, left to right, and both wings flared to their full span.

Fleur didn't move.

"I'll give you mine," Gilda told her, and talons gouged their way through near-mud. "You don't have to come up with anything. Since you're not going to win."

"And what are the terms?" Fleur quietly asked.

The tones were stark. Level. Matter-of-fact. Utterly controlled. "Stay away from Rainbow."

"She's my friend," the unicorn softly said.

"She's got enough friends," the tiercel decided. "Too many. She could stand to lose a few. You walk away from her, and you stay away."

Almost peacefully, "Or?"

The golden eyes narrowed again.

"My link above yours," Gilda stated. "There isn't any 'or'. You leave."

Get ready.
I don't know how strong she is.
But I've been through this before.
I know what happens next.
She's going to ask me a question.

"All I've heard are terms," Fleur calmly announced. "I can see someone trying to rattle a chain. But I don't hear anything moving. I can't feel a shift."

She saw the golden eyes shoot open, almost felt something rising behind them as claws and talons raked the dirt. And the unicorn, choosing moment and insult, took a single tranquil hoofstep forward.

"Terms, and terms alone. Noise. So where did the tantrum start?" the Protoceran placidly asked. "Is it so far away that nothing reaches me? Where is your link, Auratui?"

The griffon looked at her. And on the outside, that was all it was. Gold focused upon light purple. Direct eye contact, as the talons tried to bring forth blood from the road.

The magic went past the irises, through the pupils, and stabbed deep into Fleur's mind.

There was a question...

What does it feel like?

The unicorn has been through it so many times. Too many of the gangs used the magic during initiations, and not all of them said what they wanted to see from the test. They would bring out their strongest, who would look at her. And then...

There is a question. It goes into your mind, then shoves it aside and starts looking for the soul. The query forces pressure against every aspect of personality, and perhaps that's why things distort for a time. Because there's always an effect, even if you win. The exact reaction for the victorious is species-based. Pegasi who emerge intact will spend some time favoring instinct over thought, which means a triumphant Rainbow might be somewhat hard to distinguish --

--- did Gilda ever do this to her friend?

The unicorn doesn't know, and she can't truly think about it right now. The question is everywhere and everything, it's within her and trying to hollow her out and it wants an answer. Because it's always the same question, and sometimes the gangs are looking for the ones who will lose. It's about domination, and how much control can you truly exert over those who resist?

There is a question, and it is the whole of Auratui Incitatio being projected into another soul. It's force of personality and raw willpower and anger, oh, there's anger here. It makes the question burn. The golden eyes become the world, and the world wants to know who this unicorn is. How strong she is or rather, how weak. It wishes to know one thing, one only, and it demands an answer.

Are you predator or prey?

Prey will give in. Do anything to make it stop.

Within the soul, things twist. Distort for a time, because there's always an effect.

But the unicorn has been asked this question before.

I am whichever hurts you more.

The magic asks a question.

It doesn't always get the answer it likes.

The golden eyes blinked.

"...what?" Gilda whispered as brown wings had all of their joints go loose. "What did you --"

Fleur felt herself smile.

There was something hollow within her: a temporary void only, produced by power shoving things aside during the search. She knew how to fill it.

You started with me.

"I reject your terms," the Protoceran announced. "Is it my turn now?"

So let's finish it.

Her horn ignited.

The first flare of glow, added to a quick shift of hips and shoulders, was more than enough to get her dress off: she wanted full freedom of movement available and Rarity had rather considerately designed for Fleur's former profession. The saddlebags, however, were lifted clear of her body, the lids came open as energy delved within and Fleur decided that the griffon hadn't been eating enough lately.

Small dark objects rose from the now-falling containers, and the fusillade flew directly towards Gilda.

The griffon, reeling from the shock of loss, couldn't dodge in time. The chocolates pelted her. Several bounced. A few hit with enough force to sting. But enough of them went for her eyes to force the lids closed and at the moment that happened, Fleur's corona surged to a double.

Her field surged forward, surrounded Gilda's body and pressed down.

The traveler dropped. One more shove put the griffon on her side. And the one free wing pushed against the glow, hind legs raked and talons tried to get through, but Fleur was advancing now and the griffon was surrounded, fighting back and Fleur could feel the degree of physical strength behind the attempts to escape, measured that against her own capabilities...

The unicorn could levitate herself: something which self-evidently meant she had the mass manipulation required for lifting a pony body. The griffon wasn't that much heavier. But it still took a double corona. The effort required to keep Gilda confined wasn't something which Fleur could keep up forever. Pushing back against near-constant resistance would bring her effective duration down to a few minutes.

Fleur knew that. She currently was having some trouble in caring about it.

"I hope you fly better than you dominari," the unicorn quietly said. The griffon simply tried to kick again.

One thought and the vibrations start.
Your feathers shake away from your wings. Capillaries rupture. Bones break themselves.
One. Thought.

A dark, intrusive fantasy. The means by which the brain performed a self-test for sanity. Nothing more.

"I never did favor slower workings," the unicorn softly told her fallen opponent. "I was always a fast-caster to start with. So being tilted away from anything which requires deep concentration, careful planning -- that doesn't really matter to me, Gilda. Ever. And since you attacked first, everything happening now qualifies as self-defense."

"Nopony knows I did anything," Gilda half-panted: Fleur had allowed the beak that much freedom of movement. "The ponies can pick up traces of your magic on my body. Not the other way around --"

The unicorn, much to her own surprise, very nearly laughed. "How long have you been away from home? Going after those with no experience, who might not understand what's happening at all? We're right next to Canterlot, Gilda! The Aviary is right there, and so is the embassy. If I go to the police --" which would mark her second attempt to use the law for her own benefit in the same moon, and that was a strange thought indeed "-- they'll bring in an expert. Someone from home. They'll find your traces. And then I can have you charged with assault."

Maybe.
They'd have to believe Gilda went first.
No witnesses.
If she thinks about that...
Just keep going.

She looked down at the tiercel, and failed to picture the frightened grifflet hiding under a bunk. It was all helpless fury, pure rage, and Fleur had to keep her concentration going, needed to focus on the field and make sure the bubble was tight.

"I can keep your eyes shut for a good long time," the unicorn stated. "Or I could blindfold you right now."

The feathered shudder of revulsion was both visible and, thanks to the closely-pressed field, tangible.

Which means ripping up the dress, but...

Keep an eye on those talons. They're more flexible than normal: if she gets loose before we settle this, they could put some strange angles on the strikes. Don't get too close. Keep my field going.

"And carry you to the police station." Which I can't do. Tow an improvised sled, maybe. Dress stretched between two sticks? "Or," Fleur softly offered, "I could just cast something else."

Gilda stopped moving.

And that's why unicorns can be terrifying. Because telekinesis is the only uniting factor.
You know I'm strong enough to hold you. But that's all you know.
Any horn.
Any field.
Any spell.
You can't be sure.
Should I roar at you? I remember how to speak that way too.

"But it's my turn," the immigrant reminded the traveler. "So, since I won -- here are my terms. You leave."

Just leave. You've been stopped. It's what you do.

"...no..." just barely wafted up from the ground. It was harder to speak when one side of the beak was being pressed against the dirt.

"You leave, Gilda." A little closer now, while keeping well out of prospective talon range. "Get out of Ponyville. Don't come back unless Rainbow invites you, and then you leave me alone --"

"-- no."

It had been a statement.

Fleur stared at the traveler.

"My link over yours," she said.

The griffon, in body, was far from home.
The traveler's next words questioned the location of the mind.

"So what?"

Fleur's concentration nearly faltered. Her field started to go slack, she focused, forced herself to hold on as spoken words did what the thwarted question never could.

"You think your link is above mine because you won a fight?" Gilda furiously demanded. "One fight? You don't know what I can do! What I'm willing to --" Ribs heaved, and the one free wing pushed again. "-- I can win the next time! Every time after! Your link is choking rust, because the chain only means something if I WANT it to! Any chain with you in it --"

There had been a void within Fleur: something unnatural, produced by the intrusion of a query. It would have normally healed over the course of a night, and it had just been filled.

She stood close to the fallen griffon, possibly fallen in just about every way which could exist. Looked down at angry, darting eyes. Felt the vacuum within seal around the chill new presence.

Linkless.

Horror was cold.

Fleur's anger vanished.

Her voice softened. The field did not. She had to keep her grip. One bad moment...

"How long have you been out of the chain?"

"Chain you." Gilda panted, and a lion's rage clawed at glow. "Chain you in Tartarus --"

"-- how long have you been away from home, Gilda? When was the last time you were part of a community? How many moons since you've even seen another griffon?" Talons and claws, linkless... "Forget the police. We're going to the Aviary --"

Another push, and the headache began to build near the base of the horn. "-- I'm in charge, I'm in charge of my own life, no one can just tell me to --"

Urgently, trying to get through to whatever might remain, "-- is Rainbow your last link? Do you need her to rebuild?"

And there was a moment when the griffon stopped moving.

"I need -- I need --"

The tail stopped trying to lash, began to sway. The one free wing curled at the tip.

Fleur stared.

Her talent activated, surged forth, and gathered in the pieces which confirmed what she already knew.

"Gilda, she doesn't feel that way! You have to --"

"SHUT UP!"

The roar echoed through the forest, bounced off the river and shook new leaves as the raw decibels made the fast-building pain of magical overextension surge. The field flickered --

-- Gilda pushed, and glow shattered. Sparkles fell into the dirt, dimmed into nothing. And then the griffon was upright, Fleur was struggling to keep her horn lit and she couldn't lift that much mass again, she would have to attack more directly, go for the flight feathers or bend a talon too far back --

-- brown wings flared to their full span. All four legs pushed, jumped.

The vertical ascent took seconds. A fleeing form punctured the clouds, took white and brown behind the thick grey.

Fleur held still for five endless minutes. Waiting.

Nothing happened. There was no second attack, no renewed attempt to conquer what had been falsely perceived as prey.

Gilda was gone.

After a while, Fleur began to test herself. Small rocks were levitated, sent into brief orbits of tree trunks. Once the unicorn determined she'd retained some capacity, she put the dress back on and rebalanced the saddlebags.

You almost quoted Solomon Short. I wonder if you ever read the full book. If you'd remember this one.

"If you want to know where a chain broke, look for the shards in the heart."

She'd been prepared to abandon the expended chocolates, but a very soft-spoken memory reminded her of how they could make some animals sick. It meant she lost some time to flinging the wasted sweets into the river.

Linkless --

-- no. She couldn't be sure. It was possible that Gilda was just exercising defiance in a place where only one had been able to call her out. Extended adolescence. Or perhaps eternal --

-- if I can get her to the Aviary --

Fleur had never actually seen a linkless griffon before. She'd merely heard enough stories to bring back all of the dread.

If she is out, then she might resist going back into the chain. It would mean she wasn't fully in charge. She'd have to let herself be wrong.

...she's floundering.
How did she lose her place?
Is Rainbow her last link?
And the puzzle...

"If I told her something was going too far, or felt kind of weird --"

Freshly-acquired pieces were now dripping with context.

You've never actually had sex with her. There was at least one makeout session, years ago. Possibly on a dare. But she asked you to stop, because it felt kind of weird. And you did -- but it didn't change how you felt. Still feel.

I was wondering about the nature of the relationship. On both sides.

I understand how pieces can form. There was a moment of kindness, when you needed it most. Then she was there for you. Still there when you began to think about things in other ways. But for her, there's a species barrier. She sees you as her friend. Maybe a sibling...

...another bond. There was a fight, and you put her in a position where she had to choose. How much did that hurt Rainbow? Has she really given up on you?

She may be the last one who can get through. The last link.

Or that could just make everything worse.

She didn't know. She'd never been in this position before, didn't know anyone who'd had to deal with the possible reality of the linkless --

-- Dr. Lorem?
It wouldn't be her specialty. (Fleur was dearly hoping it didn't happen enough for anyone to specialize.) But if anyone would know, she might. Even if she has to contact home.

Linkless.

Something had to be done. And it all started with -- getting back to the cottage.

She didn't have to worry about Gilda having gone there, at least. Because when it came to Rainbow, there had been a fight. Something which had brought forth a final promise, and Gilda hadn't targeted the other Bearers. Wouldn't, unless the very last link shattered.

Fleur disposed of the final filthy chocolate. Forced herself to face the proper direction on the road, and began to trot.

Why would she still be keeping that promise?
Because Fluttershy keeps winning arguments with me, when she shouldn't. And that happens for the same reason Discord allows himself to be bound by Fluttershy's requests.
You allow yourself to be dominated by the one you love.

The green pegasus mare would have understood.

She didn't fully reach a decision until just before the final bridge, at the moment when the birdsong which pretended to welcome her back was joined by that first sighting of the cottage. Both were factors which added a certain degree of urgency. And part of her recognized that it should have been an easy decision to make, but -- she still wasn't used to working with somepony. To having anypony waiting for her to return. Just being there, willing and ready to listen.

(She kept waiting for the moment which would take it all away.)

For those who were less protective of their privacy, carried fewer secrets... for those ponies, it might have been a rather simple conclusion, added to the most basic of plans. But for Fleur, it took serious consideration. Internal effort, added to a direct act of will. And even then, she wanted to second-guess herself, but -- she was committed, and almost felt pride in having been able to recognize the option at all.

She would just wait until she had some time alone with Fluttershy: any veterinary appointment which took them into the examination room would do it, especially as most of the patients weren't capable of directly repeating what they overheard. (Fleur was almost certain that there were no parrots on the day's fairly light schedule and if there were, she would simply have to be very careful about repeating herself.) And then she would let her love know exactly what she'd learned.

It was a decision which chanced adding a giant black slash of ink to the stress tally in Fluttershy's overloaded ledger, and that was part of what made it so hard for Fleur: she didn't want to hurt her mate. But it would potentially gain the benefit of an outside perspective. Because Fleur was the local expert on griffons -- but Fluttershy had known Rainbow for several years. She might have a few ideas on how to proceed there, things Fleur never would have thought of because she lacked the same degree of experience.

And then it would be a matter of reaching Rainbow: something they would likely have to do together for this level of potential emergency. (Hopefully Rainbow would be back from Canterlot soon: it was all too possible that the weather coordinator would decide to destress in the capital.) There could be a stop at the tree: interrupt the weeding, get a crucial flame-sent letter to the Aviary. And when it came to Zephyr...

(There was a pattern, and it would take some time to fully identify. A decision would be under consideration. Or it would have been made, with Fleur simply searching for that chance to act. And then...)

...she could at least tell Fluttershy what she'd seen. That the sibling was trying to find -- well, no: he was definitely finding employment. Keeping it was the challenge. And while Fleur was at it, she needed to ask Fluttershy a potentially vital question. The unicorn didn't know what Zephyr's talent was. Construction was solidly off the list.

A feather on top of -- lifting currents? He's used wind a couple of times. But if that's the case, what would the feather signify?

She was making assumptions. Making guesses, where Fluttershy would know. Fleur just had to ask. And after all of that -- she would have more information. She could start to put it all together, gather in more as needed. Add a constant presence, some hooves-on effort, and control.

She could deal with this. All of it.

The unicorn moved up the path towards the front door, pushing herself through the increasingly-heavy atmosphere. She stopped at the date palm, allowed a forehoof to briefly rest upon transplanted soil. And then she took a breath of half-foreign air, just before she forced herself to open the door.

There were only two clients in the waiting area (which was also still the sitting room, and they had to do something about that), both familiar. One was there for grooming, while the other hadn't been on the schedule at all -- but it only took a glance to diagnose the problem as 'skunk'. That particular companion shared in the usual problems of her species: take an animal which was forever on the hunt for food, make them almost terminally nearsighted, and then offer them the company of sapients who had decided that cylinders made good containers for snacks. The narrow skull was usually enough to let Kit get a good way in: the issues generally started when she tried to back out again.

Her pony spotted Fleur. Pink eyes politely skipped over the dirty dress.

"She..." an embarrassed Retinue forced herself to begin.

"I see," Fleur calmly cut in. The earth pony had cut away the far end of the can: the skunk wasn't having any breathing issues. Removing the metal which was stuck near the head was a job for an expert. "We can probably take her next." Which was followed by a glance at Bolt and a lightly-vibrating Shika. "It would just be a few minutes."

"Go ahead," the pegasus offered. "I think this one would appreciate the stall."

Fleur looked down at the trembling ball of fluff, then resolved to get Shika outside before the puppy expressed her fear of scissors in a urinary fashion. (Which wouldn't keep it from happening again during the grooming, but it was best to make sure Shika was low on ammunition.) "Does anyo --"

Her jaw slammed shut.

Anypony.
It's 'anypony'.
They're looking at me --

"Does anypony know when Fluttershy took Jess back?" Fleur said, and felt as if the words had been a little too quick. "And where's Theori?" Tracking the most recent appointment.

"In the bathroom," Bolt offered, and Fleur managed a nod: the cottage, out of necessity, had multiple facilities: the one on the ground floor was available for clients. "I think Jess went back about forty minutes ago --"

The door to the veterinary section opened.

"...and she's finished now," Fluttershy softly announced as the young brown bunny risked a peek out from the shelter of yellow forelegs. "We'll just wait for Theori to come out." Half of a shy smile briefly made itself visible, and then the one uncovered eye focused on Fleur. "Do you need a few minutes to unpack?" Which was followed by a slow intake of breath. "And how did your dress get so dirty?"

"Yes, and I'll tell you later," Fleur promised. You're not going to like this. But you have to know -- and that still doesn't mean I'm going to say it all in front of a sapient audience. "I'll just unload in the kitchen. Then I'll join you at the examination table." After that, the true discussion would begin.

Fluttershy carefully nodded. "..okay. Don't rush. It's just a grooming --" which was when the pegasus spotted the can-headed skunk. "-- or not." With a deep sign, "Oh, Kit... we've talked about this..."

The unicorn managed a smile. Took a hoofstep towards her love, because she needed to reach the kitchen and avoiding the skunk's upcoming lecture was just a side bonus --

-- and in the space between them, the air began to softly glow.

It was illumination from nowhere, lumens without a true source, and it made the clients pull back as the light gained both intensity and density, wisps of air coalescing around the brightness as something very much like a fast-collapsing mist --

it's been a moon, please, not now, don't take her away now
i knew it couldn't last but
not another one
not when she might not come back

And she was fighting against her own body, knowing that she couldn't afford to let herself sway or shake or rear up, even when so much of her wanted to back into a corner and find a position from which she could defend herself, panic reactions all, things which were associated with ponies and prey, but the mist was curling in on itself and collapsing --

-- and she couldn't stop it.

She'd been wishing for communications magic, during those long hours of waiting for birds to return from Rainbow's house. And the world had responded with irony and fear, because this was a sending from Celestia. (It was possible to distinguish such magic from Spike's: a different hue to the light, the changed speed of materialization.) That meant a mission, and a mission could be anything from monsters to magic to mayhem to death, there was going to be another mission --

please
at least let me go with her

The clients were pulling back. Their companions, who'd never seen this kind of magic, had responded by scurrying under the nearest furniture: Jess was between Fluttershy's forelegs again, and the pegasus was just -- watching the scroll. Waiting for the arrival of words which could potentially announce crisis and nightmare and the end of lives.

But it was so much worse than that.

The collapsing ball of mist and light moved. Surged towards its target, flashed once, and gravity seized the now-solid results.

The emergency summoning scroll dropped to the floor, and landed in front of Fleur.

It Takes Two

The mare at the border of the playground watched the children play. And as she did so, her body twisted somewhat within the jacket which had just a little too much bulk at the sides. She shifted her head against the unfamiliar weight of the oversized hat, tried to rotate her ears so that she could hear more of the young laughter as it rang out across billows of grey and white. Adjusted her position upon the bench once again, and did so in a way which both completely failed to bring forth any degree of comfort and, perhaps more importantly, made sure that no portion of her legs would dangle over an edge.

This was something which took quite a bit of rearranging, because she was a rather tall mare and by comparison, there wasn't a lot of bench. But it was crucial. The well-polished hooves (which were currently covered by shoes, metal which had been secured with straps that possessed a thin shine of wire within their weave) weren't going to come anywhere near the vapor surface until they absolutely had to.

The four-part device was functioning: simply reaching this point had proven that, and there had been other opportunities to test. But there was a certain rather natural level of distrust. The bench was wood. Metal. Solid. Her mind insisted that the cloud was not. And all Fleur had to do in order to maintain safety was not get up. Ever.

Even with the cloudwalking spell at work, vapor didn't feel right. There was too much give -- and, a split-second after her hooves had pushed a little further in than her waiting-to-plummet subconscious felt they should have, too much coming back. Windicity's streets seemed to perceive any collection of kinetic energy as a temporary thing, and tended to just about return the offering in full. The vapor pushed up and if Fleur wasn't careful about the timing of each hoofstep, she tended to bound across the clouds. One more reason to stay on the bench, especially with jacket and hat in play.

A unicorn in a pegasus city tended to stand out. To be at the borders of this playground...

She was watching. Every sense scanned the visible portion of cloudscape, darting across and over the surface of the vapor -- and that very much included the one which only Fleur possessed. That particular portion of scrutiny was generally confined to scanning the rim of the park, because that was where the adults were. Parents watching their children at play -- accompanied by a number of police officers, all of whom were doing their best to look just like everypony else and as far as Fleur was concerned, every last one of them had failed.

She had, in part, grown up among gangs. She could pick up on cop at a minimum of six body lengths and when it came to Miranda Rights, there had been a point when Fleur had been just a little too slow to do it in the dark. Fleur knew who the parents were in the group, because all she had to do was pick out the ponies who were just faking it and then subtract --

-- which wasn't quite fair. There were mothers and fathers among the officers who quasi-subtly encircled the playground, resting on their own benches and -- watching. But search the voices, listen to the laughter, and none of their children would have been found. It was a risk which couldn't be taken.

It was a risk which all of the watching parents might not have been aware of. Or... perhaps some were. It was a rather large playground, with plenty of benches along the outer rim. And there was space both along the border and within the circle, because a number of the regulars would no longer attend.

And still, the children played...

Fleur checked the perimeter again. Two stallions flew by, casually chatting as their wings matched pace: she managed to look up just in time.

Nothing.

Perhaps she wasn't the only one who could scent law enforcement on the wind (and the breeze was colder this far up, something which gave her an excuse for the jacket). The target might have picked up the traces long before reaching her view, scurried away.

Or perhaps it was her.

Some strategic use of cosmetics had lowered her to the point where few would care to pay much attention: a little above the average for appearance, and no more. But to ensure Fleur wouldn't stand out in a cloud settlement meant passing her off as a pegasus. And that was the reason for the hat and jacket.

Of the two, the hat looked the more ridiculous. But it was an exceptionally close race, and every adjustment Fleur made to her position on the bench gave the jacket a chance to surge ahead.

Some of it could be blamed on her own blood, because the cosmic prank which had seen her fail to enter the world with a body which matched her heart had also decided she wasn't going to be a pegasus. It meant her height stood out all the more in Windicity: very few pegasi were that tall, with Zephyr representing an extreme outlier --

-- I can't do anything about him right now.
I don't know what's happening in Ponyville and I can't do anything --

-- and then there were two other, rather obvious issues: the presence of a horn, added to the absence of wings.

The jacket was usually the lesser offense. It was made to bulge at the sides because it was trying to suggest the presence of concealed limbs. Of course, part of the issue was that very few pegasi completely covered their flanks because it might be a chilly spring day in Windicity, but flying would warm you right up! And the designer had tried to suggest that fabric panels would drop away at the moment limbs pushed from within, but...

There was a minor enchantment on the jacket. Portions of the fabric would occasionally shift, doing so as if hidden wings were making small adjustments to the rest position. But they didn't always do so in coordination with Fleur's own movements. Something which came across as odd, unnatural --

-- but if somepony was looking at Fleur closely enough to see that, then they were also in range of the hat.

The hat was meant to deal with the telltale indicator of unicorn, and that was why it looked so stupid. It completely covered her horn -- a horn which was notably longer than the species average, and so had to rest within the sort of dome which made it look as if a giant puff pastry was getting ready to explode from her head. Fleur had caught a glimpse of the hat in a mirror and then done her best to never look at it again -- something which had proven impossible, because she had to check on it at the edge of every doorway. It was huge, hideous, pink, and probably wouldn't have been any worse off if it had been strawberry-scented. And it existed because there were devices which worked to effectively make horns invisible -- something which failed to conceal any corona over the partial level, required them to perfectly match the ever-changing background in realtime, and had the dimensions of the arranged illusion space sized for a normal horn.

Fleur's cosmetics had brought her down to just above average. The hat had removed three additional notches from her standing. There were times when it repelled attention, but this was counterbalanced by everypony who paused as they went by. None of those bothered to check the movements under the jacket. Instead, they all took a moment to look directly into her eyes -- then scurried on when her irritated return volley proved she wasn't actually blind.

Mare. Slowing down to watch the children.
Watching a little too closely.
Check...
...nothing.

Fleur went back to observing the playground.

There were roughly a dozen foals there at any given moment: the numbers shifted as parents brought them in and out. So much about their play would have looked normal at ground level, and nearly all of the playground equipment was the same. (There were fewer slides, but the ones which were present felt free to go higher: the length of the trot-up ramp increased accordingly.) And they laughed and tumbled about the vapor. They told each other jokes, then looked around to make sure their parents weren't listening and told different jokes: the latter category was all the funnier for not being fully understood. They dared each other to do things, and the truest test of bravery was stepping onto the grass. Because there was a single natural patch to the left of the seesaws, some eight body lengths across. A botanical marvel, brought up to this level at considerable expense, kept alive through great effort, and touching the soil beneath was the most horrific thing the children could imagine.

...or rather, it was the most horrific thing which could be imagined by those who remained. The ones who were absent had effectively been excused for unwanted schooling. They had gained a permanent education in a different level of nightmare. And innocence had died.

That was what had summoned Fleur.

Called to the hunt.

She would have given so much to never be summoned again.
She lived in dread of every scroll.
The mission had taken her away from the cottage, it had been two days now -- and the longer she was away, the more the miasma lifted. But the fear took over, and... the fear made her feel so much more like herself...

It was generally difficult to get a sense of Celestia's mood from a scroll. Something about the sending spell removed the normal indicators from the arrival itself: Fleur had never seen any rage spikes of corona light within the glowing mist. And when it came to the words... the ancient mare had been choosing them carefully for a very long time.

Fleur typically couldn't pick up on how the Solar ruler was feeling from the scrolls. But with this sending... something had suggested that Celestia had been angry. There had been a certain amount of stress placed into the sentences which described just how long it had taken Windicity's police to recognize what was happening, and that had been exacerbated by the additional duration required before they'd reached out to the palace.

Fleur had become a registered resource of Equestria: one of the conditions attached to her pardon. And shortly after, the palace had reached out to every precinct within the borders. Given them instructions: that if they felt a pedophile was stalking the children of their settled zone, if they had evidence of attacks --

-- living evidence --
-- sometimes they sobbed as they spoke. Or they stared at the walls behind Fleur, spoke in near-monotones and didn't react to much of anything until the memories were triggered, and that was when the screaming began --

-- they needed to contact the palace. Immediately. And Windicity, perhaps due to the idiot Fleur had taken the non-pleasure to shout down when he'd tried to talk about needing to maintain the appearance of internal competence, appeared to have... stalled.

The -- 'evidence' had accumulated accordingly.

(Fleur wrote up a report after each mission. Several adult names had already been memorized for future inclusion. Those of the children simply stayed with her. Always.)

She had been dispatched twice before. She could potentially be sent anywhere in Equestria. The places which had seen innocence die.

(It had the potential to be worse than that. Equestria offered certain services to its allies. Emergency weather interventions from the International Stormbreaker Team were in that category, and Fleur suspected she was now available for border-crossing missions.)
(She dreaded the summons which would bring her home.)

But this scroll had seen her sent off with exceptional speed. Celestia's terse wording had still managed to contain every necessary detail, including the one about how Fleur would be meeting a unicorn outside the cottage within twenty minutes. And that stallion had been the first member of the transport relay team: something which consisted entirely of the other escorts. They had launched the teleport chain from the cottage, putting Fleur into the between over and over. Start just next to the date palm, then shift to the interior of an unknown gatehouse. The first unicorn rushed out, another entered, and then they were within a supposedly-different identical hollow for the eighteen seconds it took to cycle in the third...

Twenty minutes to prepare, and she'd barely had any sense of the items which her field had slung into waiting saddlebags: both mind and corona had felt numb. Twenty minutes during which the only thing Fleur had been able to do was get ready, and --

-- Fluttershy had done her best. Tried to follow Fleur into the first stage of it, offering what help she could. But there was no time for comfort. No real chance for bracing words, near-whispered reassurance which acknowledged that it was a horror, that it should never happen, but Fleur was the one who could make it stop --

-- there had been clients in the cottage. A schedule. Fluttershy had to keep the bits flowing. Fleur needed to --

This is what I am.

-- work a tainted miracle.

There should never be anything like me ever again.

Roughly twenty minutes to prepare.

Under six to bring her into Windicity, where the empty receiving room had a wooden floor and devices had been kicked in to her. A four-part item which allowed the cloudwalking spell to be cast through the inanimate, because nopony could know how long she would need to be in the pegasus settlement and as a touch of briefing boneyard humor from one of the few tolerable officers had noted, they couldn't afford to have her drop out of the investigation.

Her total time with her love had been less than two.

She hadn't been able to tell Fluttershy anything.

Four new ponies. A family. She checked the parents anyway. Some horrors began at home.

At least my talent works through a hat. And a restraint, for that matter.

She examined the perimeter again.

Fleur had caught several of the officers watching her: a degree of attention completely separated from her normal appearance, unblocked by the hat. Two had been openly nervous in her presence, and... she wasn't entirely sure what they had been told.

Her talent was supposed to be treated as a secret. Her previous missions... based on her interactions with those precincts, she believed they'd been informed that she was the expert -- without having anypony explain the 'why'. She'd overheard two rookies sharing a theory: that there was a device, an experimental one so complex that only the creator (Fleur) could operate it -- and because it was experimental, any evidence it gathered wasn't admissible in court. The Protoceran suspected this non-amusingly wrong belief was more or less the default.

The precincts were supposed to give her whatever aid she required. The police followed her orders -- something else which failed to be amusing: the context rendered all potential mirth into something worse than merely facetious -- as long as she was directing them in the investigation. And they were watching her from their rather obvious stations around the perimeter of the park. Waiting to assist her.

Or possibly to stop her.

Fleur was never entirely sure what they'd been told. Perhaps somepony had mentioned that her anger could go to some strange places.

Keep checking. We stay until the last child goes home.

The unicorn's simmering rage was currently resting on a bench near the center of the commonality.

The -- 'evidence' --

-- she wanted to charge at any officer who referred to the children that way, and she'd still caught herself using the term a few times. An instinctive attempt at protective distancing, something which didn't work --

-- there had been a lot of questioning. Fleur had reviewed the testimony, and several of the victims --

Eight.
They waited until they had eight.

-- had been brought back in to speak with her directly.

(She had offered what comfort she could.)
(She felt it had meant nothing.)

The descriptions were unreliable. Different proportions, degrees of bulk. There was no consistency in voice or accent. Fur and mane hues were a loss, and there was no mystery regarding the reason: they had brought in a small vial of fur dye, and one of the colts had responded to the scent through curling up in a protective corner and not coming out until it had been removed.

Clothing layers and cosmetics. Making sure there was nothing consistent --

-- careful. I know fur dye is involved. Mundane methods. But that doesn't leave out minor illusions. This almost has to be a pegasus --

-- or a monster shaped like one --

-- but those devices exist and you don't have to be a unicorn to use most of them. For that matter, I'm up here. Anypony who can get regular access to a cloudwalking spell can stay in Windicity, and now I know there's devices for that too.

Very complicated devices. Seldom used. Things which might be making it impossible to walk normally.

I think about cosmetics first because that's what I know. Mundane methods. But magic is possible. And there was so much variation between what the children described. They were suggesting height differences. Going for bulked-up painted shoes is one option, but actual shapechange is effectively impossible...

But about anypony could seem like a giant to the very small.
The weak.
The helpless.
And descriptions born from trauma would sketch out the heart of nightmare.

Stay until the last child leaves.

Because there was a common element. The start of the trail. Every victim had been on this playground, no more than three days before the attack. The predator was scouting for victims here.

Watching.
The monster had likely told itself that each selection was granting an honor...

The playground was in the center of a park. There was a designated air path looping behind the benches and, for those who still remembered what their legs were for, an exceptionally shallow trench in the clouds offered a different kind of exercise. And the thing about putting a park in Windicity was that it wound up lacking a number of what Fleur would have considered to be reasonable ground-level expectations. Such as, just for way of example, trees. It definitely didn't have trees. It had tree. Singular. There was another imported patch of soil off to the south and for those who truly wished to behold the exotic, the spruce awaited. Fleur distantly wondered what had to be done if any roots threatened to grow into the vapor.

Windicity's terrain billowed. It occasionally seemed to sway in the wind and when Fleur was standing on it, the sensation was less than reassuring. But when it came to the park, just about everything was flat. The nearest buildings weren't: it would have been possible to observe the playground with a telescope (and this was still a consideration, one Fleur currently couldn't do much about), but... it made more sense for the predator to make their selections at a shorter range.

The park offered a lot of room for recreation, and just about nowhere to hide. It suggested that the pedophile was either watching from a bench, or using one of the exercise tracks. But Fleur had been checking everypony who stopped or went by, and... nothing.

They aren't necessarily here every day.
If I have to keep coming back, I should get some fur dye. Better cosmetics. It'll look too suspicious to the attacker if the same mare shows up over and over. And bring a book. I don't have to actually read it, but I need a better reason for just hanging out here.
Or bring some paper. And quills. And ink.
...I'd spend too much time looking at the paper.
I can try the post office again on the way back to the hotel.
Or maybe in the morning on the way out.

Fleur hadn't had a chance to tell Fluttershy anything before the mission had whisked her away. It had created a certain requirement to make up for lost time.

The original plan had been to tell her love everything, mutually go to Rainbow's house and let that party in on the Gilda-based portions of events, and then work it out from there. Prior to her departure, Fleur had been remotely considering asking Spike for an assist. The offered terms had been for Gilda not to return unless Rainbow invited her back, and -- a targeted scroll could do that. Rainbow would write out the request, Spike would send it, and if the weather coordinator was the griffon's last link, then... Gilda would almost have to respond. Get the traveler into a calm, controlled area, put her in the presence of that final connection, and then try to move forward from there.

There had been no chance to talk. Long hours spent in a hotel room gave Fleur the opportunity to write. And when she was on a government-assigned mission...

The unicorn was no longer charged with finding Fluttershy a mate: that alicorn-assigned mission was over. (Technically. There was still one detail to go.) But she still knew how to write up a vicious invoice, and was planning to charge her upcoming express mail expenses to the Solar Wing accordingly. She just needed to reach the Windicity postal branch when it was open.

Maybe the hotel concierge...

There was a faster means of communication available, of course. She just couldn't rely on it. In theory, all Fleur needed was for Princess Luna to visit one of her dreams. Pass the word then, and trust that the younger of the Diarchy would relay everything.

...she was away from Fluttershy. Separated from her love and the safety of the nest. She was having trouble sleeping. And when she did, the dreams...
...if Luna saw the changes...
...communication was worth that risk.

Fleur checked both tracks. Went back to watching the children, as they played and tumbled and figured out who was stronger, weaker, protected and guarded and connected with each other...

Linkless.
...no. I can't be sure. Not yet.
But if that's what happened...

She had to get the word out. They needed to know about Gilda.

You may be able to let go of a little guilt, Pinkie. She may have been sliding for a long time. It would explain how she treated Spike. And if that's the case, not every mistake was yours.

It might have started before that first visit to Ponyville. And it was natural for Rainbow to have missed the indicators. Because the weather coordinator wasn't Protoceran, and... in the early stages, there might not have been any signs.

Not in the presence of the last link.

There was a book Fleur had first read long ago, something she'd been able to consult for most of her youth: a gang leader of quality would usually have a copy somewhere. And she intended to purchase a copy for the cottage, because there were things which Fluttershy could learn from the old philosopher. Knowledge which could even be passed on to a next genera --

-- Solomon Short knew. He almost always knew.

"A chain is a way for a link to know itself."

All the little games of domination. Who's stronger than I am? Who's weaker? Identify the ones for whom you held responsibility, and then find those who would be willing to protect you. For griffons, it was sometimes possible to acquire that information on something very close to instinct. But for every other Protoceran -- you tested, pushed, pulled...

...defined.

I am stronger than he is. I am weaker than she.

Subcategories were designated: I hold this place in the family, in the community, in the nation.

A griffon who'd grown up in a place, or had the chance to test themselves in a new one -- they knew where they stood. The exact location of their link. The perfect perch. And every so often, you might test yourself again, to see if anything had shifted. The chain rattled -- or rather, it constantly vibrated. There was always some movement: if not from an individual, then within the community itself. And that happened because the links interacted, compressed, strained and, every so often, found new connections.

To be in the chain was to partially define yourself through others. Every Protoceran knew that.

So... what if there was no one else?
None to test. To push and pull. To define.
How could you know your place without others to grant you one?
How long could you be on your own and truly remain a griffon?

Travel was relatively safe. Just about anyone could be on their own for a few weeks. The strong-willed could readily manage a season in isolation. But a griffon whose journey ended in a new place would immediately begin testing those around them, because they needed to establish their link. To establish themselves.

Even the great Protoceran explorers had moved in groups. (At a minimum, you needed a pair, and they had to be friends: the constant little tugs kept you sane.) Because the group, the pride represented safety. Identity.

But if you were alone for too long...
...or if you never allowed yourself to connect, if you refused to allow any others to have power over you, took your link and yanked...

Linkless.

Some of them supposedly referred to themselves as the unchained. They described it as the ultimate freedom. You were responsible for no one, and there were none who could claim domination over you. The only requirement was to unshackle yourself from sanity. And then you could do whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted, to whoever you wanted, and it didn't matter if they tried to stop you. Anyone you beat had it coming, and if you lost -- it didn't mean anything, because you wouldn't let it. There would always be another chance. Another raking of talons, meant to teach a lesson.

The darkest stories added 'another corpse'. Because to some of the linkless, no one else could ever matter. Some concluded they were the only ones who were truly real. And once that happened...

Extended isolation could do it. A few went linkless through becoming denialists, claiming that they were turning against domination itself -- but most of those just wound up rotating their link to face the other way, attracting those who agreed with them: this occasionally led to a chain which existed to claim that chains didn't exist. And there were a number who simply abandoned sanity, or had it stripped away.

'Linkless' was the worst case, and Fleur was aware that she often went directly for those when considering options: it was the price of experience, because the worst case was usually the majority of the results. But she'd never actually seen a linkless griffon. Hardly anyone had. There were legends and, for those who delved deeply enough, probably medical journals. Because -- and the stories were rather vague on this, because horror was about those who didn't find the right solution in time -- if you caught them quickly enough, got them back into a community and made them recognize their place within the group, surrounded the fallen with those who cared...

And if you were truly lucky, there would even be a place to start.

Very few griffons left the chain through a single metal-rendering swoop. The stories (tales of horror, told around the fire when the gang members were watching to see who shivered first) claimed that there would often be a single link left, just before the end. The last link. And the griffon would be capable of acting more normally around that presence, because it was their final anchor. The terminal connection to lucidity. Some part of them might recognize that, do anything to stay close...

...not just stay close. Claim.

What would you do to possess the last link, when the other option was to feel that final shred of sanity spiral away into the dark?

Fleur didn't truly know if Gilda was linkless. But every sign had guided the unicorn further down the path into horror. And Gilda had come to Ponyville. (Twice.) Seeking Rainbow.

The last link.

She had to contact Fluttershy. Rainbow. Dr. Lorem. Anyone.

But there were children on the playground. A dozen or so, when there should have been so many more. Some were potentially old enough to be on the outer edge of manifest. All were innocent. And there should never be anything like Fleur in the world ever again.

The dreams became worse, when she was on these missions. (She slept under layers of blankets, mostly to muffle the screams.) Memories thickened around her. But she was necessary.

One abomination sent to stop every other --

-- hours.
We've been at this for hours and my talent hasn't found anything.
(Technically, she'd found a lot of things. Blackmail material had been flying by for most of the day. Fleur strongly felt that the mare with the feather-plucking fetish required both a warning sign and a mobile restraining order.)
Maybe they're just not here today. I would have known.
(She always knew.)
I've checked everypony on the paths --

-- the unicorn stopped. Looked out over the vapor, towards the children.

-- I've checked the paths.

Was it possible? And if it was, then... wouldn't the police have thought of that?

Maybe not. Most ponies never really seemed to consider what their magic could really do...

She looked at the children again.

Then she changed the angle. Just a little.

The mare stretched her legs. Reoriented so that the front hooves were over the edge of the bench, forced herself to plant a portion of her weight on nothing --

-- the spell held.

Fleur got up. Began to walk, as police and parents watched the tall mare move towards the children. Planting her hooves with just a little more force than might have been expected, and perhaps that was what made the first officer begin to rise.

...yes.
The force of a step goes down. Then some of it comes back. But it goes down first. And it's possible to push.

A few of the children had stopped playing. Questioning the approach of a stranger. And she could feel the officers moving now because she'd solved their puzzles well before this, but most of her attention was focused ahead and

I know you.
(Passing the slides now.)
(Stalking.)
(On the hunt.)
I'll always know.

Nearly at the merry-go-round.

She stopped, watched by innocence and fear.
The right foreleg lifted.
Came down.
And the cry of pain broke the world.

The pegasus erupted from the spider hole which had been molded into the clouds, the place of safety from which they'd observed the body heat of moving victims, and the layered wrappings surrounding most of their body didn't prevent wings from desperately beating at the air as they tried to gain altitude, officers erupted from benches and children were scattering in all directions, a surge of the unicorn's field pushed the hat off from the inside but doing so had cost her a precious second, she still needed to aim for flight feathers, there would be officers crossing her line of sight and her talent was continuing to operate, every uncovered piece of Tartarus placed into its proper position but there was more to see, more to solve and --

-- the officers were closing in. The predator was picking up speed. And Fleur, whose talent had just placed a corner, screamed out the only warning she had.

"You have to catch her! Question her! Anything you need to do for answers, anything --"

"We're going for her!" called one of the slower fliers as he began to pass over Fleur's reared-up form. "She can't get away from all of us! Once we catch her, it's over --"

But there was always another layer of horror, buried within concealing white. One more grotesquerie.

"SHE LIKES TO WORK WITH A PARTNER!"

The tall aquamarine pegasus stallion was leaving work or rather, he was leaving the place where he had once worked. The most recent. There had been a few of those. Fortunately, Equestrian law dictated that a hire had to be paid for the time of employment, regardless of how short that had been. Some of his recent self-tilted bosses had been issuing vouchers in fractions.

Sun had gone down some time ago. Zephyr was used to being active under Moon, because that was where most of the true fun could be found. He just felt that the best way to have energy for such nighttime activity was through saving it up during the day. It was a practical thing, and it was also a hard habit to break.

Just a while longer and it'll all be over.
Just stick with it and everything will be normal again.
This is all part of the plan.

He kept telling himself that. Zephyr had to believe he was capable of keeping it up, for however long it took. But he hadn't originally expected the plan to require this much time, and -- it was hard. It was all so hard...

Languid movements carried him down half-foreign streets. He was still trying to learn Ponyville. Becoming familiar with a single given location through working in it was definitely helping, but it wasn't the way he wanted to cover the entire settled zone. Still, at the current pace...

...all part of the plan...
...it's hard, but if it works --
-- it'll work.

It had to.

And the most recent firing had just been unfair. He was supposed to be using impacts to embed everything, right? Well, what had more impact than hail? Get enough of it going and you could do a whole area at once! It was an innovation!

...it would have worked.
It had been working. His former 'boss' just hadn't wanted to see it.
Maybe the earth pony would have recognized a new kind of triumph if he hadn't been so insistent on yelling about -- something. Zephyr wasn't sure about the actual words, but distantly felt they might have concerned having been recently hit by several large hailstones.

Could have just stayed back.

Totally not his fault.

Maybe he could find somepony to buy him dinner. (His ears automatically checked the status of his mane.) He'd been collecting bits (or fractions thereof) for his labors, but it was hard to make them last. Meeting a nice mare would help. Another nice mare. There were always nice mares, if you knew how to look and had figured out a few things to say. But he was moving through the dark, on hoof because his wings had gotten enough of a workout for one day, and he didn't know this town.

He didn't know ground. His hooves were sore...

...he was pretty sure he was lost.

There was a restaurant district. He'd been through it twice, and was completely certain that he was currently nowhere near it. This looked residential, or -- as residential as anything could look when it was all made of wood. Wood was weird.

Getting a mare to treat him to a meal required a place which served meals, along with an actual mare. Maybe if he just tried to pick up the scents. Or -- headed towards one of the lampposts, and then the next one beyond that. There had to be more light near the center of town, right?

He turned. Reoriented, sniffed the air. There were food scents present, but most of them seemed to be coming from the houses. Parents cooking for their kids, like good parents should.

Zephyr trotted, or as close as he ever came. Move in the right direction for long enough and you'd get somewhere. It was just a matter of commitment --

-- he heard the wings at the moment he stepped into the pool of light cast by the lamppost's embedded device, subconsciously recognized that something was off about the sound --

-- and the griffon landed in front of him.

Not directly. On the other side of the illuminated area, leaving most of her body in shadow. He could see golden eyes, talons --

-- her feathers were rough. So was her fur. Maybe that qualified as a fashionable look for a griffon. (He wasn't sure: he'd barely seen any, had never been this close to one before.) And she smelled like --

-- blood. She was an omnivore, and there was a little red around the left side of the beak. It was just blood. Maybe that was fashion too.

He wondered if she was attractive. Then he considered whether there might be any possibility of having her buy him dinner. You never knew --

"I saw her laughing at you," the griffon softly said. (Near perfect Equestrian, almost accentless but for faint traces of Cloudsdale.) "From the clouds. I was watching her, and I saw you. Then I heard her laughing."

The stallion felt his features go tight. Tried to force every muscle into relaxing, because that wasn't good for fur or skin --

"You remember," the stranger noted. "The unicorn, the white one whose legs and horn are too long. The little giant. Fleur Dis Lee."

Zephyr forced a nod, and the griffon's beak parted. Just a little, enough to see the edges of both halves. He would soon learn that it represented a smile.

"You don't like her," the female observed. "Neither do I." And took the first step forward. "We should do something about that."

And One Of These Days, That Time Is Gonna Skip Right Over You

There were multiple clauses attached to Dr. Lorem's contract with the palace, and one of the most prominent said that once a mission had ended, Fleur had to go into a therapy session. This was supposed to be scheduled as quickly as possible, and couldn't operate with the usual time limit in place because no one could know how long it was going to take before even a fraction of recent events had been talked out. And as it was typically rather difficult to shuffle enough clients to clear the hours, the usual -- previous... twice-used solution was having the psychiatrist see the former escort during what normally would have been a day off.

The palace paid extra for such emergency sessions, because they used hours which took the griffon away from the rest of her life. The unicorn, who would have normally enjoyed an opportunity to strip extra bits away from the national budget, could at least manage to appreciate that the tiercel had claimed a few.

A session had to be scheduled, and quickly. But it didn't happen instantly and in this case --

"I can't turn my tail towards anything for five minutes!"

-- Fleur hadn't reached the office until after she'd spent a full day in Ponyville.

Perhaps a little too calmly, "Fleur, you were gone for several days --"

"-- which just gives it a multiplier," the unicorn shot back, and the tall form twisted in the nest. Hooves gestured and given the occupant's current position, three of the four were currently trying to curse out the ceiling. "I've lived at the cottage for a while. Five minutes is all it can take before something goes wrong. Five seconds. It goes under that, but don't ask me to measure it. I'm not sure any clock has gears that small --"

"-- and ultimately, the only thing anyone can truly try to control is their own self," the psychiatrist pressed on. "You are in no way responsible for --"

"-- you need to come into Ponyville. Not just for Gilda. For the next session. For every session." The fourth hoof took virtual aim at a glowing length of wire in the ceiling, created a momentary vicious shadowplay across the bottom of the nest. "Because I clearly can't go anywhere. Ever. Sun's spots, at least when the palace was tracking the bracelet, I officially couldn't risk leaving town. Enforced by the Grimcess herself. And now it's just the world trying to punish --"

"-- I was wondering," the too-calm voice smoothly cut in, "if you were aware of your body's current orientation."

The unicorn froze.

She looked at her legs. Then she realized she was looking up at her legs --

-- it's a soft nest. It has to be. The material shifts under you. Support offered for any position. And because it's a nest, you're supposed to feel safe. Protected.

"Right," the harpy eagle beak carefully voiced. "You're on your back. Not exactly a common position for a pony, is it?"

Fleur's mind scrambled.

Sarcastically, "You've never really shown much interest in that part of my life. Not for the working aspects. But if you really want me to teach you about pony positions, we actually have all day --"

"-- and thank you, Fleur's defense mechanisms," Dr. Lorem evenly interrupted. "I was expecting them to get a word in somewhere. Fleur, you are on your back. You've spent some time on your sides, but you're currently carrying your weight on the spine. Kicking at the air. Who else does that?"

...safe.
Protected.
Like a...

The unicorn slowly attempted to get her body back into a standard resting position. The ideal would have been to manage the feat with a hint of dignity, and gravity fought her all the way.

"It's not a tantrum," she said after her belly and barrel were touching the nesting material again.

"It's anger," Dr. Lorem placidly replied. "You're allowed to be angry. And this is a place where you can express that anger. Because it's honest rage, Fleur. So it's welcome here. I could even hope that you'd simply felt safe enough to show it in such a primal way. But I wanted you to be fully aware of it."

Fleur took a slow breath, and immediately wished she hadn't. The scents of the imported wood had recently been refreshed, and --

-- she looked out the window. Portions of Canterlot passed by her view and since it was the Aviary, quite a bit of it had talons and paws. Moving in groups, protectively positioned to keep an eye on the smaller talons...

Maybe I could ask her to activate the illusions. Just this once.
Maybe the lies don't have any children going by.

"I was gone for a few days," she forced herself to continue. "And I lost control."

The griffon sighed.

"Sometimes I forget how young you are," Dr. Lorem stated, and the panther tail swayed. "Your body casts a rather effective illusion, as do the cosmetics -- and you're using quite a few today. But saying something like that... it brings the truth back. There are two reasons to believe you can control the world, Fleur. One is delusion, and the other is youth." The beak parted, with the degree of gap approaching a smile. "We could just call that two different forms of insanity. But ultimately, the only thing you can truly hope to control is yourself."

The unicorn did her best to bury the fuming.

"So, before we go back to the rest of it --" the tail ceased its swaying, lashed once "-- and yes, I intend to talk about the whole -- I want you to concentrate on the positives from your mission. You saved so many, Fleur. All of the ones who would have been next --"

"-- after the total had already reached eight," Fleur softly said. "And those are just the ones we know about. Some of them might never come forward. They won't tell their parents, or anypony else. It'll just... fester."

Some memories never faded.
A few had been known to become louder.

"The police are still looking," the griffon reminded her. (The talons were clenching.) "They can use the --" and stopped.

"Trophies," offered a bitter voice. "Call the contents of those albums what they are: trophies. The police can use the trophies and try to connect them with any more victims." Trophies were... surprisingly common. The souvenirs of the hunt.

The Windicity police had told her there was a book.
Books.
The operations of paired monsters had required the creation of copies.

"And both of them were caught," Dr. Lorem said, leaning forward a little with the words. "Both, Fleur. It's over --"

"-- for the ones they raped," a very young voice observed, "it's never over."

Silence descended onto the office. The beak failed to clack. Fleur looked towards the nearest window, and then glanced away.

"Having two could make it worse for the trial," the unicorn quietly noted. "Prisoner's dilemma, did you ever fly over that one during your training? The questioning was still going on when the police sent me back, after they had both of them. And it was still in the stage where most of what they were getting was denials and claims that all of the -- physical evidence had been planted."

As opposed to living testimony.
Survivors.
The ones who had to go on.

"There's a lot of evidence," Fleur forced herself to continue. "But testimony could make it easier to have the case stick. And that means they might try to bargain. If one sells the other out from the witness stall, then whoever talks could wind up with a shorter sentence." More softly, "It's not Protocera, is it? That one would get to walk out."

"And they would be watched for the rest of their lives," Dr. Lorem tried to point out. (The tail lashes were getting faster.)

"'Alive' would be the problem," Fleur calmly offered. "They'll be watched. But ponies blink. And corpses don't move."

Both females were quiet for a time.

"You still saved all the ones who would have been next."

Starkly, "Tell that to the eight I wasn't there for. If the number's even that low."

There shouldn't have been so many.
If I'd been called in earlier...
...there should never be one...
Maybe Celestia can at least get that stalling hackamore out of the precinct office.
'Rammed down through the clouds' should be an option.

"And is that your talent, Fleur?" the psychiatrist asked. "To know when something will happen, and appear in time to stop it? To control the world?"

As if I'm that lucky.

It wouldn't matter. Luck ran out.

More silence. The black tail slowed, stilled.

"You have control issues," Dr. Lorem accurately observed. "It's not the first time they've emerged. But -- and yes, I know I'm repeating myself -- you can only truly hope to control yourself. Everything else is... suggestions."

"Then at least I managed to 'suggest' something to the press," the unicorn sighed. "By proxy, anyway." Because setting off a chase in the middle of a public park...

She had fully explored the limits of her talent. Most of those who knew its nature still didn't suspect all the ways she'd learned to use it. But it didn't allow her to solve somepony's profession. (Usually. It was sometimes possible to detect an escort just through the sheer variety of pieces with recently-acquired glow.) And there had been a journalist on a park bench.

Multiple officers had approached that furiously-scribbling reporter on the unicorn's behalf. (It was best for Fleur not to get too close. Be noticed. Identified.) And with surprisingly-calm words, they'd told the mare that there was a second party to find, and it would be considerably harder for the police to do their jobs if that one knew pursuit existed.

The journalist had agreed to hold back on the story, and -- that had bought them some time. Fleur had been teleported out of Windicity before anypony could even consider asking The Mare In The Really Ugly Hat for an interview.

It had bought them time. Enough time. But it had still taken two additional days to find the monster's partner.

And while Fleur had been out of Ponyville...

"Did you send the letters?" the griffon asked. "Telling everypony what was going on?"

Starkly, "Yes." And because she needed some control, "And it's 'everyone'. I did send one to you."

The beak's edged parted again. "Fleur, you may be reluctant to see it this way, but -- that represents progress. You were attempting to work with others. Instead of keeping secrets, you tried to share your knowledge and let them in on your plans. You looked for help."

The unicorn's motionless silence embittered the warm air.

"I haven't seen your letter, though," the psychiatrist admitted. "I'm hoping it didn't get lost in the shuffle --"

"-- you'll probably have it tomorrow," Fleur half-spat. "Because I didn't get to post it until about an hour before I found out it was 'over'. I should be at the cottage in time to sign for my own mail."

The harpy eagle head tilted slightly to the right. "You posted it yourself?"

"I kept missing the concierge --"

"-- why didn't you ask one of the officers to mail it for you?"

Fleur's jaw slammed shut.

"Because you have trouble working with the police for more than what's absolutely essential," Dr. Lorem concluded. "Still, especially when you don't know them as individuals. Watch for that in yourself, Fleur. Now..." The talons shifted as both forelegs moved, and opposing pointed tips briefly touched. "...is there anything in that letter which you haven't told me?"

Fleur shook her head. "I didn't know how long I would be in Windicity. I couldn't leave anything out."

The griffon nodded. "In that case," she said --

You didn't force the reaction back in time.
Every feather just vibrated.

"-- I'd like to talk about Auratui. Or 'Gilda', if you prefer."

Fleur managed to nod back. The tiercel adjusted position, and feathers ruffled back into their usual layers.

"One of the actual problems caused by your absence," Dr. Lorem began, "is with the vestigia. It's been more than long enough for the last traces to fade. No one would be able to tell she acted." Paused. "How strong is her dominari?"

"Above average," decided the mare who'd been through far too many gang initiations. "But not spectacular. Maybe three links past the middle."

She's not the type to hold back. I'm sure of that. What she used was all she had. It was possible to boost raw power, but... special circumstances were required: things unlikely to happen (or be available) in Equestria, even near the Aviary. However Gilda had expected to win 'the next time', it wouldn't have been with that.

"But she's in an area which has no direct experience with that magic," the tiercel reminded her. "They can try to resist, but..." Feathers rustled, and then the psychiatrist sighed. "One of the fastest conclusions any arrival in this nation may come to: that the International Studies curriculum needs to be drastically revised. Most natives won't understand what's happening. They don't know us."

(Fleur immediately decided that she'd been included in 'us'.)

"I listened to what you said earlier, Fleur," the griffon stated. "Truly listened. And now I have to talk for a little while. You'll let me finish."

And that was just about an order. Because you think your link is above mine.
I let you think you'd won --

"I believe that you were telling me the truth about your encounter," Dr. Lorem began. "However, I'm reluctant to create a diagnosis based on your description -- NO, Fleur, I am going to talk. You recounted multiple disturbing indicators. They're more than enough to call for further investigation."

Nod.
Just nod.
Don't smile. Smiling would be completely out of place.
...don't kick towards the ceiling either.

"But I can't just casually declare 'linkless', because that sort of conclusion should never be casual," the psychiatrist continued. "Not with what it means for a life. So here's what will happen."

And now who's trying to control the world?

The griffon arced her neck forward. The beak clacked.

"I'm going to ask for a specialist to evaluate her," Dr. Lorem said. "Someone who can be sure. But that's going to take some time, because I can't make that request locally."

I expected that. The Aviary is too small. There aren't enough people on staff...

This time, the tiercel's head tilted left.

"You've told me about Spike," she said. "Quite a bit." With humor so faint as to verge on transparent, "I think the contract cleared me for most of it. I could try to use the embassy and ask for a diplomatic courier. They'd understand the emergency, and it would be faster than most express mail. But I may also ask the palace if Spike's services are available. It might effectively cut the time in half. And yes, Fleur: that's going to put me in Ponyville. For a few hours, at least."

Unless the Princess sends the scroll herself. But it was possible that the psychiatrist might not be able to make direct contact with the Solar throne room.

"I can try to observe Gilda while I'm there," Dr. Lorem added. "If she can be found. But..." One deep breath, and then another. "...this is where I need to provide corrections. Because you were going to send her out of the settled zone."

...corrections?
Corrections --

"I see your eyes going wide," the griffon said. "Speak."

"It was just for a day or so," Fleur quickly insisted. "And then -- I'd thought of asking Spike for help, I told you that. Bring Gilda into a controlled meeting with Rainbow. If she's the last link --"

"-- we don't have a true diagnosis," Dr. Lorem cut her off. "But -- if she is linkless, or approaching the point of final severance --" the feathers vibrated again "-- then something significant just happened. She entered a community. If she's going to attempt a claim, then she needs to remain in Ponyville. This gives her the chance to make connections. Possibly the necessity. She may be forced to relink if she wants to accomplish anything at all. So try to avoid anything which might outright banish her, or makes her flee. Being around others creates her best chance."

"It's about how she sees any connection," Fleur rapidly argued. "If it's domination without responsibility, master over slave, then...!"

Her psychiatrist favored her with a rather small nod.

"Yes. But she still said 'My link above yours.' It might indicate connections can still be made --"

"-- she may only honor the chain if she's winning --"

Softly, "-- yes."

"I could just try to bring her to the Aviary. Why does it have to be Ponyville --"

"-- and doing so is trying to control her, when she won't see you as dominant," felt far too calm. "And she chose Ponyville."

Starkly, "You're asking me to keep a potential explosive in close proximity. Letting it decide whether, when, and where to go off."

"I'm aware," emerged in the sort of tone which belied everything taking place with the lashing tail. "Fleur, you will notify Miranda Rights of Auratui's presence." With open boneyard humor, "Although given a griffon in a relatively new place, I suspect she's already found out. But if Auratui is unchained, or nearly so -- then making her flee into isolation may be what triggers final severance. Sending her a scroll -- she might respect the words, coming from Rainbow. But she doesn't know about Spike, does she? About the flame. To see it simply appear... that's nothing more than unknown magic. Something which might be hunting her. And what would be her most likely response?"

"Striking out at any perceived source," Fleur slowly proposed, "or flying away from the attack."

But then she would be gone --

The "Yes," was still far too controlled. "We know where she is. We might have some trouble finding her again. It's a rather large world, and... it's too easy to become isolated within it. Warn Miranda. But tell her not to move in. Not to attempt arrest without a witnessed crime, and have Auratui feel she must attack or flee. And let Rainbow make contact -- snout to beak. That's when it will truly mean something." The talons failed to fully steeple. "Fleur, I'm fully aware of the risks here, and that's why I want your law enforcement personnel to be aware of every last one. At this point, I might be likely to visit Ms. Rights myself: confidentiality can be broken for potential danger. But it may be better if it's you. And if you're right -- then this may be the final chance to save Auratui's life. Her sanity." And in that I Know You Better Than You Want Me To tone which Fleur loathed most of all, "And I think that means something to you, because your first response, when you felt you had discovered the linkless -- was to seek help."

...
...you have no idea how much I want to kick you right now.
Keep my legs motionless and you still won't.

"Some of the linkless are said to collapse inwards at the end," the tiercel sadly stated. "Listening solely to voices within, as only they know best. Auratui may be a danger only to herself. But... I don't know, Fleur. I can admit that. And that's why I'm going to ask for aid. The help she needs. Keep her in Ponyville if you can. For as long as it's safe." More quickly, "But I am not asking you to risk lives. And that's why your Ms. Rights --"

"-- not mine --" almost felt humorous.

"-- needs to know everything."

Slowly, far too slowly, Fleur nodded.

"Have you seen Auratui since your return?"

"No."

"Has anypony?"

Fleur winced.

"Yes."

Far too casually, with layers of true curiosity, "Did you know there's a griffon in town?"

Fleur, whose field had been placing a cork, forced herself to hold position in the examination room. Continued facing away from Caramel, mentally examined her corona for traces of spikes, and sealed the last floating vial of Shimmy's medicine.

"It's been brought up," she told the stallion. Began to turn towards him, keeping her movements careful and controlled. There was limited space in the examination area, she really didn't need to bank a fetlock into anything and besides, Katherine was resting in the small of her back. The shrew tended to stay close for a few days following a mission, and...

Animals didn't understand. Not truly, not for something like this. But it helped to have the company.

Of course, turning around left her facing Caramel's newest attempt at a manestyle. Fleur had already decided to call this one Surf Pounding Against An Artificial Jetty. She was expecting the results to destroy themselves in about an hour, and hoped to have Caramel clear of the cottage before the last of the restraining gel gave way.

"I think she may have been here before," he added. "Supposedly we had a griffon visit a few years ago. Before your time. So it could be the same one." He shrugged. "But I'm guessing. I didn't see that one. Just the --" And then paused. "Fleur, do you remember the right word for a female griffon? International Studies wasn't my best subject."

She made sure to hesitate before answering, made her features twist as if memories were being searched. "...'tiercel' feels right."

He nodded. "Tiercel. Okay. I'll take your word for it, because that's more than I brought back." Thoughtfully, "Tiercel..."

And then his tone changed.

"I saw her flying," Caramel said.

That's wistful.
...curious?

"It's funny," he rather distantly went on, somehow coming across as a pony who was operating his larynx from several body lengths away. "I don't get into Canterlot much, unless I'm taking a date there for something." With a soft sigh, "So not lately. And I never really go near Embassy Row, or whatever that other little neighborhood is. The rest of not really seeing them around the capital is dumb luck. So I don't think I've ever really paid attention before. To how they move in the air. I watched her for about a minute, until she was out of sight. She stayed pretty high up, though. Kept near the clouds."

As horror went, Don't look at his puzzle had the benefit of being completely internal.

"The wings are strong, aren't they?" Caramel decided. "She looked heavier than a pegasus, so the wings would have to be powerful. But I wouldn't know."

Don't look...

Thoughtfully, "I wonder if the feathers feel the same?"

...oh, horse apples.

"He's just a little curious," Dr. Lorem declared through the smile. "It's natural. A lot of ponies go through that stage --"

"-- at home," Fleur immediately argued. "He's Equestrian. I'm not sure he could find Protocera on a map." Or Drayton, for that matter. Not that many ponies were capable of finding Fleur's falsely-claimed speck of a birth settled zone.

"You've more than suggested that he looks to wings first and foremost," the psychiatrist reminded her. "So at least he's staying on trend?"

Fleur glared at the griffon. No dominari came back the other way.

"Do you feel he's likely to act on it?" Dr. Lorem asked.

The unicorn considered the faint washes of color on the half-formed piece. "Not at this stage. Not if he can find a mare." And probably not without direct invitation. Talons and claws, how desperate is he to be with anyone --

-- I just thought 'anyone' --
-- at least I didn't say it...

"Your charge, Fleur," the tiercel observed. "Take care of him." The talons tapped. "I just thought of something. Your original plan was to have Rainbow contact Auratui via that scroll magic. And you did say that you'd spoken to her." With a soft sigh, "Which is how you learned about the other issue. Can you stop her before she sends something?"

"I think so," Fleur quietly replied. "I can redirect the air carriage and land in town. Find her. I might be too late. But I don't think she would have sent anything today." The pegasus had known that she had to be very careful about her words. With Rainbow, that meant several rounds of editing, a lot of kicked-away papers and eventually, a small lightning bolt directed at ground and garbage pile: that last was both a means of working off frustration and making sure nopony looked at her drafts. "She's... got a lot on her mind."

The friends were resting under the tree together, facing each other from half a body length apart. False shelter had been offered by a willow, one which rested on the northern boundary of a different-yet-similar park, and Fleur had to keep her head down in order to put some distance between the horn and some of the lowest-hanging branches. The position did help her to focus on Rainbow, and also allowed her ears to rotate away from the sounds of laughing children.

The pegasus had landed again. It was still that bad.

Or worse.

Fleur had told her everything she could.

"I'm seeing Dr. Lorem tomorrow," the unicorn said. "We may be able to get more help that way. But I don't know if there's anyone in the Aviary who's studied this as their specialty. It's a small staff, Rainbow. They'll do what they can, I'm sure of it, but -- it could take a while. And until then..."

"...it's me," the weather coordinator quietly finished. And there was no brashness left.

Fleur silently nodded.

"But I'm not sure. I could be seeing the wrong signs. It's another reason to get help. And -- even if it is that bad..." Softly, as her right foreleg began to stretch forward, "Rainbow, you could be the last link. If anypony can pull her back --"

"-- I'm not great with words." The magenta eyes were mostly staring at the ground. "Twilight's tried to help. I'm better than I used to be. But this... it might take at least a day before I've got something I can trust. And you've got to be careful. Just because you beat her magic..."

"You're better when the person is right in front of you," Fleur quietly observed. "If she comes by, you'll be ready."

"Better when they're around," was hollow.

"I think so. Fluttershy --" Fleur hesitated. "-- she didn't say all that much about it." Possibly because something was classified. "But when you two were locked up in the same cell, in that one castle -- she told me that what you said just about saved her life. You found words once. They'll come again --"

"-- I can't even find her, Fleur." And the laugh held no mirth. "She was always better at hide-and-seek. I thought the tail would be more of a giveaway."

"Spike can."

"The scroll can. It doesn't tell him where she is."

A cyan foreleg, unused to stillness, shifted enough to have the hoof scrape a shallow trench into the soil.

"Rainbow --"

The brashness was gone, and its absence was making portions of the voice collapse within internal echo.

"-- we made out one time."

Fleur had told Rainbow everything she could.

The words emerged without thought. "I know."

I shouldn't have said that.

The next vocalization possessed multiple tonal qualities: bitterness, resignation, self-blame...

"...of course you know."

...but not anger.

"I'm sorry," Fleur quietly offered. "I shouldn't have --"

"-- it was a dare," the pegasus went on, as if nopony else had spoken at all. "I stopped it after a few minutes. Because it felt weird."

Because there's a species barrier. Reciprosexual, but -- for ponies.

Barely a whisper now. "Is this my fault?"

"No."

They were both quiet for a while, as the willow's branches swayed above them within the scheduled light breeze. Off in the distance, a primary school student tried out a curse which she didn't fully understand and wound up inverting most of the context.

"I'll do what I can," Loyalty promised. "She's... I have to. I've gotta..." Stopped. "But it's words. 'Better when they're around.' That's not how it worked at the Bureau meeting. Not even close. And..."

She hesitated.

"...I haven't told you something." The bitterness was back. "I didn't have the chance. Not when you kicked me with that one. And I haven't told Fluttershy, because -- I knew it was going to be bad. It was bad enough already, with you on the mission. I couldn't make it worse. Not until you got back. And I knew that if she saw him, if she figured it out..."

Another scrape. A second trench. Wings flared, folded back in.

"...Rainbow?" Because Fleur had never seen her like this, not in a state where it felt as if the prismatic mane was on the verge of fading into grey --

The words emerged from the core of inner desolation, and did so all at once. Getting it over with.

"Zephyr's on the weather team."

Fleur blinked.

Then she decided that once was insufficient, and did it again.

...actually, blinking wasn't going to help anything.

"...WHAT?"

"I didn't hire him!" Both forelegs spread in protest, nearly slammed back together. "The Bureau did! From what he was saying when he showed up with his briefing packet, it sounded like all he had to do was trot into the Canterlot office and tell them who he was!"

"But he isn't anypony --" Is he?

And then she worked it out.

"He's a legacy hire!" Rainbow spat.

...oh.
So apparently just bringing up the names of the parents can manage a lot within the bureaucracy...

"I wasn't asked!" Furious decibels blasted their own path into the dirt. "They went under my snout! It's Passing Shower's revenge!"

"Who's --"

Most of the volume dropped out. "The weather coordinator before me. It's about connections. Passing had them. Too many. And it kept him around. For too long, way past when he should have retired. After he couldn't manage the job anymore and just did whatever the schedule said. Long enough to almost..."

She stopped, and feathers shuddered.

"...Rainbow?" The repetition didn't seem to be helping.

"And now it's Zephyr," Rainbow half-snarled, because it was the pegasus and some plummets arced back up in a hurry. "Because of who his mom and dad are. And because of how the meeting went: I'd bet a Daring Do third printing on that! I know what the Canterlot office is trying to pull here!"

"Then tell me," Fleur quietly requested.

"Stratus," Rainbow told her. "They're trying to pull a Stratus."

The name sounded familiar. "Isn't that the stallion who hired you?"

"Yeah," an abrupt emotional dive announced. "Hired me and put me here. Without any weather college credits, just because of how he felt about the interview. Something we mostly did while flying around, because he wanted to get out of the office and... it was just fun after a while. Keeping up. Figuring out where he was going, and then trying to get ahead. Stratus took a chance on me, and..."

Both back legs kicked out at once. A small portion of displaced air went into the trunk.

"...I'm pretty sure the Bureau is saying they can take another."

Fleur stared at her friend. At a mare falling deeper into misery with every passing instant. A mane and tail which were collapsing under pressure. But with Rainbow, she was also looking at an even more rare sight: somepony who wasn't going for the easy solution.

"He's on the Ponyville team."

"I said that," Rainbow muttered.

"So you're his boss."

"No kidding."

"Fire him --"

Softly, "-- I can't."

"You --"

"-- I can ask. But it goes to the mayor and the Bureau, in that order. I'm in charge of the team. Not personnel. And it's connections, Fleur. I'd probably need something big. He'd have to screw up big-time. The sort of thing where..."

She stopped again, and took a moment to refold her wings.

"You can try to directly supervise his work." Based on limited previous exposure, his barely-work -- but Zephyr did have strength behind his magic. "See if he gets anything wrong --"

"-- I'd have to shift around the assignments. The team mostly does its own thing unless we need a group weave, and I've got to haul my own share. I'm sure not gonna do his job for him. It'll look weird if I'm right on top of him." And snorted. "Not that he'll mind. Turns out I can do something which might get him to start with me."

Quickly, "What can you --"

"-- breathe." This snort was louder. "I don't need your talent to figure out why he was looking at me that way. And I think he wanted to get caught. But he sure didn't notice when I wouldn't look back."

The sleek body slumped. Children laughed, and none of it reached her.

"I guess he sort of took your advice," Fleur wearily decided.

"What advice?" drifted up from the dirt.

"He found a job where he could nap."

The responding glare was almost comforting.

"And then I had to tell Fluttershy." The styled mane slowly twisted as Fleur shifted her position within the nest. "Which made everything worse. Her mane was forward this morning, and it stayed that way." Which wasn't even the worst of it. "If he sticks with this job, and he stays around -- Sun and Moon, the only reason Pinkie may not have Partied him yet is because we asked her to keep some distance, but once he really commits to living in Ponyville --"

"And reconciles with his sibling?" Dr. Lorem calmly asked. "He may be making a true effort, Fleur. To be part of her family. You said you would give him a chance, Fleur. Speaking with him in a neutral setting."

There is no way I am ever bringing Fluttershy in here.
No couples therapy.

But she did need to hear Zephyr speak again. It was the best way to determine where the falsehoods were.

"When I can," Fleur technically didn't lie. "It may not be immediate, though."

The griffon nodded.

"I know this is a high-stress situation, Fleur," her psychiatrist offered. "Especially with the mission involved. But ultimately, this isn't about loss of control. It's about controlling yourself. And there are ways in which you're doing very well. But there are things you can't control. Aspects you need to acknowledge --"

The unicorn decided she had seen where it was going, and jumped the question. Something which let Fleur place her body in front of the true gate.

"Multiple nightmares in Windicity," she said. "But Gratia wasn't there."

"Thank you for telling me that," Dr. Lorem calmly said. "Did you attempt to harm either criminal? Beyond what would have been necessary to apprehend?"

I didn't get a real chance.

"No."

"Self-control," the tiercel considered. "Improvement. During what was, for you, one of the most stressful situations possible."

The beak slightly parted. Another smile.

"Progress, Fleur," the tiercel told her. "This is all about your progress."

The unicorn was silent.

Except that it's not about me.

We used a device after I got back. I... just wanted to be with her, but we always have to try. And she's always a little on the quiet side, when we're in the nest. I got used to that. And maybe it wasn't the worst thing, hanging the glass. We'll have unused ones unless we pick up the pace again. I'd have to tell Dr. Mester I was sent out of Ponyville, and she can bucking well ask the palace for details.

I just wanted to be with her. And that was part of it. When I didn't think about the glass.

But I had to tell her about Gilda's attack. About the mission. All of it. She listened. She always listens. And I felt better for telling her. Not keeping secrets.

I... felt a little better. And she was almost normal again. Because she's stronger than I am, and she was being strong for me.

But when I got back from talking to Rainbow, and had to tell Fluttershy about Zephyr...

Her voice is getting softer.

Like Living With An Ex Who Sets The House On Fire Up To Twenty-Six Times Per Year

It felt as if the past was following her.

Going back and forth to Canterlot for the therapy sessions, using the faster form of travel -- she could always get an air carriage, but it wouldn't necessarily be the same one. A given specimen could be grounded for maintenance, recharging, or to have some touchups placed into the paint. Even the inanimate could wear makeup, especially when it was trying to pass itself off as something which would be worth a few extra bits for the ride -- right up until the pegasi actually took off, because that was when anypony in the passenger section got to discover that fresh touches of gilding didn't do much for the actual wind shielding.

Gilding.
Gilda.
Auratui...

This particular carriage seemed to be slightly underpowered. Moving towards Ponyville at speed created gusts moving against vehicle and occupant, and a portion of that kinetic energy was getting through. Not so much that Fleur would have called for a landing: she was in no danger of being pushed off the platform. But remaining motionless required effort. She was constantly being nudged backwards, any real acceleration turned that into something which approximated a shove, and it felt as if it was taking so much strength just to stay exactly where she was...

The wind also pushed against her head. Her mane was being disrupted. Any inhalation seemed to bring in far too much: trying to exhale found her fighting just to get rid of what had quickly become a toxic load. To shed the poison. But the force was directional, and it became easier to breathe when she turned away from the approaching settled zone, glancing off to the sides or -- looking back.

It wasn't the clearest of views. The corridor of scheduled weather was heavily overcast: more spring rains would be set to trigger overnight. But there was a storm over the Everfree. No lightning or thunder, not just yet -- but she could see the rain coming down, and it was easy to watch the treetops swaying in the wind. The Experience wouldn't be flying today. Ponies were perfectly capable of getting wet at home, and fetching a towel from their own linen closet didn't come with a Slight Additional Charge.

Gilda and Zephyr.

When you loved somepony...
...or even if they were just your friend...
...you effectively inherited certain aspects of their lives...

A friend. A sibling. Two sapients (or a possible plummet into insanity added to the presence of an unreasoning preschooler) who, prior to their appearance, might as well have never existed -- at least when it came to their direct impact on Fleur --

-- no. That was wrong. Both intruders had been part of the lives of others, and...

Imagine the past as a series of canyons. (Protocera was believed to have the most spectacular examples on the planet.) Time wears away at the rock, with every sapient carving out their own trail. Something immutable. This has happened: there is no changing it. Every second allows you to advance a little farther forward, but -- you can never truly see where you're going. The future is opaque. It dares you to try and aim for a destination, when you don't know if it can ever be reached. You just keep pushing, and...

...trails can intersect. Another's canyon breaks through to yours, and now two are traveling together. A collective force is being exerted, and it alters the nature of the trail. Of the travelers. With every one of those changes set in stone.

Fluttershy and Rainbow had become the people Fleur knew because they'd had that company. Without Gilda and Zephyr, those two paths might have flowed in different directions. Never intersected each other, or... Fleur.

(Rainbow might have only approached because she'd once known a griffon.)
(Trading one ranch kid for another.)

The companion's trail might eventually split off. (Perhaps you'd never wanted him to be there at all. Or maybe you'd expected to travel with her for a lifetime, and... she'd had a different concept of what the ultimate goal would be.) Your own trail kept moving forward, because it was the only way to live. But at any moment, you might hear a crumbling of rock. And the paths would come together again, you would see the person who had been at your side for so long, and...

...time wore away stone. It also did strange things to minds.

They would step out of the shadows, emerging from the winding canyons of the deep past. Intersecting your trail again, with the intent to walk with you. Or... to redirect. Steer, dominate...

And perhaps you would wonder who this person was now.
Or if you'd ever really known them at all.

Fleur, for the trails of love and friend, was a newcomer. She'd only walked with them for a short time, and... kept waiting for the event which would break her path away from theirs, send her back into those shadows. Because she had her own trail, her own past, and only the future was opaque. You could try to set up rockfalls along your own canyon, block off sections while making it appear as if you'd come in from a different angle... but ultimately, that was just illusion. Make enough of an effort, and anyone could potentially follow the trail.

All the way back.

She'd been an escort --
-- she had been a blackmailer.

She'd targeted Fancypants, because an asexual who was trying to hide it... that was more than unusual enough to get her attention, especially with somepony who had bits to extort. If he was willing to pay for the company of escorts (who never actually reached his bedroom) in order to appear normal, then what would he be willing to pay her in order to keep the illusion from being broken? She was just trying to create security. To make sure she could take care of herself, because her mark was a tainted miracle: something which couldn't provide her with a job for a lifetime, and... beauty faded. She needed security.

(She'd been trying to dominate her own future.)

He'd been trying to conceal his true nature. He'd obviously never told anypony, and that wasn't going to change.

And then he'd found the strength to approach his friend. A mare he'd known for a few decades, who just happened to hold the Solar Throne. And he'd told her everything, Celestia had backtracked the extortion, branched the investigation out to the escort's other clients, given them the chance to compare notes, deduced Fleur's talent, and then summoned her to the palace...

Celestia had allowed ponies to compare notes.

Fleur had targeted the wealthy. The powerful. And a significant portion of those parties now knew exactly who had been blackmailing them.

There had been a certain question as to whether Fleur's reward for successfully completing her original palace assignment would have been a clear shot at the horizon and a two-minute head start. Or if she would have been thanked, offered her escort's license back, and led into a soundproofed room. The paperwork would be waiting for her there. The license, and a few dozen ponies who'd been told that whatever happened next would take place without witnesses.

But the job had been to make Fluttershy happy, and -- somehow, Fleur was what made the pegasus happy...

She'd become a registered resource of Equestria. Canterlot knew that she worked directly for the palace, but -- not the exact capacity. Simply that the alicorns were keeping watch both on and over her, and the Princesses had believed that would give Fleur sufficient protection --

-- and it wasn't as if Equestria's history didn't happen to be full to overflowing with ponies who'd tried to get their actions past alicorn snouts.

The protection of the palace? What would that mean if any of her previous victims (which very much included the ones to whom she'd had to deliver direct apologies) made a real effort? Additionally, the events of the previous autumn and early winter had given Fleur some doubts about the palace's ability to protect itself. (The Solar and Lunar wings were still being repaired.) And even if Canterlot could be pushed back...

Trace the trail of Fleur's life. Break through the blockades and count how many gang hideouts she'd passed through. Never too long with any one group, taking what she needed (food, shelter, security) and then moving on. She'd left the majority of them on fairly good terms. Others had been put into the sort of disarray which allowed her a smooth escape, because few things could shake up a small portion of chain like knowing exactly which links were attracted to each other and -- not letting it be a secret any more.

But when it came to the last...

She'd decided to leave Protocera. Something which required a new set of identity papers. And most of the gangs were just pretending, social clubs with insignias and Secret Tail Sways -- but this one had criminal connections. She'd needed that. And they didn't take just anyone. There were tests, to make sure a member was worthy. To find out what they could bring to the gang.

She had brought knowledge of a poison. One which couldn't kill anything that truly thought -- but the price of that sapience was unrelenting agony.

Her test had been drinking it.

Consuming that which had killed her sister.

Well, how were you supposed to respond to that level of offense? In Fleur's case, she'd bided her time, been a good mare, carefully observed every last puzzle piece, arranged them like a filly's game: a playing field of just barely-upright spottiles. And once she'd known that the papers were good, walked out the door -- immediately after she'd subtly nudged the most unbalanced one with a back hoof. Tipping the whole thing into a fast-spreading crash.

It hadn't come apart quietly. There had been fouls aplenty, quite a bit of blood, and more than enough squawks to alert the police -- which saved Fleur a trip, as she'd been planning to anonymously do that anyway. As it was, she'd simply stayed in the rough vicinity long enough to watch the blindfolded leaders being led away, and then left Protocera.

She'd told herself that she was leaving forever.
That no one knew she'd been responsible.
Surely they'd never put it together.
They were too stupid...

But that was the thing about idiots. They didn't need to assemble facts. All they required was a conclusion to pounce on and every so often, if only by sheer coincidence, they would wind up with exactly the right one.

Was it possible to track Fleur across the border? She was certainly distinctive enough. Perhaps all that was truly required was for someone with a grudge to reach freedom and...

...slip into the canyons, as the hunt listened for the echoes of hooves.

Time passed, and you moved forward into an unseen, unknowable future. But you retained the option to review the path. Every hoofstep you'd ever taken had cumulatively brought you to now. And there was always a trail.

The wind kept trying to force Fleur to turn.
To look back.
To strain for the first glimpse of whatever might be following her.

She'd asked the pegasi to land at the police station, because Fleur was under much-resented orders which said she had to brief the mare in charge. (Something she probably would have done anyway, but having Dr. Lorem believe she could just tell Fleur to do it was deeply irritating.) And because the mare in charge was naturally going to be the most likely to demonstrate the most annoying aspects of that frequently-pointless profession, Miranda...

It had to be built into every last one of the icons, across the entire category of supposed talent. The ability to sense when somepony actually needed an officer, followed by very carefully not being there.

Fleur, who wasn't in the mood to entrust somepony she didn't know, wrote up the note which requested a meeting. Then she spotted the jagged edges of her fieldwriting and allowed multiple flares of corona to rip up the paper. This was followed by writing another note, and making sure the edges of the envelope were perfectly sealed.

Failure #2 was being unable to find Rainbow. Every favorite napping spot was checked. Fleur then adjusted for the ones which couldn't receive warming sunlight under such heavily-overcast skies, and that led to checking everything on the second tier: this included a number of indoor spots, one clockwork ceiling fan with exceptionally wide reinforced blades, and That One Belfry. After a while, she found herself standing in the shadow of the cloud home and shouting up towards the vapor. Then she levitated herself, yelled with a little more proximity, and the only result she got was a hard green head peeking curiously out of a window. There was a chance that Tank's blinks were a coded attempt to tell Fleur where his mistress was, but she didn't speak tortoise and even with a translation guide, the rate at which that pet did anything meant Fleur would have had to allow about two hours per sentence.

The mailbox was at ground level. She left another note and vowed to send a bird for backup.

And then it was making her way back to the cottage, following the old road and the new river which her own acidic presence had etched into the world. Heading towards the place which so wanted to think for her, and if it ever figured out how to make her dream...

(The dreams had stopped again. She was back in her own nest, with her love. Protected.)
(She wondered if there would be a night when that wasn't enough.)

She wanted to rest. She couldn't. There were feedings ahead. Things to clean. Somepony had to check the borders of the property, because it had been raining and the scent treatments which Fluttershy put out to prevent the predators of the Everfree from picking up on so much gathered prey would probably need to be renewed. Of course, doing it today would mean having a portion washed away almost immediately, but that was still better than risking having the barrier go down completely.

And she had to review the appointment book. Check the payment ledgers. There was also the not-so-minor matter of writing up the rest of her mission report to Celestia. Plus Fluttershy had to catch her up on both veterinary lessons and quizzes, the citizenship course wanted an essay, and it just never stopped --

-- it could be argued that there were two aspects to a law enforcement mark. One was never being around when you wanted them, and the other magically reinforced the opposite.

The cottage held endless duties, all waiting for just the right moment to inflict themselves upon her. Stealing away time and thought, as she struggled to find some way of catching up. Something which would only allow her to once again reach the point where she felt as if it took all of her strength just to trot in place.

The cottage claimed time and thought. Miranda, waiting beneath endless billowing grey in front of the door, only wanted a portion of the former.

They were outside, moving beneath cloud-dimmed Sun as they followed the property's outer border. There were still tasks to complete, and one of them could be done on the move. It also granted them a measure of privacy. Admittedly, the shrew curled up in the center of the taller unicorn's back could theoretically hear everything, but was likely to sleep through most of it and wasn't exactly good at repeating Equestrian in the first place.

"Do you usually do this with her?" the officer asked.

"No," Fleur admitted. "But she stays close for a while after I come back from a... trip. And she just likes to be carried. She shouldn't have to keep up." Tiny legs didn't need to be forced into matching an equine pace, and... the Protoceran wasn't sure how old Katherine was.

She had the option to ask Fluttershy.
Fleur was aware that the longest-lived shrews reached twelve years. The shorter-lived ones... wouldn't.
She didn't want to know.

"The smell doesn't bother her?" This emerged with a somewhat pinched quality: the accompanying flare of green-grey corona light failed to close the smaller mare's nostrils.

"They don't have the strongest sense there."

Miranda took a breath. Then she expelled it with indecent speed.

"And you're just used to it," the officer suggested.

'Yes. It takes most ponies six circuits. But I'm sure somepony like you could do it in one. If you want to start on that now, I can just transfer this over --'

"No," Fleur said. "You don't get used to it. You just get it over with."

The taller unicorn had hitched herself to a dragline: the pulling loops went around her shoulders, and the reeking bag of herbs stayed four body lengths back. It was enough distance to allow both mares some capacity for breathing, accompanied by frequent chances to treat the action as a mistake.

It was easy to follow the border. Things were more cleared on the cottage side of the line. More... stable. But with the current weather...

On the cottage side of the line, it was heavily overcast. What little light got through might as well have existed at fifteen minutes before Sun-lowering, while possessing none of the beauty.

The settled zone was overcast, because that was what weather control had arranged for this part of the day. In the wild zone, rain fell. Wind could be tracked through the movement of branches and new leaves: something which showed it coming to the line before being diverted straight up.

Miranda was closer to the edge of the fringe: Fleur had learned that it was best to put the fresh scents a little further away, because the odors soaked into the soil and groundwater had an easier time crossing the line. It meant the smaller unicorn occasionally passed under branches which had grown across the border. And as she did so, portions of her back phased into the shadows.

"Your note said it was a potential situation," the officer finally said. "Something I needed to know about. And you didn't write much more than that, because you were probably thinking that somepony was going to steam the envelope open."

Almost placidly, "Do you trust your officers?"

"Yes."

I thought you were smarter than that. "In this case," Fleur calmly said, "I thought it was best to tell you directly. And then you could figure out what to pass on. In a police chief's opinion. And discretion."

It got her a soft snort. "I trotted in about twenty minutes after you left. I went straight for the cottage, because that was the one place you would have to go. And then I waited."

"I was looking for Rainbow," Fleur admitted. "It didn't work out."

"So what do you have to tell me?" the shadow asked. "If it's about Zephyr, then you have more information than I do. That investigation's still ongoing."

Quickly, "What do you have so far?"

"Nothing," Miranda admitted. "Nothing I can use. There's nothing criminal --" paused "-- or rather, there's nothing which has a warrant attached."

Almost hopefully, "So he has a record?"

The shadow executed a traveling shrug. "He's been in a few bars. And as it turns out, he's a very loud drunk. Minor citations for disorderly conduct. Which mostly seems to mean singing. Off-key. One incidence of being held until he slept it off."

Fluttershy can sing.

"One department said they might send a followup," Miranda added. "There was something else they wanted to check. But that was all they said for details, and I haven't gotten anything else from them. The net is still spreading, Fleur. So is this about Zephyr?"

Dr. Lorem tells me I have trouble working with the police. And then she orders me to work with Miranda...

But it was necessary.

"No. I do have some news on him, but it can wait for a few minutes. You might have even heard already, and -- this is more important."

With all of the anti-charm inherent to the profession, "Then what's going on?"

They were still trotting. Rain on one side, and multiple kinds of shadow on the other. The scheduled threat had yet to fully manifest.

"Just what we all needed," Miranda neutrally lied. "Another griffon."

Fleur's lips quirked.

I'm going to take that as a compliment.

The officer measured the next breath: in and out. Evaluating the air for levels of offense.

"I did know she was here," the shadow stated. "There's been some complaints. Ponies getting jostled because she feels everypony has to move out of her way. A few had to jump aside, or fly away from her path. And she isn't exactly polite. But there's been nothing criminal yet."

"She shoplifted at least once when she was here the first time," Fleur reminded the officer. (It had been a detailed account.)

"The statute of limitations already expired on that." Darkly, "And when it comes to the rotor, Pinkie would have been able to give me something to work with -- two moons ago. Same for her pushing Spike aside. If she does steal, somepony has to catch her at it --"

Dark lips pulled back from white teeth. Fur rose along the hackles, and hooves slammed into the ground.

"-- not that it matters! Because I'm not supposed to move in, am I? Don't attempt arrest without a witnessed crime? But what if the attempt makes her feel she has to attack or flee? Don't banish her! And I'm guessing that locking her up would count as removal from the community! Because I have what might be a mentally-unbalanced griffon to deal with, except that your doctor visibly feels I'm not allowed to actually do that, and it would be nice if everyone stopped telling me how to do my job --"

The left foreleg came up. Slammed down.
The left hind leg rose.
Stopped.
Froze.
Green-grey eyes went wide, just before the lids scrunched into a wince. The hind leg dropped, with the jaw slamming shut.
Most of the cry of pain was blocked.
Most.

"...ah...!"

Fleur stopped moving.

"...Miranda?"

"Cramp," the smaller mare muttered. "Hip cramp. It happens."

Fleur's gaze automatically moved across the mare's left hip --

-- it was hard to make out Miranda's mark: something which almost completely blended into the fur, refusing to give the officer's position away in the dark. But once you knew where it was, what it was, and had some degree of light to work with... you could find it every time.

It almost seemed to be rippling. A shift in the fur, as the muscles underneath slowly loosened.

"We've got m'changa at the cottage --"

"-- it won't help," Miranda softly said. "Nothing helps. Let's just keep moving."

The next twenty hoofsteps looked as if they had been executed by a mare who'd been caught performing a mobile stretching exercise. It didn't help.

"I only know the basics on griffon magic," Miranda eventually said. "I've never been on the receiving end." She paused. "I've heard that the Guards have to go through it in their training. Try to fight it off, and then see how they react after. And Canterlot's police have it as part of the training, because they might need to go into the Aviary. But... not here."

"Because we didn't have any griffons," Fleur quietly noted.

"Not in the physical sense," the officer decided. "But it's probably something every police department should go through. Every recruit. Just in case." Another pause. "I may reach out to Canterlot. Ask who they use, then see if they're willing to take the day trip. We might benefit from experience. Fleur?"

The Protoceran waited. Listened, as the tiny warm bundle of life on her back curled up a little more tightly.

"Does it leave traces? Something which can be detected?"

And I don't have to guess why you're asking. "Yes. By another griffon, if they know how to look for it. And some are better at that than others. It's their feel, Miranda. But... it's like pony magic. The vestigia fades. Gilda isn't strong enough to have hers last more than a few days. By the time I got back from the mission, it was gone." A little more softly, "I could report an assault, if you needed it. But it would be almost impossible to prove. My word against hers." And even if Miranda was willing to take Fleur's word a little more seriously these days...

Convicted blackmailer.
Attempted murder.
Pardoned.

It still didn't make her look particularly good in front of a jury.

"Because your mission got in the way," the shadow quietly said.

Starkly, "I had to go."

With perfectly steady tones, "I know."

They trotted together for a while. The wind surged on the other side of the border, pushed, was sent to the sky.

"Did you write your report?" Miranda asked.

"It's in progress," Fleur admitted.

"Anything I could use?" was a little too casual.

In case it happens here.

Doctor Lorem had told Fleur that it could help to talk, and... that didn't feel like a lie. Describing it as 'willful blindness added to deliberate ignorance of experience' was considerably more accurate than 'lie'. But...

Fluttershy asked about the missions, because Fleur...

...all I can ever do is stop the next.
Everything which already happened...

Water cut through rock. So did acid.

Fleur, coming back from a mission...

...there was probably something approaching an actual reason for sending her into therapy. Quickly. And Fluttershy did her best to ease the agonies, but -- there were things which Fleur didn't want to tell her. She had to, because the pegasus would probably just find out from another source... but she hated every moment of it. Almost as much as she hated how much better she felt for having spoken.

(Fluttershy also had her own ideas for treating that kind of pain. Comfort. Presence. And what had turned into another failed stick, because her love had been doing everything possible to make Fleur feel better and the sort of activity which required followup sticks was an option. And they'd probably had to make up for lost time, because any shortfall would have to be accounted for and Dr. Mester was not cleared to learn about the missions.)

The pegasus had to confront death every moon. Far too often, she was the one tasked with bringing it, because some kinds of pain only permitted one form of escape.

Any innocence Fluttershy retained had to be protected, and so there were things Fleur didn't want to tell her. But Miranda was a police officer, and any innocence the shadow possessed had died long ago.

She talked. Dark ears took it all in.

Evenly, "I can write to Windicity and see what happened with that officer. The one who stalled. Make sure he was let go."

"Give it a few days," Fleur requested. "The palace may move first."

Miranda nodded --

"-- is it your hip?" Fleur quickly asked.

"Sorry?" still felt like a lie.

"You just jumped a little," Fleur pointed out.

"Instinct," the shadow claimed. "It felt like my back got hit by something cold. Wet."

Fleur looked, if only to prove the falsehood --

"-- most fur," the Protoceran said, "darkens when it gets wet."

"Yes. And?"

"This is you," Fleur irritably declared.

This snort was a little more bemused.

So you're just lying to cover up the pain. Lying: the other primary police skill.

"What does Fluttershy know about any of this?" Miranda abruptly asked.

And there's another one. Change the subject quickly. Keep the person being interrogated off-balance...

They kept trotting. Young grass brushed against their legs. The light continued to dim.

"We've talked about Gilda," Fleur finally said. "Fluttershy knows to be on the lookout, if Gilda stops honoring the agreement. And the rest of the Bearers are being alerted. But she doesn't know how to proceed."

Miranda nodded. The scent bag was dragged along the border.

"I'll tell the department to be careful," the shadow finally announced. "To watch her when they can, and give her some leeway -- but if she attacks, they'll have to step in. You know that. And if your Doctor Lorem shows up, I'll tell her the same thing. I can give Gilda a little play on the reins. But that's it."

Fleur nodded.

"And see if you can get whoever they're using for training in Canterlot," she quietly reminded the officer. "Find out who's willing to go through it. But -- do it over a few days, if you can. You don't need the entire department recovering at once."

The patch of brighter grey which represented Sun was beginning to dip.

"So what's your news on Zephyr?"

Miranda's first reaction was predictably irritating. "He's found a job..." almost came across as congratulatory.

"Another job," Fleur frustratedly corrected. "This one's lasted longer than the rest." In spite of rather local demand.

"Maybe he's really just trying to settle in," Miranda offered. "Move here, get a job, get a place to live. He wouldn't exactly be the first. Ponies come --"

"Rainbow wants him gone. And he just wants her. He keeps staring at her --"

And if she decides that means he's 'started' with her...

It was openly a tease. It was also the reaction of a mare who'd been called out to one too many crash sites. "-- so somepony finally feels about her the way she feels about herself?"

Fleur glared at the shadow. The dark fur silently absorbed it.

"Zephyr and Gilda," the taller mare finally muttered. "We didn't need to deal with either of them. Maybe there's a way to settle this where they go back across the border together..."

"And she gets him a weather control job in Protocera?" felt like open mockery.

Automatically, "We usually don't use it."

Miranda's dark head inquiringly tilted to the left. "Usually?"

"We have meteorologists -- oh, right: of course you're not going to know the word for a science," Fleur quickly decided. "We can predict weather." With some accuracy. Within a few hours. And you can look up that part for yourself. "Which lets us brace for whatever's coming. But there's times when we ask our own pegasi for help, and I know the government's requested the International Stormbreaker Team a few times. To coordinate and assist." A little more softly, "Because uncontrolled weather can be a monster, Miranda. Something which hunts. And when you're taking on a monster as big as the sky -- it helps to cheat."

The officer simply nodded.

They kept trotting. Circling back towards the cottage.

"She really can't fire him?" Fleur asked. It was what her friend had said, but... when it came to weather coordinator duties, Rainbow occasionally had trouble with the bureaucratic parts of the job.

"It goes through Town Hall first," Miranda immediately replied. "And she'd have to prove cause. Just looking at her generally isn't going to be enough, especially if he is a legacy hire. That implies somepony in the Bureau might be willing to give him some protection."

Typical --

-- and then Miranda softly snorted again.

"Rainbow wanting somepony fired," the officer said. "That's almost funny..."

It had been a bad day. A nightmare mission. An exceptionally stupid therapy session.

"How is that almost funny?" Fleur half-snapped. And waited for the verbal backlash.

It didn't come. Miranda simply trotted quietly for a few seconds, as the cottage's sod roof began to shift into view.

"She's usually on the other end of that," the shadow finally told her. "They all are. Over and over..."

Miranda was a police chief. Fleur had been an escort. Two professions which used silence. Giving the other party the opportunity to fill it.

"Part of this is still before my time," Miranda finally began. "All I have are stories. But the coordinator before her -- he supposedly tried to get her fired over and over. For moons. And the mayor blocked every demand. I don't know much about him, Fleur. Just that he was the weather coordinator for a very long time, and when his name comes up... the ponies who were living here when he was in charge start to mutter under their breath. 'Tartarus' gets brought up a lot. As a suggestion."

Carefully, "Do you know why he was let go? How Rainbow took over?"

Miranda shook her head. "I didn't feel like I needed to ask. And once she was in charge..."

The cottage almost felt as if it was growing in front of Fleur's eyes. Looming.

"There's a lot of complaints," the shadow stated. "It's not just Thistle Burr. He's good for at least two a week, and it'll be that way until one of them leaves. And every settled zone has ponies who don't look at the schedule, Fleur. They'll find a knee-depth of snow in front of their door and decide it's a mistake. Then they start kicking at it. And then they blame the pony who put it there, before trying to kick most of it at her. That's normal. You can't be part of a weather team and not expect to get yelled at."

The taller mare carefully remained silent.

"But Ponyville," Miranda continued, "has a weather coordinator who's been known to sleep through her personal assignments. Sometimes she snoozes past the hour when she was supposed to brief her team. And then you have the stunts. Furrows in lawns, craters in gardens, and she always tries to get away before taking the blame. Rainbow spends more time in small claims court than some of the bailiffs. So there's been ponies demanding her firing for years. And with the rest of them..."

Don't say anything.
See what comes out.

"Twilight isn't a marked librarian," the shadow went on. "There's only so many libraries in Equestria, Fleur. If there's one more marked librarian than positions available, then somepony's going to be irritated. Twilight has the reins on our library, by Princess Celestia's order, and... it doesn't gallop perfectly, does it? She has the desire for the job, most of the skills -- but not the instinct. She has trouble matching ponies to books. The others have to remind her that if she orders the thickest research journals with the library budget, she'll be the only one reading them. Her first remaindered sale didn't happen until the mayor shoved her into it. And there used to be a few residents who complained about the little mistakes. But it was mostly the librarians who had the right icon, didn't want to be stuck at the Archives and refused to cross a border. They felt entitled to her job, and that meant letting Twilight go. One of the palace-assigned substitutes who filled in during several missions was just about campaigning for it, and I don't know what happened to make that stop. Why R.L. dropped out of the fill-in program. But most of those complaints stopped after Twilight -- changed. At least when it comes to the marked ponies, because... it's harder to convince yourself that you can displace an alicorn."

If I was still in the blackmail business...

Fleur had specialized in the sort of sexual information which brought embarrassment. 'Isn't great with card catalogs' oddly felt as if she would have been working out of her depth.

"You're probably wondering about Fluttershy," Miranda said. "You've probably also noticed that you don't have neighbors, and anypony who tries to change that doesn't last long. It's living next to a zoo. One which doesn't have fences, shield domes, or even a resonance barrier which tells the animals not to leave. Oh, and you have to account for Discord, even if --" a little more quietly "-- that's not as much of a factor now. But there was that time she tried assertiveness training, and..."

It wasn't a laugh. It was an implosion of sound, collapsing into the vacuum where a laugh should have been.

"Rarity's lost it in public a few times," the dark mare added. "And I mean going beyond the usual drama. That scares ponies. There was that day when Applejack gave a few dozen residents food poisoning. And Mac -- there was that fight, and did I ever mention the time he moved a house --"

She stopped, just for a second. Her eyes closed, then opened again.

"Bearer families," Miranda said. "Associated category. But that still puts us at Spike, because he's always been one of them. Not everypony can get used to living near a dragon, and the ones who see a scroll come in for the first time -- most of them just run from the flame. Then there was the growth issue: you've probably heard about that one. He's been forgiven, but -- ponies remember. And Pinkie? Try getting ponies used to Pinkie. We have new ponies moving here every moon, Fleur, and some of the ones who meet Pinkie for the first time wind up at the station. Confused. Reeling. The rest just say the parties are too loud. Too close. Public nuisance, public disturbance --"

Oh, so she's actually a griffon --

"-- and that's when we have one of her," the unicorn darkly added. "One sane, focused Pinkie who's spent years in learning when ponies don't want to be welcomed or cheered up. Getting another thirty with no restraint and a one-word vocabulary of 'FUN!' didn't exactly help."

Fleur blinked.

"And who was I supposed to charge for the results?" Miranda demanded. "Ask Twilight to unblock the mirror pool, then go yell at the water?"

"If I ask you to explain any of that," Fleur slowly said, "is the word 'classified' going to get involved --"

"-- and that's individually, Fleur. When they're acting as pairs on up, or if it's the whole group..."

Silence for a moment. A little more progress around the curve, and the front door would be in sight.

"Dragon Mountain," the shadow said. "The parasprites. The Smarty Pants Incident. There are ponies who swear they lured in the Crystal Geese on purpose, and most of that blame went to Fluttershy. I could keep going, Fleur. For a very long time, including whatever happened with those brooms that cost us the bridge. But I think I can end it at Tirek. Because he wasn't their fault. He was in Canterlot, and then we were just the next meal on the menu."

Her volume dropped. Hoofsteps slowed, and the dark spine seemed to twist.

"Ponies move here every moon," Miranda slowly finished. "To be part of the town which hosts the Bearers. Ponyville: the settled zone of opportunity. And that includes taking the first one to leave. We got lucky, Fleur. Canterlot had the fatalities. But Tirek was stopped as he was coming into town. We just lost a few buildings, and..."

Discord.
We almost lost Discord.

Who had done something.
Overdone it.
Drastically.
And that was why nopony who'd been in the settled zone that day had died.

"...it was still a wake-up call. Ponies left. A lot of the ones who come here, convince themselves that they can just watch and never be part of it... they left. And that was just a bulk departure. Ryder's moving supplies store technically hasn't closed in a few years: somepony tries to come in under Moon and it rings the bell which wakes him up. Ponies see what this settled zone is really like, and so many of them decide to leave. We lose the new ones, we lose long-term residents, and there's been enough flow to replace them and keep the population number moving up -- so far. But we're still losing ponies. Some of the ones we still have might even want to leave, but... imagine what it's like, if they can't afford the move. To be stuck here, waiting to see what happens next. Whether it'll happen to them. And..."

The dark mare was just trotting along now. A body moving because there was nothing else to do, her eyes didn't seem to be looking at much of anything, and the voice was...

"...sometimes ponies go into a profession which they're not marked for." (Fleur, facing a veterinary study session and makeup quiz, said nothing.) "Maybe you heard about Mr. Rich's cousin. The one who went into politics, and then went directly to trial because he thought the Day Court was nothing more than a good way to collect bits. Somepony else processed Dubiously's arrest: Canterlot, after all. But maybe there was a fight to see who would get it. To see who'd get the job. Because there's only so many hires in any profession per year, and if there's more marked ponies... then they have to spread out. Try to find a place. Like Ponyville, because they've heard about all the chaos and if things are so crazy here, it has to be because..."

Miranda's soft voice was steady. Stating facts, and nothing more.

"...maybe the mayor isn't keeping control. So we get some of the political marks, scouting the territory. Trying to figure out if they can win an election here, get Marigold out of Town Hall. But the smart ones realize it's not just beyond what she can control: it's past what they can manage. What anypony could. And they leave, and just about nopony runs against her. But they're not the only ones, Fleur. Ponies move here because there's opportunity. To seize their own place. Because the mayor isn't the lone mare who's supposed to be keeping control, and if they can just displace what has to be the single most incompetent police chief on the continent --"

Perhaps Fleur would have said something, if there had been but one more second to use. There might have even been words to say. But they had been moving the whole time.

Two mares came around the curve, and the glare of angry red eyes drove speech away.

It was possible to become used to his looks, even with a pony who was sometimes regarded as being so ugly as to approach a strange sort of appeal from the opposite direction. The half-amputated remnants of wings -- they weren't badly shaped. A number of ponies had just talked themselves into believing the limbs were both whole and small: something which was easier to believe when the scars were hidden by feathers. And his raw bulk... after a while, that was just part of the landscape. A distant white hill with gold mining prospects at both base and elevation.

You got used to him. The careful movements, the tight control. Because that was there every day.

The anger, which had clearly been standing in front of the door for some time, was effectively new.

"...yeah," the deep voice slowly began. "Glad somepony came by. I think Fluttershy's at the far end of the stream." The red eyes focused. "So... I just found out there's a certain pegasus in town. Pretty tall. Aquamarine. Related."

Neither mare moved.

"And I was sort of wondering," Snowflake finished as the angry gaze closed in on Fleur, "why nopony told me."

Plus 'Murdered By Flitter' Would Probably Require The Fetish Tag

She'd had a vague, uncertain feeling when they'd come back from the fertility clinic, relieving him of his duties as substitute. An undefined sense that there was something she should have told him...

The discussion (such as it was) had moved into the cottage. Fluttershy had returned from the stream and with everypony else heading inside, it was just natural for a police officer to take the opportunity and follow them in.

Snowflake generally needed a minute to clear the door: the cottage's longest-tenured emergency substitute would be immediately recognized by the majority of residents, and many of the animals would move forward to offer greetings. (Angel, with whom the stallion seemed to have some level of truce, tended to hang towards the back.) He would murmur to a few of the younglings, allow kittens to climb him with no more than the usual winces, and was always on the lookout for any new male hares because his own pet had reached the age which suggested finding a good partner. And he still did all of that, because it was expected and a stallion who generally tried to get through life without disturbing too much of it wasn't going to let his anger upset the residents.

Then he moved to an empty patch of floor. Slowly lowered his mass to the ground. Fluttershy followed, carefully brought herself down to the point where she was both on his level and within a portion of his shadow, and then did nearly all of the talking.

Fleur and Miranda watched, with white and dark ears visibly straining to pick up on what was actually being said. (The taller unicorn regularly and surreptitiously checked the police chief, because Miranda trying to listen clearly qualified as eavesdropping and Fleur was just trying to keep current on cottage affairs.) But just about all of the words escaped them. The stallion no longer defaulted to a one-word vocabulary in public, at least some of the time -- but his natural volume in conversations tended to be low. And when it came to the mare... her voice had been getting softer.

A commonality between the two, having each so hard to overhear. One of many.

It was possible to become used to Snowflake, if you'd lived in the settled zone for a while.

(It was possible for certain ponies to get used to a lot of things. The ones who didn't...)

But when it came to the stallion, adjusting to his presence could require a degree of deliberate effort. Strength training was a truly rare pursuit in Equestria, and nopony ever expected a pegasus to attempt it. Add in his looks, the oddness of his wings...

Snowflake, on a particularly bad day (and there were less of those now), would have a rather odd way of standing. Something which bent a little at the knees, while the rest of the body seemed to flex inwards in a sort of traveling cringe. As if he was trying to cut down on the sheer amount of world he occupied. And when it came to commonalities with Fluttershy... that, too, was familiar.

But you couldn't miss him, any more than most ponies managed to overlook the mare's incredible tail. And when it was Snowflake...

Fleur now suspected that a number of shaken new arrivals had finished a first sighting through filing a report with the police station. Something which centered around having seen a stallion who had just been -- standing there. Menacingly.

But once you got used to him... that was when certain segments of the herd started to realize that he typically wouldn't defend himself. Never verbally, and when it came to the physical? If anypony that big made a move, then the natural tendency was to assume he'd been in the wrong. Certain adolescent mares had decided insulting him made up a form of sport, because you could trot all over Snowflake with pointed syllables while allowing hooves to grind in every last piece of punctuation, and nothing would ever happen.

Except... there was a pair of qualifiers on that.

The first was Applejack, who didn't take kindly to anypony speaking poorly of her intended. Kindness was somepony else entirely. Honesty was entirely direct regarding her feelings on the subject, and was willing to keep up the chase for a very long time.

And you could attack Snowflake with words forever. Nothing would draw much of a reaction, because he'd heard it all before. Some suspected that he might absorb a few light kicks without open complaint -- although only the drunkest ever got close to the point of openly testing that theory.

You could go after Snowflake with words, possibly with kicks, and he might not do anything at all.

In the legal lexicon of Equestria, hurting anypony he cared about, within his direct view, probably had a chance to be filed under 'suicide'.

He'd once taken on the biggest earth pony in town. Physically. The victory had been decisive, and the impression it had left on the spectators would never fully fill in.

He also rather directly thought of Fluttershy as being his sister, which matched the way she perceived him as a brother. (The bond wasn't one of blood: it was spiritual, and therefore became all the more true.) And Snowflake had been the one to provide Fleur with the tale of Zephyr's first cottage visit, doing so with words which had nearly been bitten in half. Because Fluttershy had trusted him with the story, it had let him learn that somepony had hurt his sister, and...

The stallion on the floor was still speaking quietly. A small wrangle of puppies was investigating his tail, and he ignored it. The kitten who'd chosen to pounce the dock would never suffer a single consequence. But he looked frustrated.

One sibling had just belatedly learned about the presence of another. The response didn't seem to be filed under 'rivalry'.

Fluttershy said something else. Fleur's ears strained forward, reached the point where their bases began to ache. All it got her was "...trust..."

The stallion nodded. Looked away from the single visible blue-green eye, glanced around, and very visibly registered the presence of a police officer before beginning to stand up.

"I won't start anything, Fluttershy," emerged at something close to normal volume. (Fleur's mind immediately pinned a marker flag into 'start'.) "I won't even speak to him if I can avoid it. I just feel like I should have been told."

"...I know," the pegasus mare softly said, and the yellow head dipped. "...I'm sorry."

Something about the red eyes seemed to soften. The wide snout angled down, knees bent...

It was a familiar sort of nuzzle: contact which Fluttershy almost immediately returned. The one meant for family.

"I've got to get home," the stallion decided. "Just keep me updated. On everything. Please."

Fluttershy nodded. Snowflake moved towards the door, and the other two mares automatically stepped aside.

He looked at Fleur --

-- there was a bond of sorts between them. Two could hold down the cottage more efficiently than one (or rather, give the cottage a chance at a double pin), and so he still assisted when Fluttershy was away on missions. And they were both in a relationship with a Bearer. Each was the only other pony who truly understood.

-- he looked at her, and he nodded politely. But she could see the frustration lurking in his eyes, and he didn't seem to look towards Miranda at all.

The stallion left, carefully nudging the door shut behind him. A few hoofsteps echoed, and then those sounds vanished. Flying home.

Thirty seconds reluctantly, awkwardly marked their time on the clock, then thudded to the floor.

"I need to get back into town myself," Miranda finally announced. "But he's not the only one who wants to be kept updated."

The cottage residents managed one nod each. The dark mare moved towards the exit, and the left hind leg limped.

Fleur carefully waited until the last sounds of departure had faded, and then allowed a generous extra allowance because it was Miranda and she wanted to be sure.

Even so, she looked around the sitting room before starting. Her horn ignited, and multiple curtains closed themselves.

"Why didn't you tell him?"

Even the sigh was far too soft.

"...because I told him about Zephyr before." Multiple wing joints loosened. "...maybe... too much. And I know him, Fleur. I knew that if he found out Zephyr was here... he would want to protect me. I didn't want him to get in trouble. So I guess I was sort of hoping that... he just wouldn't see..."

Stopped. Her head dipped for the second time, and the next sigh forfeited half of the remaining decibels.

"...or maybe I was hoping he would do something. When I hadn't. And afraid of it, at the same time. But that's not who he is, not unless Zephyr tried something first. It's being unfair to Snowflake." The coral mane slowly swayed. "...afraid of somepony else's confrontation. That's almost a new one..."

She looked up, with that single visible eye.

"...why didn't you?"

It was Fleur's turn to sigh. "I forgot. I just..."

Or maybe it was more than that.

Maybe she just hadn't wanted to.

Snowflake had originally been the one to tell her about Zephyr. She'd broken that confidence with Miranda, but it had been for an emergency and she knew -- felt he would have understood.

But to have both blood and spiritual siblings in the same settled zone...

It had taken Fleur moons to learn what his talent was: one of the rarest known. Determination -- but only for the physical. He could set a goal, and if it was within the ultimate realm of possibility for a pony's body to somehow achieve it -- then he just might get there.

When it came to pegasus magic, Snowflake was weak. By contrast, Zephyr had visible power, and for even a legacy hire to get placed directly onto a weather team probably implied at least basic competence here and there. (Fleur wasn't quite ready to sign off on that.) For raw strength of techniques, the larger stallion was decidedly overmatched.

Except that...
...his techniques were weak. The talent was strong.
...the ultimate physical limits of the pony form...

How much wind could an angry stallion push through?
How many hoof-sized hailstones might simply be ignored?
How many lightning strikes could somepony theoretically survive?
What did it take to make a furious Snowflake stop?

On one level, it was a rather interesting sort of question. For the pony on the receiving end, the query had the potential to be final.

Maybe I didn't tell him because some part of me was hoping he'd just see Zephyr. And then the problem would just solve itself.

But Snowflake had promised not to start anything.
(There still seemed to be a marker flag on 'start'.)

"I just didn't think about it," Fleur reluctantly finished. "I'd like to know why Applejack didn't tell him. You'd think it would have come up..."

Fluttershy almost smiled.

"...maybe. I'm not really sure what they talk about when we aren't there..." Which was when certain kittens began to mewl. "...yes, I know, it's just about that time..." Her wings refolded, and she began to move towards the pantry. "Fleur? How did the session with Dr. Lorem go?"

The unicorn carefully examined all of her conversational options.

"It went."

She woke up within the nest, in the dark. Automatically sought out the clock, and then irritably told it to stop lying.

Fleur shifted her body against Fluttershy's, held her sleeping love a little closer. Shut her eyes again, and waited.

She kept waiting.

...ordering her body to be more tired didn't seem to be accomplishing anything.

At least I didn't wake up from a dream.

Fleur closed her eyes again. Wriggled, mostly in irritation --

-- check the clock --

She did. Her horn automatically ignited.

-- don't need to get a new clock right now...
...might as well do... something.

Her mind tried to focus on possibilities, and naturally landed on the most odious one.

Finish the report to Celestia. Words which would be seen by the Solar alicorn didn't necessarily need any exposure to actual Sun.

It took some effort to extricate herself from the nest, and the hardest part was sliding two of her legs out from under a sleeping pegasus. Doing so in a way which meant Fluttershy kept sleeping was especially tricky -- but there were many skills which came from escort training, and every licensed pony benefited from being able to readily reach a door.

Fleur went into the bathroom, then checked her features for signs of illness. Nothing. So it was probably just normal insomnia. Perfectly normal, stress-based, potentially-several-nights-in-a-row insomnia.

The calendar was still next to the mirror. The Square loomed. It was beginning to acquire gravity.

Zephyr has to be dealt with before that. It could complicate everything. And if Gilda shows up...

Except that Gilda had no specific reason to appear on that tentative date. Zephyr, however...

He doesn't know.

Fleur had to keep it that way.

Out of the bathroom, through the silent bedroom, then into the hallway -- and naturally, any sounds of movement were going to alert the cottage's nocturnals. She emerged to find multiple cats, one gecko, a pair of pygmy hedgehogs, several bats -- and Angel, because the majority of lapines were most active under Moon. Angel tended to be awake for an unusual number of daylight hours, trying to keep pace with his mistress -- but he also took multiple naps. And long after Sun was lowered, with Fluttershy finally in bed... the rabbit effectively went on night watch.

He looked up at Fleur. The right hind leg twitched, with the oversized paw ready to thump alarm. The unicorn shook her head, and the limb steadied.

The rest of the animals were regarding Fleur with a rather different intent. Multiple cats began to rub against her legs --

"I know when you were fed," Fleur softly told them. "So I'm not falling for it."

They followed her into the sitting room anyway. Hoping for a snacking pony to drop food generally led to dietary disappointment, and Fleur's tendency to soak vegetable in meat juices didn't change the fact that there was a vegetable at the core. But there was still a chance for her to go into the pantry, and the most enterprising were probably entertaining hopes that this time, one of them would manage to get past her corona.

She went up to the little reception desk, arranged her body on the bench, activated the little lamp, recovered her draft from the locked drawer and got a fresh quill. Angel leapt up to the desktop, picked a corner and watched the glowing feather move across the paper.

Fleur wrote up the report. She made sure to place special emphasis on the role of the one stalling officer, placing multiple hints about wanting him fired. Then she looked at the nearest clock, gave up on hints entirely, and directly called for it across the course of six blazing sentences while giving the concept its own cheering section in the margins.

Fired...

She didn't want to think about the things she was putting into the report. It didn't take a psychiatry degree to recognize when her brain was trying to distract itself.

What Miranda was saying...

It was also three in the morning, with the cottage as quiet as it ever allowed itself to become. And there was so much to think about.

The police chief had said a lot, and -- Fleur wasn't sure that Miranda had ever noticed the moment when the core topic had switched. Because it had started when the Protoceran had mentioned that Rainbow wanted Zephyr fired, and that had led into the dark mare talking about the reasons for ponies wanting two of the Bearers to be treated the same way.

It had started with firings. And then it had transitioned, so smoothly as to prevent the speaker from noticing the moment when the page had turned. But Fleur had spotted the change.

Causes for desiring Rainbow and Twilight to be fired.
The reasons why some residents of the settled zone wanted the Bearers gone.

Angel was staring at the quill. Fleur paused, noted the tiny spikes of light in the surrounding corona, and carefully set it down.

The town protects them...

That had been Fleur's experience, especially in those first weeks of her Ponyville durance: just trying to get somepony to tell her who they all were had been a challenge, and hoping to be guided to their homes was a lost cause. The town protected its Bearers. Especially Fluttershy, falsely seen as the youngest -- for the mares, that was actually Rainbow, by all of three moons -- and weakest.

The town protected its Bearers. But not everypony in the settled zone could be considered as part of the town.

It was possible to start with Thistle Burr, because any list of malcontents, contrarians, and World's Most Pointlessly Angry Ponies almost had to start with Thistle Burr. He could find a reason to hate every Bearer, wasn't exactly fond of the Princesses, and when it came to Harmony, he lacked Fleur's excuse. Thistle Burr had been born inside Equestria's borders, had apparently never ventured outside, and the base of his education had come from the native school system. Therefore, he had been fully educated in what the pony virtues were and how they were supposed to work together.

It made not believing in any of them into a choice. However, personally having never demonstrated a single positive virtue aspect required continuing dedication. Thistle couldn't afford to slip up and be kind by accident. His continual honesty about how he felt was probably trotting along the line already.

Except that... Thistle Burr was very much part of the town. The part which existed to tell the town how stupid it was.

Fleur was fully aware that he hated every last Bearer, and the fact that she was in a relationship with one of them had allowed him to smoothly slot her in. But he also very much felt that they were his to hate. Having anypony else loathe a Bearer directly in front of him meant they were pushing into his territory, and to have all of them permanently leave just might have the exiled group encounter a Thistle in the road, all spiky aggravation and demanding to know how they could just depart and leave him with nopony to despise.

There were those who foolishly claimed that hate was love with its back turned: in the case of Thistle, it was also wearing blinders and had jammed a rod up the spine to prevent easy spinning. Anypony who had to suffer through three minutes of discussion with him could usually make an accurate guess as to where it had been inserted.

Thistle wanted Rainbow fired. (In turn, she wanted the area around his house designated as a lightning strike zone, and had been caught trying to redraw the map several times.) But Fleur didn't feel he wanted her gone. How could you lord a victory over somepony who wasn't there?

Think about those who might want the Bearers gone, and...

The easily scared. Because there's so much to be afraid of. Even Fluttershy thinks the Trio only stick it out because they're addicted to the rush of fear. Plus staying near the heart of the so-called conspiracy's actions will allow them to crack it. Somehow.

Others are what Miranda said. The ones who just moved here. They thought they were going to be the audience, and now they're part of the play.

Some have suffered losses. Nopony who was in Ponyville died when Tirek came -- but we have commuters. There were residents in the capital on that day. (Her eyes briefly closed.) Some of their pets are still here, and... too many of them know. They just know when their pony is gone, and Fluttershy doesn't want to let them leave until they're ready to accept that they could have another companion. One day.

So many animals understood pony sorrow. Clustered close to their companion, tried to keep the enemy at bay.
So many mourned.

Others... have lost homes. Mr. Rich could afford to rebuild, and just about anypony can get disaster relief -- but they don't want to stay in a place where it could happen again.

On my first day here, I found out that parasprites ate the bank ledgers. Turned out that was because of Twilight. The manager didn't leave. He just started carving all of the new records in stone. And banned her from the bank. Forever. But with some of the other businesses...

The herd subdivides. Ponies see themselves as being part of the settled zone. Of Ponyville. But Tirek was the wake-up call. Because the Bearers didn't stop him. That was Discord, and he's still recovering. Trying to get back what it cost him, and...

...maybe he'll never fully recover. Never come all the way back.
And now ponies know there could be more situations where Harmony isn't enough.
They don't want to be part of this any more. They're afraid, and --
-- they have a reason to be.

You couldn't count on the virtues to save everypony. Chaos had been weakened. And the settled zone was still the place where so much happened...

Then again, they're just as subject to starting it.

And by 'they', Fleur didn't just mean the Bearers. She meant Ponyville. The entire settled zone, and every last sapient in it.

'Everypony in this town is crazy': an oft-repeated thought of her early durance. Well, how was that a lie? In her experience, everypony in Equestria possessed the same capacity for going temporarily mad. For some, that was the insanity which occasionally got labeled as 'heroism'. Others just fell to herd mentality and got caught up in what everypony else was thinking. Move and panic as one. Or fall apart as individuals: ponies were good at that. In potentia, they were all equally as bad.

And when it came to the actual Bearers...

What was the saying? There was no disaster so great that a Bearer couldn't start it?

(What the bloody buck was a 'mirror pool'?)

She'd been in Ponyville for more than a year. Fleur had seen the chaos, and not just the kind which was currently stuck with drinking milk-weakened tea. She'd been on the periphery of several events, closer to the center of others and no matter what anypony said, on those carefully-selected three occasions, it had absolutely not been her fault. She had just been trying to stop it. Serving as a one-mare intercept factor, and it was just that none of her attempts had worked. At least she'd been trying!

...which had at least allowed her to fully understand Rainbow's deep hatred of being roped into any post-event cleanup duties. (Although to be fair, it usually was Rainbow's fault.)

How did the town feel about its Bearers? It generally protected them. That was the decision of the herd. But the herd also became tired. Frightened. It suffered losses, and... it split. Portions of the herd didn't want to be part of the town any more. Or they simply decided that it would be so much easier if the Bearers were gone.

What would it take for all of Ponyville to turn on them?

Fleur thought about it.

Her horn ignited. A flare of light took up the quill again.

She had considered Miranda's words because that was less painful than the things she'd been writing down.

And of those two options, the report was now the easier.

For some ponies, the biggest surprise associated with Rainbow's office was in learning that she had one.

It was possible to manage the town's climate from home, although that would have required molding an addition somewhere near the back. But the Weather Bureau expected every town coordinator to be accessible by those they served. The Bureau also realized that any group of pegasi was almost instinctively going to head up, and so understood when the local headquarters wound up being constructed from vapor -- but the mailbox had to stay at ground level.

After Rainbow had taken over, she'd examined the much-hated place: that which had served as the stage for the oft-repeated play titled I Am Going To Get Rid Of You -- two performers, one script, pretty much no line variations, and she was also expected to serve as the audience -- and decided to make a few changes. The first part of that had been the systematic, wall-by-wall replacement of every bit of vapor which Passing Shower had ever touched: this had quickly been followed by the desk, bench, and most of the cabinets.

(There was supposedly some piece of griffon philosophy about The Cloud Of Hippolytus, which asked whether you could swap out every part of a molded structure with new vapor and still consider it to be the original. Rainbow's solution to the question came from not thinking about the answer. It was still the weather coordinator's office, and it wasn't Passing's. That was what mattered.)

(She'd been thinking about griffons a lot.)
(Over and over.)

Her crowning touch had been swapping out the waste basket for a hollow cylinder with no bottom and designating that as the complaint drawer, allowing anything written against her to be properly filed on the ground. Her genius had been personally celebrated for all of two days before somepony had filed a complaint about that, and done so at Town Hall where she couldn't reach it.

She'd managed to make her matching disposal plan for actual garbage hang on for another week. It was just gonna be collected at ground level anyway, right?

Ponies had complained (with no sense of irony) about those changes. Nopony had said anything about her lowering the office. Passing had kept it at an altitude where just being in there for too long seemed to risk Manière's Disease, and having the resulting vertigo send her tumbling to the ground would have still been better than going through Act One And Only again. Rainbow had brought the entire structure down to where it was effectively hovering just above the soil. All ponies needed to do in order to see her was trot up the ramp and then stand outside the door.

Then it had turned out that ponies didn't like standing outside the door. Several residents decided to register their complaints through standing just under her office and then high-jumping. Over and over. She didn't understand why. They could have just yelled up from ground level. The cloud wasn't soundproof, and having the head of a speaker bobbing in and out of her floor didn't do much for the pacing of the actual stupid speech. Plus anypony making the leap for the first time was guessing at where her desk actually was, and the one who'd gotten her head stuck in the cylinder clearly had no second complaint coming whatsoever.

She'd eventually gone to some trouble (and considerable expense, which she couldn't afford for her own residence) to install a wooden floor. She hated the feel of it beneath her hooves, longed for the gentle cushioning of vapor, and usually flew in and out in order to spare herself some part of the experience -- but now ponies stood on that. And anypony who tried to jump up into her workspace and got their skull bashed for their trouble just as clearly had it coming.

A number of ponies would have been shocked to learn that Rainbow had an office. Finding out that she was within it shortly after dawn had the theoretical chance to fill hospital beds.

She was at her desk. Her own early duties had been finished, because... she'd been awake for hours. It had been something to do. And now she was just waiting for the rest of the team to report in.

Rainbow had already dispatched a bird to the cottage: one carrying a note which told Fleur that no, she hadn't asked Spike to send a scroll off to Gilda. Not yet. She'd been thinking about the possible words, over and over. A number had been written down. Then they'd been stomped on, chewed, soaked, and the worst had been blasted with lightning for not being good enough.

...she wished she was better with words.

She wasn't sleeping very well. She kept thinking about Gilda. Dreaming about her, and the dreams made her not want to sleep at all.

Her friend was in pain, was sick, and she couldn't...
...she was...
Is it my fault?

It almost had to be, no matter what Fleur said.

There must have been something she could have done. As opposed to what she already had.

It was quiet in the office. The place was currently rather dimly lit, because she'd molded the windows shut. She didn't feel like looking outside.

Gilda might fly by. And Rainbow would miss seeing it.
Maybe she needed to open the windows again. Make the griffon visible. And raise the entire office, to the altitude where griffons most commonly flew.
She needed to fix this. To heal her friend.
She didn't know how.
She didn't have the words...

What little illumination did exist was absorbed by the paper on the walls. Maps of Ponyville, in all sorts of scales. Reminders of special instructions. A copy of the national schedule. Charts which showed where every member of the team was supposed to be working, and what their current assignment was.

Zephyr's name had been scribbled onto that last. The letters were jagged.

The way he looks at me...

Rainbow seldom minded when ponies chose to appreciate her. She was, after all, worth it. As far as she was concerned, she had the best ass in town, and she could say that because minimalism was totally a thing and Applejack could just shut up any moon now. Seriously, compare her to Applejack and watch the farmer lose, because that was quality versus firm, muscular, well-cushioned quantity. Rainbow didn't need that cushioning. How often did a pegasus crash on their butt? Based on Rainbow's personal experience, no more than three percent of the time. So there.

She usually didn't mind being looked at. But there was something about the way Zephyr did it which suggested he didn't know when to stop. Or why.

Rainbow had eventually recognized that she'd been placed in Ponyville as a long-term plan: Stratus trying to replace Passing Shower, or at least displace him to a settled zone which didn't have the Everfree to account for. The mayor had spotted that early, and the older mare had known Passing was the wrong coordinator for Ponyville. It had helped Rainbow stay employed through every fit of anger from her Bureau-cratic superior, and eventually...

...it was hard enough just to think about Gilda. She didn't want to think about that day...

...she'd been Stratus' plan for getting rid of Passing. And now it felt like Zephyr was somepony's plan for dumping her.

It had to be a choice between the Bureau or the Wonderbolts, because neither would let it be both any more. She hadn't made a decision. The Bureau was forcing --

-- I'm not ready.

She didn't like Zephyr. Part of that was what Fleur had said about him, some was seeing what he'd done on his other jobs, and most of the rest was the looks.

But it didn't mean he wasn't capable.

Possibly better than capable, because look at who his parents were! Any IST member was ranked among the Bureau's heroes. Somepony on the IST could usually get a free drink just about anywhere in the world, because they'd helped to protect most of it. The Bureau kept the team happy, and that meant Fluttershy's parents had influence. Hiring Zephyr...

Maybe he's good.
I don't like him. It doesn't mean he isn't good. Even after what I saw at the other job sites. Maybe weather is his mark talent.
...can't figure out how the feather relates...

Thinking about feathers put her back on Gilda. She started and destroyed three drafts. Rainbow intended --desperately hoped -- to speak with her friend snout-to-beak, but... working out what some of the words might be in advance might help. Or, as things were currently going, not.

She put the surviving papers away. Looked at the assignment chart again.

If Zephyr is somepony's plan... if he's got the same kind of protection I had... then he'd have to screw up big to get fired.

Too big.

But maybe he's good.

(Maybe she would choose the Wonderbolts.)
(But that would mean --)

She didn't know what Zephyr could truly do.

Rainbow thought.

I could put Flitter on him.
...and if he starts looking at her that way, she might kill him.
Or she might kill him anyway. Because it's Flitter.

Rainbow tried to find the downside.

I'd have to explain it. Plus Fluttershy's parents would be upset.
Think of somepony else.

Members of the weather team occasionally checked in at the office when they were done with a given assignment, mostly to see if there had been any changes and grab a snack. Or they came in to find out if there was any chance of going home early.

Thunderlane usually didn't ask for that last, not unless his brother was involved. He had a way of putting himself into the job. It usually left him on the sweaty side, even in winter. Rainbow wasn't entirely sure how his mane stayed up through that much moisture, and was about to give him a chance to compare modus operandi.

(She'd been thinking in Griffonant lately. Here and there.)

"Heya, Boss," the stallion genially began as he came through the door: the hooves sounded strange on wood. "Finished the northeast tweak a little early. Is there anything you wanted me to --"

"I'm putting you with the new colt," Rainbow immediately told him. "Starting tomorrow. Tell me what he does, and how."

Triple gradations of yellow stared at her.

"You remember," Thunderlane slowly began, "when Passing paired me with you. As your groom master."

"Supervisor and designated tattletale," Rainbow nodded. "You were never really good at that last part, because you found out I could do the work and wanted me to stick around. But you can tell when somepony can't do it. And Zephyr just got shoved into our starting gate. We don't know." She paused, forced her tail to remain still. "It'll look too weird if I stick with him. But you've been paired with rookies before. Can you get me a report? The one the Bureau didn't nose over?"

He thought about it.

The silver-blue mane bobbed through the nod.

Nopony Tell Him What Soil Is Made From

There were a lot of things which Zephyr didn't like about the working life, and he felt all of them were reasonable responses to having discovered it existed. Just for starters, a colt whose parents usually weren't even in the country had every right to feel a little resentment towards the Bureau. If a kid was lucky enough to have both a mom and a dad, then they were supposed to be home and taking care of you. That was the way the world was obviously meant to operate, and it didn't.

He wasn't exactly fond of the Bureau, and also felt that he happened to possess a perfectly comprehensible, utterly natural reason for that. And now he was stuck working for them. It wasn't going over all that well.

Fortunately, there were certain compensations. Like the salary. He could use that, at least for now. And then you had to think about the view --

-- when it came to the working life, he had multiple complaints. But when it came to employment, just about all of them had initially been formed via what he considered to be the best method available: outside observation. It had taken getting and keeping a job (if only for a few days -- so far) to gift him with some rather surprising discoveries regarding additional issues. Something which had taught him that nightmares could arise from unexpected places. And this was one of the weirdest.

If you were working, then you eventually reached the point where you got to stop.

And that was a horror.

It was part of what he was thinking about during that early afternoon as he flew towards the designated area, because it was the sort of realization which you really had to ruminate on for a while. To let it fully sink in. Especially if you were also trying to figure out why nopony else had spotted what was so very wrong about all of it, and totally didn't understand why none of them were spending every moment of their lives in screaming.

You got to stop. Right now, he was on his lunch break. Work was something which admitted that you needed to eat, probably because you needed calories to do some more work. And if you were working for the Bureau, you didn't have to stick around the little office while you ate. (Not that he would have minded. Not when it came to the view.) You could just head out for a while. Hit a restaurant, if you could find a nice mare who was willing to spend the bits --

-- technically, he'd found one. There were just a few hoofsteps to go before the actual 'lunch' part got reached --

-- or got stuck with nosing them over yourself. He also had the right to curl up in a comfortable spot for a while. Enjoy his meal while allowing the world to entertain him, which generally meant finding a decently-situated cloud. Zephyr liked to use places from which he could observe mares moving along, because the majority of mares could possess at least a few qualities which were inherently adorable. Anypony who yelled at him for staring just didn't understand that they were being appreciated.

Or... if he felt as if he needed to be cheered up, and Sun knew that working for the Bureau could bring him down -- then he could pick out some vapor overlooking a schoolhouse around recess. Or a playground. The smaller sporting facilities. Anywhere you could find kids, because just watching and listening while kids were being kids... what was better than that?

There was nothing better than being a kid. So you had to make sure that fillies and colts got to truly be kids. And that was what good parents did. They made sure foalhoods were safe and secure and perfect.

He could cheer himself up pretty easily, just from watching them play. That wasn't a bad way to spend a lunch break, because work gave you some time to not do any of it --

-- and then you had to go back.

That was the horror. That was what nopony else seemed to understand.

Lunch break? It's over: back to work.
Shift's over, and his time was now his own? No, it wasn't. Because the clock was going to keep moving and eventually, the tines were going to rotate into the configuration which says Next Shift Starts.
Two-day break? See you after it's over! For more work.

It was like having a life sentence in a prison which was sadistic enough to keep letting you out. Here's an open cell door, here's the world and all the things you could do in it, and here's an unbreakable elastic band attached to your dock. We'll decide when to yank on that last one. How will you know? Well, feeling your butt slam into the back of the cell should be a pretty good clue.

How were you supposed to enjoy life when there was a clock haunting it? A shadow over Sun itself, ruining every moment of joy because you might be have having fun now, but guess what? You have to go back to work.

If you somehow chose to survive through labor, then that's what you did: survived. You didn't live. And you had to keep working, just so survival would continue...

Kids didn't have to worry about that. Acting as a good parent meant making sure they never worried about that, and just got to keep being kids.

It was his lunch break, and one of the reasons he couldn't enjoy it was because any break meant you were taking a break from something. Nopony understood that, and he didn't know whether to pity them or wonder how smart you had to be (other than smarter than everypony else, anyway) before it became possible to figure it out.

You had to go back. Every time. Work had found a way to ruin every hour which wasn't work, and that meant he couldn't enjoy his lunch.

Also, he was flying towards what had been designated as today's meeting area, and that probably wasn't going to leave him with a lot of time to actually eat.

He was temporarily off shift and, thanks to his partnership with the griffon, he was still working.

Coming up with a word to describe how unfair that was -- it had to be somepony's job. But at least that one wasn't his.

He'd been given directions, and the bad part started when he reached the bit which said 'land and start trotting'. And then it got worse, because he didn't have an actual choice. Life was an infinity of choices and work was about taking all the ones which weren't work and stamping them with NO.

They weren't meeting in the wild zone, and the fringe was right out. (His sister lived on the fringe. If that didn't prove she wasn't up to taking care of herself...) But Ponyville had parks, and -- parks were kind of strange. Especially ground-based ones. Making a settled zone was about creating safety, and now you were going to invite a whole lot of the wild into the middle of it and pretend that was somehow okay?

Ground living was weird. The local ponies seemed to match it.

They were meeting in a park. Fine. She didn't want them to be spotted together any more than absolutely necessary, and hooking up among a bunch of trees -- well, if wood did anything right, it was in being hard to see through. And he had directions (which she'd repeated), there were trails and he could follow them --

-- but not being observed meant going off the trails. Moving through narrow spaces, trying to get past the thickest -- trunks? Yeah, that felt like the word -- without scraping his wings. Which meant folding them. All the way, because he was moving on hoof and any attempt to seek the safety of the air was going to wind up putting his mane into some oddly large branches.

...he had to be careful. Some of the green stuff was capable of staining his coat, and bark contact did bad things to the grain.

He kept hitting rocks, and he was only doing that because rocks had the discourtesy to exist. If you lived in the clouds, then you didn't need to lift your legs all that much. Unless somepony got really stubborn with their molding, you could just sort of skim the vapor as you trotted -- if you bothered to trot at all. But do the sensible limb pendulum on ground and not only did you keep running into the less fun form of elevation change, but minerals would wind up bouncing off keratin in all directions. It was a stupid sensation, and he couldn't seem to avoid any of it.

Clouds were just better.

It was also a lot easier to tell if somepony was following when you were moving over a cloud.

...not that following him was gonna be -- what was the name which had been newly and semi-legibly written on the assignment chart, right next to his? -- Thunderpain. That felt about right --

-- that wasn't going to be the older stallion's full-time job. Thunderpain was only going to be following him for pay while Bureau work was actually under way, and Zephyr totally got that. His parents had been working for the Bureau for his whole life. He'd learned a few things. Rookies could get partnered with veterans. Mostly for supervision: observation, a little extra instruction. He was sort of surprised it had taken that long. It was going to make a few things harder, but...

This isn't going to be forever.

It just felt like it. Any time in prison probably seemed like a life sentence to somepony unjustly jailed, especially when you didn't have a confirmed release date.

...anyway, having Thunderpain hanging around, watching him, working together... even without the difficulty spike for the problems involved in actually getting anything done --

-- he'd have to tell the griffon about the pairing. Zephyr wasn't sure she was gonna take that well --

-- it was going to make things kind of awkward. Zephyr had never been all that great with male companionship. Lack of experience. There hadn't been buddies on that level in school. You didn't make a lot of friends if you didn't have the time for it, and his first excuse for that had been sister.

(There were some other excuses.)

And as for the other hanging-around-stallions option -- well, to be honest about it, there were times when he'd actively wished to feel that way. He could sure tell when a stallion was attractive. Appreciating a good body was easy. Evaluating the grooming was automatic, and if he spotted a truly outstanding specimen, then he was probably going to go right up to them, in public, and tell them how great they looked. Followed by asking for tips, because that was a stallion who was doing a few things right and there was always something new to learn.

But when it came to feeling the sort of things which had been rising within from a mere glimpse of the resident office view... no. He'd tried. Turned out you couldn't force it. And that was just a pity, because Zephyr knew that feeling that way would have done a lot for his life. Just for starters, the 'ponies to buy me dinner' options would have doubled. Minimum.

Thunderpain wasn't the most handsome stallion on record. But his designated future supervisor was doing a few things right with that mane. They could talk about that for a while.

But in the meantime, he had to look after his own mane, along with every other part. And he ducked under some -- mines? Green droops of hanging vegetation. 'Mines' was probably right -- got some distance between himself and what he'd learned early on were 'thorns', and he stepped over a tiny trickle of water, his sore hooves kicked away some rocks and then a few more rocks while he could feel the clock looming over him, the shadow of the wasted seconds and the elastic waiting to yank him back --

-- his right forehoof hit something softer. Yielding, but -- oddly solid at the core...

Zephyr looked down.
And it was wrong.
They weren't supposed to be like this.
They were meant to exist as mobile flashes of color and sound and life, moving just below your own path or somewhere in the rough vicinity because he was the larger and anything smaller had an obligation to get out of the way. Tiny intermittent bursts of presence and reminders that the sky was where life began and thrived and

ground was where it ended.

There was something hot rising in his throat. Hot and rancid and burning.

The little corpse still had all of its feathers. They were a blue so deep as to skirt the edges of black, and iridescence put tiny spots of extra colors all over the body. There were no fatal wounds visible. Perhaps, if his hoof hadn't come into contact with it --

my hoof

-- it might have been possible to believe that it was merely sleeping.

But the head was titled down. The beak touched soil, dirt and earth, the home of insects and creatures and so many buried corpses. Nothing about the body moved. The ribs didn't shift, the eyes wouldn't open, the dead bird hadn't flown away from the contact, couldn't, would never fly again and it was dead and it was going to be dead forever on the ground --

I shouldn't be here
I can't be here
it's the plan
it's the only way

-- his wings had flared, when there was no true room for them to do so. They were trying to flap, and all that did was scrape feathers and flesh against wood. It hurt --

He recoiled. It only brought his forehooves up as his body did its best to rear back, and then he had to crash down again while still being far too close to --

-- ultimately, he only managed to swallow back a portion of the internal tide. And then he stepped around the results as best he could (which might not have been good enough), fought forward until he found a clear space, room to move and summon magic and send a blast of what he felt was a perfectly reasonable reaction in the direction from which he'd come.

Zephyr presumed that a wind burst strong enough to break small branches and scatter soil was also more than enough to move a corpse. Get it out of the way, and deposit it where he'd never had to see the thing again. Maybe within the flow of water, especially since it was already dead and whatever lived in liquids could deal with that problem.

The wind had to have been strong enough. And anything else which resulted from the crashing sounds wasn't his fault.

Calm down...

Not that he really needed to. See a problem, get rid of the problem. Everything was already solved. His heartbeat was just a little behind the news.

He kept pushing forward. It was pretty much the same pace as before, but the focus had changed. He was looking down a lot more. Making sure each hoofstep ended in some degree of safety. And then he had to look up, because it turned out that moving with your head down risked running into a lot of mane-snagging branches.

It wasn't fair. The sky was where you had to keep track of every single dimension and direction, plus all the things which might be occupying that space. Ground should have been more basic.

Maybe he was going to be late to the meeting. But the griffon should have known that he'd have trouble reaching her quickly, especially since the directions had been hers --

-- maybe she killed the bird.

No. That was stupid. If she'd killed it, there would have been visible wounds, or blood soaked into the ground. Plus she probably would have eaten it. The death had likely been from disease.

...scrub his hooves. As soon as possible. And it was going to be all of them, because he didn't know how much ground the bird had touched before it died --

-- his nostrils flared.

Blood.

But that was more or less okay. Because the words arrived in his ears next, and she often smelled a little like blood. Especially if she'd just been eating.

"You're a little off-course," the griffon said, from somewhere within the green. (He wondered why he hadn't spotted her. The golden eyes had so much shine...) "Tilt left."

It had been an order.

She gave a lot of orders, and even the words which weren't direct instructions tended to emerge with those tones. The griffon could probably say 'Good morning' in a way which told Sun that there would be consequences for getting it wrong. Not that Zephyr was completely sure there, because 'Good morning' absolutely wasn't the sort of thing she ever said.

It was supposed to be a partnership, and the griffon acted like she was in charge. She seemed to feel he was working directly for her. And that annoyed him, especially since there wasn't any direct pay. 'Annoyance' was also a reasonable reaction and as far as Zephyr was concerned, it was also the weakest such response possible.

But he was going along with it. Because they each had a plan. This presumably led to a pair of goals. And certain aspects overlapped.

Zephyr felt like she didn't really tell him much of anything. He got one set of orders at a time. It was sort of insulting. Implying that he wasn't capable of understanding more than that.

He worked his way past the last of the hanging mines. (The pegasus was almost sure that his mane was still clean. Explaining the stains would have been pretty awkward. Although it would have been nice if somepony had been paying enough attention to his appearance to ask.) And then he was in a tiny clearing with her, just about face-to-beak.

Zephyr didn't spend a lot of time looking at her beak. That was usually where the blood wound up. And...

...the beak opened. It closed. Words came out. But the edges didn't move. Tone could say a lot, but -- when it came to any attempt at figuring out how the griffon was feeling, he had to watch the eyes.

It was a learning process. Take away the flexibility of a pony mouth, and expressions turned weird. He couldn't read most of hers, and asking too many questions about them just made him sound stupid. Feel...

"Took you long enough," she said, watching as he came to a full stop. (He'd noticed that her eyes usually focused on movement. If he went completely still for a while, she would start to watch swaying leaves.) "I thought you had to do this on your lunch break. Should have saved some of it for the lunch." And made a point of looking around, openly dismissing all of the staining green. "But you can just grab something on the way back, right? Your whole world is lunch."

No, it wasn't.

Some ponies said ground had grass and the rest of the green going for it, because you couldn't eat a cloud. And maybe portions of the stuff around his hooves were suitable, but who knew if a bird had dropped dead on top of that? Other parts just tasted horrible. You could get sick if you ate the wrong things.

Ground didn't have much going for it. Not in the settled zones, and forget about the wild. In a perfect world, he would have stayed among billowing white for a lifetime.

But there was a plan.

He kept looking at her. She was sort of dirty around the eyes. The griffon really needed some better grooming. He'd been trying to come up with something she could use. It was all just fur and feathers, right? So anything which applied to a pegasus could apply to her. He just had to compensate for a few new locations on the feathers. Plus -- okay, talons and claws were still keratin, but she probably wasn't going to be interested in anything designed to smooth away edges.

"So anyway," Zephyr began, and completely missed seeing her clenching talons dig tiny trenches into the soil, "how long is this supposed to take? Because I've gotta get back to work." Watching her eyes, "The job you said I had to get."

"Because it puts you in the right position," she countered. (Her voice was almost calm. The eyes jerked a little to the right, and he wasn't sure what that meant.) "And it takes as long as it takes." The shoulders shrugged. "Just fly faster on the way back. Not my problem if you're late."

The right position for what?

But she was only telling him a little at a time.

"Nopony followed you?" she abruptly asked. Golden eyes checked the perimeter of the tiny clearing.

He almost wanted to laugh, barely suppressed the majority of the snort. "I wish."

And then she was glaring at him.

"Prey which wants to be hunted," the griffon snapped. "That's a new one --"

"-- there's this pony I saw," Zephyr cut in. "Major looker. If she's trailing me on purpose, then she's probably watching my butt." Which was more direct than he would have been in front of a mare, but -- griffon. "So I wish she was following me around. But it hasn't started just yet."

Her tail swayed a little. The tuft needed some tending.

"And there's this other mare," Zephyr added.

"The unicorn?" almost emerged in pieces. Each syllable had been virtually bitten through.

"Nah. Earth pony."

Because you had to get food somewhere, especially when you couldn't trust all of the greenery and didn't currently have somepony who would buy it for you. So he'd tried a bakery, and...

...good stuff. Baked goods didn't seem to suffer from being made at a lower altitude. But there was this pink, slightly chubby mare behind the counter, and...

...not his type. Nowhere close. But it had felt as if she'd been watching him. Hadn't spoken to him at all: the older (and chubbier) mare had been the one to take his bits. She'd just had him under some scrutiny. And then she'd looked away.

Absolutely wasn't going to go for her. But maybe flirting wasn't a bad idea, because free food. And there might be extra chances. He'd spotted her briefly near one of the town's fountains, right around the time he'd been thinking about how having a Bureau job meant he was practically living here.

"Whatever," the griffon decided. "As long as she doesn't know we're working together." The talons clenched again. "Because that's going to really hurt your end of this, isn't it? If she finds out, then she might do something stupid. We're trying to get her out of the way. And the stupid ones, when they learn you want them to move -- they dig in. So we're gonna avoid that."

He looked at the intensity which had been compacted into tiny pupils and, after a moment, decided to nod.

"We get Fleur Dis Lee out of the way," she continued. "Just make her -- step aside. Or step anywhere that she won't be blocking, right? Doesn't that just sound easy? And once she's moved over... then you've got a clear path. Straight to your sister."

They'd each talked about their goals -- or rather, they'd both discussed his. Zephyr wasn't sure he'd heard the whole of hers. But getting Fleur out of the way was definitely part of it.

Admittedly, it wasn't an absolute requirement on his end. Having the unicorn gone did give him a clear path. Figuring out some way where she hung around and stepped aside would potentially accomplish the same goal. All she had to do was accept his presence. It might even make things that much better.

He could think of things like that. Because he wasn't stupid. It was part of why he hated being laughed at so much. Laughter made him feel stupid, even when he so clearly wasn't. A stupid pony wouldn't have a plan.

"And having you on the weather team gives you mobility," she added. "And access. That could be important later."

As not-mistakes went, "How?" was just about instinctive.

The golden eyes glinted.

"Not quite there yet," the half-parted beak technically smiled. "So how's work?"

He told her about Thunderpain. She listened.

"Should have figured that was coming," the griffon decided. "But it won't last long if you can just wow them enough. All you've really got to do is get your assignments early. At least the night before. And if we have to, we'll fix things from there."

The pegasus exhaled. 'Thanks' nearly reached the back of his throat, and then became stuck on residual bile.

"Anything else happening at work?" she asked. The tone was almost curious -- no, it was stronger than that. More intense. "Tell me what your boss is doing."

Zephyr grinned.

She moves.
Whenever she can.
And the view...

...possibly not a good opener. It was easier to talk about mares in front of a griffon, but describing just how much he wanted the prismatic to be following him wasn't going to do anything but burn off the rest of his break time. Besides, there was no way she was actually going to care.

Still -- it would have been nice to tell somepony (someone?) about how utterly gorgeous Rainbow was. A sleek, compact bundle of overwound mainspring energy. He could just see all of those tightened kinetics looking for a place to go off, and they also happened to come with the kind of equally-tightened little ass which a stallion of taste could just...

...yeah, the griffon wasn't gonna want to hear about any of that either.

He'd made it clear to Rainbow that he was interested: using every possible opportunity to let his eyes visibly drink her in was good for that. But she just wasn't looking back yet. Something which was just going to take a little more time. Plus maybe an adjustment or two on the plan, because a smart stallion had to make room for new stuff and if you were going to be stuck on or near ground, it helped to be stuck with a mare who had a body like that.

Zephyr had been dreaming about what Rainbow could do for him. Or to him, which was a lot more fun.

He kicked out a few sentences about how she distributed assignments, because that was just about all the direct interaction he'd had. The griffon listened, and the tail gradually stilled.

"Good," she finally said. "And the little giant? Have you seen her?"

"Yesterday. On an air carriage coming back into town." Which had been at a distance, from behind -- but he'd been able to identify her: the flow of the two-tone mane was distinctive.

Portions of her fur seemed to ruffle. Feathers shifted. Her neck seemed to expand, and then the ruff settled back down.

"It sounded like she was out of town for a while," the disgruntled griffon said. "Too bad it wasn't forever. But she's definitely back." The golden eyes narrowed. "For now. Just give her some distance, unless she comes straight up to you. It's not time to drive that wedge in yet."

"And when does that happen?" was, from Zephyr's work-shadowed perspective, also not a mistake.

The beak snapped shut. Clacked twice. And when it opened again, the griffon's words were pushed out on the edge of a roar.

"When we're ready," erupted through the green. "And that's not now."

"But I've been working for the Bureau for --"

Every visible muscle on her body went tight.

"I'm learning about her," the griffon half-snarled: a designation which took some serious round down. "You have to study your prey. Especially when you're hunting another predator. You need to figure out its territory." The tail was beginning to lash. "What it stalks, where and when. The tactics it uses. If it's picked up a partner species, or just has a scavenger trailing in its wide. Maybe it needs one of those. Or both. And maybe they're weak points. You stalk, you study, and then you strike. Knowledge lets you figure out how to strike once. Knowledge is using weight over edge --"

Asking questions would have made him feel stupid. Correcting the griffon showed that he was smart.

"Ponies aren't predators."

She stopped. A muted chuckle echoed at the back of the beak.

"You'd think that," she said, and no part of the golden gaze was focused on him. "You'd really like to think that. But if they have the right heart... then some of them start pretending towards everything else..."

"Huh," if said with the right tone, wasn't a question.

Her eyes seemed to locate him again.

"Don't worry about it," the griffon said. "Don't give it a single second of concern in that little pony head. Just tell me anything you hear about her. Anything. Truths, rumors, and lies. Especially the lies. Because a good lie wipes out its own trail, but a bad one can be tracked across a planet." She paused. "Solomon Short said that. So of course it's right."

He decided that pretending to know who that was required saying nothing at all.

"Get back to work," she abruptly ordered him. "I'll get word to you on the next meeting. But if you find out that Rainbow is going to be meeting with her, then you contact me. You know how." Her head tilted back, and gold tracked the glow of Sun against the leafy canopy. "I've got to go."

She began to turn. Zephyr took a very small hoofstep forward.

"Do you need any lunch?" He sort of knew where she could find something to eat. If it wasn't too stale, or too waterlogged.

"No," without eyes to read, came across as something entirely dismissive. "I've got to go --"

"-- where?" Because she always just left.

With more than a hint of both snarl and hiss, "Work."

The pegasus blinked.

"You've got a job --"

"I work in Canterlot," the griffon declared. "It's not exactly the shortest flight. We'll talk again when I'm ready. I'm going."

The more powerful form finished its turn. Pushed through the green, and did so with what felt like an odd lack of sound. Vanished.

Zephyr waited for a few seconds, just in case she'd forgotten something.

He had a plan. So did she, and part of the goals potentially overlapped. But the griffon seemed to feel that she was the one in charge. And a boss -- well, if you were working for someone, then they should really be a little like a parent, right? There should be an obligation to look after you. And with her...

She had a plan: something she wouldn't reveal all at once. But the way she'd put it during their first meeting... was that if she got what she wanted, then so did he.

She had a plan.

(She had to have a plan.)

Zephyr didn't feel like its first priority was him. But the goals might truly overlap. And if they did... then the best way to work was clearly to have someone else do most of it.

The Old Triple-R: Rumor, Reason, Revenge

The cottage had her trapped again, pinned at a time when she needed to know what was going on beyond the property's borders. And she couldn't escape, not when she truly needed to do so -- but there were others who could freely arrive and depart. Some of them even did so more or less according to the appointment book. And when they came, they brought words. News of the world beyond.

They usually didn't bring the right news.

Fleur was encountering some difficulty in reaching the desired headline.

She didn't understand. She'd been so good at gossip...

...or rather, she'd once been in a position where ponies were eager to tell her whatever they felt themselves to know. And once she'd found that position, she'd been absolutely extraordinary at maintaining it.

(With lofted ears. Fleur felt herself to be an all-planet ear-lofting champion. It was entirely possible that she held the world record for Looking Sincerely Interested and if she didn't, then the one concerning Not Having Pulled A Facial Muscle In The Process just had to be hers.)

It might have surprised those who didn't understand escorts to learn that the majority of those positions were upright, and most of them required wearing a dress. Having a large audience within totally-not-listening range was optional.

But the key aspect was that they'd come to her. Because she had been the most beautiful mare in Canterlot. (Fleur was vaguely willing to admit that somepony in the capital might have somehow surpassed her for raw potential, but knew she could beat that contender out on makeup.) And she was available for those who had the bits for the hire -- but that was just going to be one pony at a time -- or on a particularly interesting night, up to three.

But her clients still wanted to make themselves look good, and with so many others... they would all feel as if they had to impress her.

So they would nose the latest gossip into her custody. Doing so freely, of their own will, and with occasional pauses because they'd just run out of actual rumors and were now at the point where they had to make something up. A mare who'd been moving through the most refined of Canterlot's inner social circles had rapidly recognized that sorting the true from the This Makes Me Look Good (Or At Least Makes That One Look Worse) was an essential survival skill. This was followed by finding ways to make ponies keep talking, because a few would abruptly realize that they were moving beyond the borders of what they should have said.

There had been occasions when her best tactic had been to appear fascinated, but -- vacant. Perfectly willing to let others place thoughts in her head. The less she visibly understood, the more they would say. It was like confiding in a particularly well-groomed pet and given what she generally did with any real information, that companion was probably a parrot. One who had to be especially careful about choosing what to repeat back, as opposed to those portions which might be suitable for a blackmail letter. Because her talent allowed her to know -- but on an especially good night, the gossip would suggest a target to verify.

Others wanted to see the rough appearance of thought from her, but dreaded anything which approached authenticity. A few had hoped for lively debate (which they generally wanted to win), and just about all had been listening to see if she let something slip going back. But at the core, it had very much been about impressing her. With how important they were, how much they knew (or could invent in a hurry), and the total of that equation was supposed to somehow equal But With You, It's Going To Be Real. Because an escort could be hired -- but even when in the company of a client, a mare who hadn't committed to leaving the working life at somepony's side was going to be seen as available.

The bulk of Ponyville's herd knew she was with Fluttershy. They weren't trying to impress her any more, and it made gossip a little harder to come by.

However... there were a few ways in which her current environment didn't completely sabotage her. She'd even encountered the occasional small boost, and that usually worked until the moment she tried to rely on it.

Some ponies wanted to remain in the area while their companions were being groomed. This was something Fleur generally discouraged, because a pet who didn't like the experience was going to look for salvation and if their pony was in the immediate area, the pitiful howls weren't going to stop any time ever. (In the case of Shaddap, Joyous remained in direct view because if she wasn't, the miniature husky inevitably decided the only way to alert her pony was to become THAT MUCH LOUDER.) But if the pony was around... well, it wasn't as if grooming was particularly exciting to watch, and a few quick uses of Fleur's field tended to defuse the snapping-based levels of excitement before they really got going. Ponies could become bored while watching a grooming. Then they talked.

There was also the examination room. That was... usually just Fluttershy and the animal who was being treated. Or Fleur and same, if the scope of what had to be done was within her current lessons. And there were times when they did it together. But if another pony was there with them...

On a good day, it would be exceptionally minor: Fluttershy's told your puppy that she won't die from the claw trimming, but it'll probably help if you smile a lot while it happens. They would give instructions via demonstration: the medicine is delivered this way, and don't let her pretend she's swallowed. Or...

...in the worst of times, some ponies would talk. Almost endlessly, about anything at all, just so they wouldn't have to truly think about what was happening. It was displacement: Fleur understood that. Some laughed when they were afraid, because even that pushed things back.

They talked. Babbled. Wept. Using every sound possible to put off the final word, because that was going to be goodbye.

It was possible to use that state as a way to learn things. You just had to be willing to pay the price. The first part would come in staring at the ceiling for hours, unable to sleep while the ghosts of past selves galloped around the borders of the nest and stabbed their horns at the restless, self-loathing presence which failed to rest at the core...

The Fleur who had tried to dominate the whole of Canterlot -- perhaps there was no true difference between that mare and the one who existed now. True change... she didn't know. She had always been willing to do so many things, working through just about any avenue possible, and very few of those routes had been legal.

But she'd always drawn the line at exploiting a death.

Fleur and Fluttershy had a number of things in common. For starters, they both knew death. Intimately.

They had both brought death.

Fleur had killed first.

(The dreams were changing.)

It was a fairly quiet day, and Fleur was glad for that. Zephyr's ongoing not-distant-enough presence --

there's more mane in front of her face

-- was enough of a stressor. And when it came to veterinary duties, there was never a good time for an emergency -- but Fleur was fully aware that this really wasn't it.

There was very little which they had to work on together: a portion of wound stitching (because in fact, the puppy could not make the high jump between the fence slats, and a licking tongue would probably need to be reminded about that again tomorrow) was the worst of the lot. And with the increased client traffic had come a need to frequently operate separately. Splitting the load.

Fleur was now doing the majority of the grooming. It was easy for her. She was perfectly accustomed to adjusting her own appearance: bringing animals to their best was mostly a matter of accounting for form and leaving most of the finer powders out. And this was a day when she wanted to have the pony companions in the room, because most of them were going to talk.

They were talking. Ponies were a social species. Long periods of silence seemed to exist on the challenge level which would have made for an exceptionally boring sport.

She was just having some trouble in directing what they talked about.

There had already been six grooming sessions. Fleur was now fully updated on how eight children were doing in school. One of them was dating for the first time, and a former escort could always be approached by a nervous parent who wanted to know about the first warning signs of a truly bad coltfriend.

They always talked about their children with her.
They trusted her with their children. Implicitly.
There had been another failed stick.
She didn't want to hear --

-- and she had to look interested. More than that: she had to do so in the manner of a native Equestrian, because a Protoceran who used a mask in place of a face always needed to make sure it was moving properly. Doing so with the right timing, on the proper cues, so she could continue to pass. Something which had always worked, for encounters of short to moderate duration.

Except that now I live here...

She was having trouble steering the conversation. And she wasn't quite ready to ask about the mirror pool (whatever that was), because 'It's classified' sounded just as annoying when it emerged from the mouth of a civilian. Inquiring about Passing Shower would have potentially required explaining just why she wanted to know -- or having a good lie ready to substitute: either way, Fleur wasn't quite ready to chase that down. Discovering what had happened to the previous weather coordinator was a lesser priority. It just felt like something which she would hear eventually -- and if she was going to actively try for that story, then Rainbow remained the best possible source.

There were two significant problems which needed to be monitored, and her capacity for doing so was limited. Being trapped at the cottage didn't exactly help. But there were clients coming in, she was putting them into a situation where they would want to talk because there was only so much sheared fur anypony could watch drop before their hooves began trying to draw patterns in it, and the steering...

The first goal was to get ponies talking about Zephyr.

There was a price for being too direct.

"The new stallion on the weather team?"

"Yes."

"Have I seen him with anypony?"

"Or anyo --"

"...so you're attracted?"

Which had clearly been an attempt at humor, and remained so even after the client had left. It just didn't do anything to help her swallow back the bile.

If Zephyr's unfortunate existence did enter the verbal flow, then certain commonalities would bob to the surface. 'Isn't he handsome?' came up a few times: this usually required Fleur to adjust her field and make sure the shears were still properly lined up with the canine's fur, as opposed to the mercy act of going for her own throat.

A few ponies had seen him flying around. One pegasus offhoofedly mentioned that there was something odd about the way he moved in the air, but... she couldn't pin it down.

Nopony seemed to have caught him actually adjusting the weather -- but who truly watched that? Unless it was Rainbow at work, and then it was mandatory because you had to make sure she wasn't kicking in some spontaneous extras. Also, if you weren't watching, then you wouldn't know when to start backing away from the very-near-future crash site.

Word of the damage which had been done at the market... that didn't seem to have spread too far. Or if it had, then the ponies in the grooming area hadn't associated the incident with him.

For those residents who knew of his existence (and it was hardly everypony), Zephyr was mostly just... scenery. Just about nopony even seemed to know he was related.

The herd had another topic on its collective mind.

"...and of course I recognized her! I was at that party! Has anypony told you about the party?"

"Actually --"

"-- it started with the hoof buzzer --"

Six minutes and most of a leg trim passed.

"-- and I've just been staying out of her way. I don't know why she would ever come back here, not after that! But I just hope she's gone soon." A slow head shake. "Griffons. What can you even do?"

"She smells like blood. All the time. How are you supposed to talk to someone when all you want to do is run? ...well, you're studying to be a vet. I guess you're used to blood. But for the rest of us... the blood..."

"Pillows are behind you and to the right."

"...oh. Thank you. That's... very considerate. Have those pillows always been there?"

No. Just since two faints ago.

"I saw her yesterday. While I was walking Terri."

"Oh?"

"I think she was watching my dog."

"They focus on movement --"

"-- d-d-don't they eat dogs?"

The eventual sworn plan, in its post-editing form, looked something like this:

* Acquire a primary school International Studies textbook. This was probably going to require paying for it, because the library couldn't be involved.
* Discover exactly what was being taught.
* If -- no, when sufficiently offended, write the editor with corrections. Also, demand a refund. And mail back the remnants of the textbook, because Fleur was going to take out her frustrations over the expected idiocy on something and since the library wasn't involved, Twilight could just deal with it.

She had a few minutes between grooming sessions. Sweeping up fur was a necessary constant or, given the way emotions tended to reflect in an active field, crushing the remnants into little spheres was equally effective.

They didn't know griffons. They didn't understand griffons. Just about none of them had ever been in a griffon's presence for more than five minutes: the mode number was 'zero'. The majority probably wouldn't have been willing to enter the Aviary on a dare, and attending a proper barbecue was the stuff which bad horror movies were made of. The boldest might have been expecting a triple-serving of dog.

Griffons kept canines as pets, because just about every sapient wanted to be greeted with love when they returned to their home. Connecting with their dearest friend.

If they would just let themselves understand...

But they didn't know griffons. It felt as if they didn't want to know --

-- and the outer birdsong went off.

Not strangers.
Not a visitor.
...oh.
Mail's here.

And the mail had a sense of irony. Or, at the very least, possessed a certain feel for timing.

It was possible to glimpse a grey form and golden tail as the delivering party ascended, moving over the trees, and -- Fleur occasionally wondered what the mailmare knew. She had to at least suspect something. She was more intelligent than most believed. So few ponies received letters from beyond the borders, and when the stamps were so distinctive...

But she had been discreet. And... perhaps it was remotely possible that Dulci might no longer possess the same level of anger regarding Fleur's existence. The pegasus had learned that somepony found her beautiful, and... it was producing changes. Slow and uncertain, much like the relationship, but... change.

Maybe some ponies do change.
And others don't.
Or can't.

Fleur held the letter within her field, making sure to keep the energy a little more intense than the usual. It was easy: excitement reflected itself in magic, and the brightness ensured that nopony in the sitting room would be closely examining the bubble's contents.

I'll read it later. One thing to look forward to.

Except that she couldn't write back with the news they were longing to hear.

...maybe I'll read it tomorrow.

Home was beyond her reach. The cottage exerted a perpetual gravity, and there were more appointments coming in.

She had to get back to work.

The griffon typically doesn't use a name when she thinks of herself. There's seldom any need. She knows who she is.

If the ponies have anything right (and there used to be occasions when she wondered about that, as opposed to holding the negative as a full-time conviction), it's that a name can provide some level of definition. But it's a rare person who gets to name themselves. Even for those who legally change their definition (or at least the surface label), there's always something to change it from. Another person was the first to define them. Maybe two. Maybe lots. And the griffon knows that one of the problems with allowing other people to have any degree of say over your life is that they're just about always going to get it wrong.

For a while now, she's been defining herself. As herself, by herself. As the clear resident expert on the entity residing within her own skin, who's better suited?

She generally doesn't think of herself by a given name. But if she does... then it's almost always 'Gilda'. Because that's how the one she loves first knew her, and so that's who she'd rather be.

Even so, the griffon seldom thinks of herself by name.

She hardly ever thinks about anyone else at all.

(There's one exception.)

She's flying towards the pony capital, and it always looks wrong. Too many buildings rest on the ground, and that's a choice. The deliberately wrong one. They have earth ponies, just like home. An earth pony can potentially grow any kind of tree. So not planting baobabs and constructing on top of that... it's a mistake somepony made and because the vast majority of ponies are idiots, they just kept on making it.

The tiercel finds it's easier to spot things like that now. She can think more freely, now that her thoughts aren't anchored to a chain. No more confinement, forced channeling, or being bound by the expectations of others. She thinks what she wishes and flies where she will. Because she has a goal, and she's going to achieve it.

She can win.

In the event that she somehow suffers a minor defeat or two along the way to the true victory, then she can win the next time. Because as long as she's willing to keep fighting, then there's always going to be a next time. Losses are like the bonds created by the cast-off chain. They only mean something if you let them. And she's free.

(There's one link left. A sole remaining anchor, and she hasn't realized that. And still, there's a free weight of metal whipping around, with one end completely loose and fully indiscriminate in who it hits. Metal doesn't care.)

It's a long flight to the city, and it feels a little longer every time she has to make it. Part of that comes from knowing she's putting that much more distance between herself and Rainbow, after it took so much to get back --

-- temporary, it's only temporary --

-- and another portion comes from her own form. A griffon can stalk for a very long time over the ground, following bleeding prey until the target is fully exhausted -- but flight takes more energy. On the hunt, it's used for closing the gap in a hurry, along with extending the categories of creatures which can be hunted and giving the griffon a few extra ways to maneuver while on the attack. Very few among her species are endurance fliers. A daily commute, getting around their hometown, and a touch of sport. That's it.

Also, flying more than the average means a corresponding increase in consumption. Of fruit. The griffon body processes those sugars more quickly than the proteins from meat. A species which frequently likes to pretend it's composed of pure carnivores tries to culturally gloss over that little fact, but... keeping up with Rainbow required a lot of fruit. She got used to it.

For a griffon, it's a long flight. Sometimes it's made that much longer by her refusal to use most of the main air paths. Those are protected, and what's the average pony? Something which can barely manage to exist inside the world's most controlled environments, and turns into a completely helpless ground-fallen bundle of tremble outside it. So she challenges herself. Cut across part of the wild zone, just so she can find out what might try to chase her. (Nothing yet.) Skimming the trail used by the zeppelins is giving the willfully afraid a chance to see what a real predator looks like.

Sometimes she practices little stunts during flights. Because she's going to try out for the Wonderbolts eventually, and she has to stay sharp.

(Sometimes she doesn't. For days. The longest period of not remembering to do so is now over a week.)

Flying in Equestria. Stuck among the weaklings. But this time, there's a difference. She isn't going to leave until she has what she wants. Because she knows what Rainbow truly desires, and this time...

...this time, they're going to leave together.

She likes to use memories to keep herself focused on the goal. There's one which is repeatedly pulled out. It's what initially got termed as their 'makeout session'. The result of a carefully-arranged dare. It took a lot of verbal rigging to set things up, and...

...it's one of the most precious memories of her life.

She reviews it every day or so. She dreams about it. She relives it over and over...

(Her memory of that day has become what she wishes it had been.)

...she's getting so close to making it all real again...

(The little giant said Rainbow didn't feel that way.)
(It's a lie.)
(It's a reason to make the unicorn hurt.)

There's a huge storm cloud ahead. A wild stray. Rainbow would be able to tell how many ions were crackling within, and do so with a simple glance. The griffon just skims it, as close as any of her species would dare in the presence of power waiting to discharge.

A griffon is not a pegasus.
A griffon has no innate resistance to electricity.
No capacity for redirecting it.
A griffon hit by a bolt can die.

But she takes it on. Clears the cloud, skimming the vapor with the edge of her left wing as a mark of victory. And then she laughs, because she lived.

Dominating a storm.

At least portions of the weather aren't weak. The wild parts, because the ponies just have to tame everything else. It makes the entire nation into something irritating. But she has a goal and if reaching it means putting up with a few weaklings, then so be it. All the more sapients to dominate. And they're all so easy...

...nearly all...

...the little giant doesn't count.

For anything.

What kind of work can a griffon find in Equestria?

First, you need to find a place which accepts the presence of griffons. That's hard, because this nation is just about all weaklings who won't venture outside of their self-arranged comfort zone. Not freaking out at the sight of someone who isn't from their trio (or quartet) of species is an advanced challenge. The tiercel stopped in a few of the smaller settled zones on her way to Ponyville and all too often, she was the first to do so. Spot an intruder into their barely-integrated pony paradise, and so many would run.

It's beyond irritating. The situation quickly turned offensive. And it also made shopping for supplies more difficult, especially since she hadn't worked out her job yet and her resources were running out. Admittedly, having just about everypony clearing the area gave her some potential freedom in committing theft -- but even that comes attached to a ponycentric problem.

Put bluntly: it's a lot harder to dominate through theft when outside of Protocera. Because if she happens to get spotted, the only person who's going to match the suspect's description is her. And she can't snatch everything she needs, because doing too much of that starts to feel like scavenging. She's a predator. As far as she's concerned, theft which isn't being done for immediate domination will eventually turn demeaning.

But let's say you're a griffon who needs work, and you eventually reach the pony capital. A place which has a small population of your own species, and so can have the majority of its residents put off the stupid fainting spell until they get out of sight. And to be really specific about it, let's also say you're a ranch kid.

(She used to be a ranch kid.)
(That was another link.)
(The sundered chain rasps against her soul.)

Something which comes with a particular set of skills. And when you bring those skills into pony territory -- what can you actually do? Especially when you're avoiding other griffons because eventually, one of them is going to realize that you're free. Simply failing to deliver a proper foreknee bend can get some odd looks, because that's done on instinct and she's better than that now. And when they recognize the presence of a tiercel who's defining herself, they...

...extended proximity to the pride is a risk.

But the ponies don't know. A species which voluntarily traps itself in the name of survival is in no position to understand what freedom looks like.

The little giant still doesn't count. Because Fleur Dis Lee isn't a pony.

Oh, sure: it's a unicorn's body. She'll have to figure for a unicorn's universal capabilities before any future fight. The one which the tiercel is guaranteed to win, because now she knows that much more about what she's up against.

...her dominari didn't work.

Ponies usually just...

...but that's not a pony.

The tiercel has seen how she moves. Heard her speak. That's a Protoceran off her territory, and a griffon can come in just about any form. All that matters is the heart, and that's obviously right.

It begs a few questions. Like what the little giant is doing in Ponyville, or why she's bothering to make herself look so weak. And the tiercel plans to acquire those answers. Because you study your prey, and then you use any vulnerabilities against it. It's how she can guarantee the upcoming victory.

So her dominari failed -- the first time. There's always been rumors about certain herbal concoctions. Things which get blended with select extracts of monster bile. Creations which temporarily increase the potency of griffon magic. Even if the side effects are anywhere near as nasty as the stories claim, they all sound survivable. It's something which her opponent wouldn't be ready for. It's possible that there might be a source near the Aviary.

But it takes a double griffon to create such a thing. Heart and body.

The only way to find the stuff would be to --

-- she was thinking about something. She's fairly sure of that. There was something on her mind and now the pony capital is that much closer.

Sometimes thoughts get lost in the joy of flight. It happens.

(It doesn't.)

What was she...?

...oh, right. Finding a job in pony territory. As a ranch kid. Which means her training is in survival. She can be in close proximity to monsters and live. Not just that: she's capable of corralling a number, and knows what has to be done in order to keep the unnatural alive. Breathing, breeding, and, when you finally make that stop, tasty.

It doesn't really translate well to the current environment.

There's a few zoos around. Most of those specialize in natural animals. For the ones which add a few monsters, it's almost always smaller specimens. Things the ponies can hope to confine and -- there it is again! -- control. And when it comes to the job of keeping it that way, those positions are almost always filled. Frequently by griffons. Too many griffons, added to a scant number of ponies who have marks for the work.

(Rainbow's mark is perfect.)

A few research institutes take it further. That's where you find the big stuff, along with the ponies who study it. Trying to spot weaknesses and vulnerabilities: there isn't that much of a concern over flavor. And again, that's where the griffons wind up.

She's heard rumors claiming a few very small ranches exist in pony territory. The places which supply the scant number of butcher shops. Which would indicate griffons in quantity. Place herself too close to a full chain...

The tiercel can do a little butchering herself, but she's nothing special there. Also, you need something to carve, and when it comes to hunting...

She's been keeping herself fed. Most of the time. But hunting for all of her meat... it takes more time than she'd suspected. And that's just bringing down enough for a single tiercel. Supplying even a single display case in a shop would take more waking hours than she has.

Besides, proper butchery requires a full set of tools. Talons and claws don't cut it. Or rather, they do -- but everyone's going to know that's what you used.

And that's just about all of the ranch kid skills eliminated. So what's left?

How about... just being a griffon?

She gets to the capital a little earlier than intended, and has to spend some time in avoiding the mobile, furred-and-feathered traps which populate the streets and air paths. The near-total elimination of that issue is just about the only thing Ponyville has going for it. And once she and Rainbow leave together, there won't be anything vital left at all. Certainly nothing which gets left behind.

Avoiding griffons means she can't get too close to the butcher shop. (At least the pony capital has a proper butcher shop.) Not that there's much point, because pony magic is doing something to confine the bloodscent. She can't even breathe her fill and pretend it's a meal.

She's hungry. There wasn't very much hunting today. Not with the flight to consider, and having to check in with the inferior.

...well, of course he's inferior. Just look at him. Or better/worse, listen.

She finds a place to perch and wait, well above the shopping district of the Heart. No bloodscent drifts up to her, and the griffon sense of smell is weak for just about everything else. At least it lets her pretend that the ponies don't reek.

Thinking about her goal.

(It gives her something where she can still think at all.)

Rainbow...

...Rainbow is chained. And the pegasus doesn't see it. Can't even feel the weight of the metal which lashes her to Ponyville and so many of the idiots within those borders. Something which keeps her tied down, bound, confined, and the Rainbow whom the tiercel first met would never allow any of that to happen.

The griffon loves the pegasus. And when you love somepony... you want them to be free.

There's just a few. small. problems.

She was forbidden from going after certain parties. An extensive list of names. She's been honoring it because the command was nosed over by somepony who deserves respect. She can't violate that.

(Not yet.)

It's a fairly long list of links, and she can't try to directly cut through any of them. Even when it would be so much easier that way.

(Maybe if she was stronger.)
(If she and Rainbow swapped positions...)

But right now, the most important thing about that list is that the little giant isn't on it. Clear out Fleur, and there's going to be room. Enough space for a griffon to snuggle close.

(Fleur doesn't deserve --)

She knows the unicorn is Protoceran. That makes it easier, because she knows how Fleur is going to think. Unlike the inferior, because that's a pony who needs someone thinking for him. It didn't take much time with him to realize that he knows less than he believes himself to understand. Although that part is kind of automatic, since he somehow seems to believe he knows everything.

But he's also a resource, and since some portion of their individual goals happen to align...

He's in a position to get her information. On Rainbow and, should he be able to reach the cottage where she cannot (and the hunting would be so good), Fleur. And once she has that knowledge, a full understanding of the prey...

Stalk.
Observe.
Evaluate.
Pounce --

-- Sun's been lowered. She wonders when that happened.

It doesn't matter.

Time for work.

Her skills aren't needed. Or rather, they aren't needed in a place where she can practice them in safety. Isolation.

Very few ponies understand dominari, and a few of the ones who do want griffons to use it on their behalf. In theory, it's possible to make money that way. It's the same theory which prospectively allows someone to make a living by scavenging (ugh!) lost money off the street: you just have to find it. Locating ponies who want to hire griffons for magical attacks isn't exactly something which can be done on instinct. And if she did come across one? Then she's risking arrest, because it's possible that the target pony will realize what was done, there might be other witnesses, the use of that magic on an unwilling target is treated as assault, and a griffon out of Protocera remains easy to identify.

Being hired to clear out animals, or certain categories of monster... too much competition.

She can hunt for herself. It can take a lot of time, but it keeps her alive. But she needs currency for more than food. She can't hope to steal everything. Some items require purchasing. A number may even mean more that way.

But she's still a griffon.

And what she eventually realized was that in order to earn money, all she has to do -- is be a griffon.

The ponies like to define things. Settled zones are bound in terms of safety. Get too close to the edge and that's the fringe. Move beyond that, and they're in the wild. And probably collapsed onto the ground in a defensive curl.

They see the world through the lens of fixed definitions. They don't think, because the words do it for them. And so ponies fail to see that everything has a fringe.

Including the Aviary.

There's a little piece of Protocera in the pony capital. It has homes and shops and entertainment of all sorts. It also has a fringe. The place where the lines start to blur. And that's where she works. In one of the only pony cities which accepts a degree of griffon presence. Just about the lone place where it's possible at all.

She avoids the actual Aviary. She wants the outskirts, the section just beyond any possible border. The little clubs, which set up so close because... maybe someone will cross.

It's an event, and it doesn't happen on every night. For the most part, there's just a touch of mixing, and no more. Anything truly serious usually has to move deeper in.

The fringe is where the curious go first. The curious and the shy. Those who aren't quite ready to make a move on their own.

So she thinks for them.

The little clubs are... usually somewhat stifling. They're made for pony bodies and spaces and priorities. A griffon might be somewhat welcome there, but they aren't going to be comfortable for long. Everything looks and sounds wrong, she's glad for the poor sense of smell because that's one less thing to deal with, but if she actually eats something there, then the taste is usually...

...it's food.

She has to make sure she's the only griffon present and because such clubs aren't always great on windows or outdoor sections, that usually means getting through the door. Which, all too frequently, requires paying the insult known as a cover charge. She tells herself that it's spending money to make money.

Sometimes she grooms herself before entering such clubs.

(She's been forgetting to do that.)

Did she...

...it doesn't matter. She had more important things to take care of. Besides, part of this is about making sure there isn't much of a selection anyway.

She gets inside. Looks around, stares through lighting which is at the wrong intensity while ignoring every note of twisted false music. And she's looking for ponies. Trying to spot the way they look at her.

There's a certain reaction, hidden among the subset of Not Trying To Get Away. A little catch of the breath. A change in the way they hold their tail. The eyes widen, the nostrils flare, and you can see that they're dreaming. She walks in and somepony starts to fantasize, because they're shy and experimental and curious and not quite ready to go all the way across the border. Take this city's population, factor for it not being home, and there's still going to be a few dozen ponies who are curious. The fringe is where they come to dream.

She makes dreams come true.

So she didn't groom. So what? Maybe they're hoping for more of a primal experience, right? The rough look. A little blood around the beak is hardly going to hurt.

It doesn't take long to find that look. And when it happens, she approaches the pony.

She doesn't care what they look like. Gender is irrelevant, and species almost so. It does help if they're a pegasus, of course. They could never be the right pegasus, but that lets the griffon tell herself that she's practicing. Getting ready for that true first time, when all of the experience will let her be at her best, and Rainbow will...

They're shy. Because they're ponies, and that's usually just another word for 'afraid'. But it usually fades when she makes her intentions clear.

Followed by the price.

The annoying ones are those who actually inquire about her escort's license.

She's vaguely aware of how the pony nation manages such things. She's extremely knowledgeable for one subcategory of the information: namely, the fact that such services are inherently limited. Because too much of this nation is ponies. That applies to just about every profession under Sun and in this case, especially those which mostly operate under Moon.

Are there any griffon escorts? She's guessing... not really. She'd bet on the population topping out at two, and 'zero' is the more likely number because the mere prospect of meeting a griffon escort is what gets most of her clients moving. She's filling a completely unoccupied market, as well as what's suddenly becoming a much more urgent need. Curiosity transmutes in a hurry when placed within the crucible of proximity and desire. It becomes hot and hard.

(The interactions are cold and bleak.)

But some of them ask about her license. As if they can afford to be picky. She's a griffon. She's willing to be a griffon for them. With them. Shouldn't that be enough?

She knows a little about pony escorts. For starters, she's aware that getting the license requires several moons of classes. Why is that necessary for having sex? And she's lost so much time already, so much time without Rainbow, this lets her practice and maybe she gets a pegasus mare on a given night and she can pretend that pegasus is...

Some will ask about her license. She's come up with a few excuses. She left the paperwork at home. (No interaction ever goes to her home, because that would mean having one.) Does it look like she can carry anything in her total lack of outfit? Or she just recites a number. No matter what she's done, it's worked for her.

(She's been lucky.)

The truly (and abruptly) bold try to negotiate. She only goes along with that if it gets them out of the club all the faster. Away from the stupid herd.

But this pony isn't too bright. Curious, but... not smart. Almost on the level of the inferior, although dropping the rest of the way down would take some work. Still, it's enough to make the griffon briefly wonder if the pony can think it all.

It doesn't matter. She can think for the pony.

They start to leave the club, abandoning one source of endless wrongness for what should be a lesser infliction. She makes sure to brush feathers against fur. The pony seems to like that.

Think for this mare.
For Rainbow, when the time comes.
Practice.

(And she wakes up in the bed after and it isn't Rainbow it's never Rainbow no matter what she does and she stalks out as her head and wings droop and she has to do it again and again and...)
(The person she is -- that's all she has...)

She'll do anything to make it happen.

(There's one link left.)
(Only one.)

Labor towards the goal. To be with the one she loves. For a lifetime.
To make Rainbow recognize that it's been love all along.
Perhaps she'll love enough for two, for a time. Until it's real.
And then they'll both be free.

Gilda goes to work.

Screwed By Popular Demand

There might have been a trick to striking up some level of casual chat with a rookie, and Thunderlane really wished he knew what it was. When it came to the new colt --

-- stallion. Zephyr was an adult. There was just something about being around the rookie which insisted on lowering the age for any designation --

-- the problem might have been in dealing with a male. Thunderlane frequently thought of himself as a mare's stallion, at least in the sense that he was more comfortable around them. He casually dealt with the majority population in his everyday life, and when it came to anything more intimate...

He'd been with Firefly for a while. The general consensus around the settled zone was that somepony was getting close to proposing, and most of the bets were coming in on her because when it came to that pairing, she was obviously the bolder.

Thunderlane found it easy to be around mares: no longer having to interact through veils of attraction and fantasy only helped. He had stallion friends, but all of them were on the weather team. And he spent a lot of time with his brother because when you found a colt as determined to creatively wreck himself as Rumble, somepony had to be around to intercept at the future crash site.

But he wasn't a Ponyville native. His family had moved to the settled zone while he'd been in weather college, and he'd requested the assignment as a way of spending more time with his much younger sibling: in the pre-Bearer era, the Bureau had mostly looked at it as a convenient way of having anypony voluntarily choose Ponyville. But it had put him under the command of Passing Shower, and...

...he... didn't want to think about that too much. Passing was gone. From Passing to Passepartout, to use the Prench: a skeleton key which had unlocked its own removal.

Thunderlane wasn't a native. (He'd still been in Ponyville for longer than many, and had picked up a few pieces of precious knowledge along the way. 'Don't interrupt Pinkie on her day off' could save lives.) He didn't have old school friends living in the area, he hung out with the weather team, and he preferred the company of mares. Trying to make any level of connection with a new col -- stallion... it had been a while. Which made it easier to let the rookie start.

Zephyr's personal choice of topics was rather limited.

"So you're not doing anything with your mane."

Thunderlane executed a hovering shrug. "It just looks like this when I get up in the morning."

"Seriously?"

"Ever since secondary school."

The rookie didn't snort. Something about his snout suggested the nostrils didn't have enough surrounding muscle power for the job. Instead, he just looked out at the billow of clouds which blanketed most of the sky over Golden Harvest's farm.

"And this is just us," Zephyr checked. "For the whole job."

"It's basic cloud dispersal," Thunderlane said. "Taking care of strays." Not that these were strays. Thunderlane suspected Rainbow was sending Zephyr through the flight course of her own original durance, and Passing had started her on cloud breakup. His boss had likely been out to the farm before they'd arrived: giving Goldie notice, followed by setting up the job.

Which meant the boss had gotten up early for this.

"Two of us for all this," Zephyr failed to take the point. "Seriously?"

"The sooner we start," Thunderlane told him, "the sooner we can wrap it up."

There was still no snort. Several ribs shifted along the rookie's torso, and did so in a way which suggested they'd just discovered the capacity.

"Fate of all stallions." The tone was almost philosophical.

"Sorry?"

"We do whatever the best-looking mare says." Wings languidly flapped, and Zephyr slowly moved in on the first cloud.

There was a certain trick to picking a good time for speaking with Fluttershy, and Fleur was still trying to master the finer details.

Trying to directly confront her love had a good chance to backfire. There were times when the pegasus simply didn't want to talk about something just yet, and she had very little trouble in going silent: in fact, the only thing easier than assuming that state was maintaining it.

You couldn't corner her. She was very good at wriggling out of them. Fluttershy could usually find a way to get past walls, and a mare who was considerably stronger than she looked had been known to make the occasional attempt at going through.

It was possible to sneak up on a topic. Begin by discussing something else entirely, slowly steer the rudder of the conversation until it was oriented Due Stress. But the pegasus would sometimes pick up on the shifts, and Fleur was a less than ideal captain for any verbal sail.

(She still had to look up 'keelhauling', if only to find out if it could potentially be applied to her current problems. Ponyville did have rivers and a few small lakes. Everything else was presumably just a matter of arrangement.)

When it came to topics which the pegasus preferred to remain buried, talking to Fluttershy was hard. Especially when Fleur knew that bringing something up would upset her love, potentially hurt her --

-- Miranda acted as if it was easy. You were in love with somepony, you lived with them, and so talking just had to come naturally. It didn't. Not when you wanted that love to remain intact. But there were subjects which they had to discuss, and -- realistically, one of them would have been coming up without Zephyr. Approaching with the inevitability of advancing time.

It felt like a possible vector. And so Fleur waited until they were both in the surgery.

The procedure was about as basic as they came, and could almost be considered as common. Various companion species defined 'consumable' as 'anything my pony isn't currently looking at': having the object also be digestible was apparently optional. Add in the inevitable swallowing of fur during self-grooming, and felines were particularly prone to intestinal blockages.

Removal of the obstruction had been a fairly minor thing. Fluttershy had specialized jaw-held clamps to give her fine control of the scalpel, along with the sterile wire which was used for hooking the mass. Magnifying lenses allowed her to see what she was doing on the smallest scale, and Fleur -- mostly observed, because she was a student and her lessons hadn't quite reached this stage yet.

She would likely wind up working with the tools. A unicorn's field could do a lot, but... asking it to operate on very small objects could produce its own form of strain, along with triggering a headache because she was essentially asking her brain to squint. The magnifying lenses would be required no matter what she did, because Fleur couldn't readily affect any object which couldn't be seen or identified. Blind grabs had their own consequences, and when it came to moving one thing which was fully inside another... no.

The unicorn was taking instruction. Along with holding the borders of the careful little wound open with twin lines of soft glow and keeping the sleeping ragdoll perfectly still, because that were two less things for the pegasus to worry about.

The mask-covered mouth carefully adjusted tooth pressure. A little hook of wire moved forward, and then a mass of dripping elastics slowly slid into sight. A cautious movement deposited it on a waiting tray.

Fluttershy released the tool grip.

"...poor Sophie," were the first free words. "I don't think her pony is going to use mane bands any more." With a soft sigh, "At least these were small. Any larger, and they might have gotten stuck in the esophagus. And then..."

Fleur silently nodded. An esophagus obstruction would have been another surgery. One not quite so basic, with the clock potentially counting down a life.

"...do you want to stitch?" Fluttershy asked.

"Yes."

Fleur shifted position slightly, got a better view and allowed her corona to fetch needle and thread. Doing three things at once now...

"...you could try the first stitch by mouth," Fluttershy suggested. "You're getting better on the dolls. See how this goes..."

The unicorn shook her head. "I'm within my limits." Her field dexterity wasn't exactly low. "I'd rather get more practice in first." And I can't talk clearly with the gripper in my mouth. "Let's see..."

The needle was threaded. Sterile metal pierced flesh, weaving in and out. Clean white thread began to acquire stains.

Careful. This is basic, but... be careful.
Let the words come. Talk as if I'm completely focused on Sophie.
While being just about completely focused on Sophie.

It was basic surgery. But it was also a life. And you couldn't trust to luck. Luck would turn on you.

She risked a brief glance at her love, and saw two blue-green eyes return the favor. Fluttershy's mane had been pulled back for this, but -- the pegasus was wearing a mask. Fleur still couldn't see the whole of her face.

When you love somepony, you effectively inherit aspects of their life...

She needed to learn more about her dowry.

"I've been wanting to talk about your parents," Fleur quietly began.

"...why?" was, perhaps, a little too natural.

"Because it's all getting closer," the unicorn reminded her. "We'd be talking about this anyway. More than we have. About what they're like." She kept the pause brief. "About what it was like to grow up with them."

"...because of everything," Fluttershy softly said.

The unicorn nodded. The pegasus took a slow breath.

"...we'd be talking about this anyway," she considered. "Except..." Wing joints loosened. "...now Zephyr's tangled up in it, isn't he?"

"He's tangled up in your past," Fleur carefully responded. "But maybe we can keep him there."

If I can just...

Her love sighed.

"...you were a little too good with your timing," the occupant of the guardian link decided. With a sort of morose bemusement, "I can't go anywhere right now, can I?"

The cottage takes over. But there are times when I can use that.
Let it keep her talking...

But at first, there was only silence. The needle moved, and the deepest of the small wounds began to close.

"...all right," Fluttershy finally said. "For a little while. Not too long, because there's another patient waiting for us. And you have to go into town... are you still meeting Caramel later?"

Fleur nodded. Errands, Caramel, and then the letter. Waited.

With a soft sigh, "...it's... almost funny. I don't think about them very often. I... almost can't."

Carefully, "Why not?"

It's not abuse.
I remember everything Snowflake told me, and I don't think he was wrong.
It's not abuse.
Please don't let it be --

"...because I love them," the pegagus quietly voiced. "So when I think about them... I get scared. You know they're stormbreakers, Fleur. Part of the team which Equestria sends all over the world, to help the other nations. If it's a hurricane, a blizzard, something which has to be stopped before people get hurt... they go in." It was an exceptionally shallow breath. "You have to be strong to be a stormbreaker. Dedicated. Willing to take chances. You have to realize that..."

Both eyes closed.

"...that you might not come back. And then go out anyway. Every time. What was it like growing up with them, Fleur?" Yellow feathers softly rustled. "I didn't."

"Your parents are with the IST, right?" It was as good an opening line as any. And any IST kid was going to have stories. The International Stormbreaker Team were the heroes of the Bureau. The best of the best --

"Yeah."

It had been a rather flat tone, and had carried somewhat less impact than the rookie's hooves as they went into another cloud.

Thunderlane had been watching Zephyr's breaking technique. It was effective, and there was some raw power behind it -- but it was oddly basic. Impact, push, and move away from the spreading wisps. There was no style to it.

...then again, it was possible that he'd been watching the boss for so long as to forget that stunt-free fundamentals existed.

It was a basic use of the magic. It was also incomplete. Zephyr was breaking up the clouds, but he wasn't dispersing the underlying humidity. Without that... the area would look clear for a few hours at best, and then most of the billow would just coalesce again.

Maybe he was going to do all of the moisture at once, at the very end. That might have even been how the IST did it. Thunderlane wasn't sure. Most of what he knew about the team's operations was that he wasn't qualified to be part of them. His strength and skill allowed him to work for a regional weather team. It took somewhat more than that to go international. The boss could probably pull it off, but Thunderlane would have needed multiple illegal boosters and at least six head injuries just to believe he could keep up for five minutes.

"So what's that like?"

Zephyr paused.

The hover was somewhat unsteady in the air. His body wandered left and right, never quite coming back to center.

"Having stormbreaker parents?"

"I'm guessing they told you a lot of stories about the big stuff --"

"-- every storm's the same," Zephyr said, and boredom saturated sodden air. "So's every story. They go out. They save someone. Lots of someones. Then they do it again. For years. That's the IST. You do one thing, and you do it far away." The stallion shrugged. "So anyway... you got a marefriend?"

Thunderlane managed to pull a nod together.

With quadrupled interest, "Does she know anypony who wants to hook up?"

"...it's a big world," Fluttershy slowly began, and Fleur heard a soft swishing as the tail began to sway. "And every part of it has a storm season. There isn't very much magic which predicts weather. It's usually a pegasus domain, and... why does a pegasus need to predict when they can control? Most of what's out there almost feels like it's just a really good guess. With a kick behind it."

Fleur, listening while she moved the needle, decided it was a bad time to bring up meteorology.

"...unless you're out there on your own," the pegasus quietly continued. "And all you can do is predict, because changing things would take more pegasi than a foreign nation has. Or you're using a wonder, one of the old ones, and it just... tells you that something bad might be coming. Or they just see it, because there's signs when it's a big storm forming, especially over water. Things which can reach the shoreline days before." With a soft sigh, "International communication is... hard. Sending word to Equestria, asking for help so it has a chance to get there in time... that's closer to impossible. But there's a few ways. Only a few. Things which only get used in a crisis, because... most of them are too old to repair, or make any more of because no one understands them. So they ask, and... every part of the world has a storm season, Fleur. At least one. And when you add all of them together... it makes a year."

Decibels dropped away.

"...it makes a lifetime. I didn't grow up with my parents, Fleur. I grew up with aunts and uncles and friends of the family who could watch me for a while. Some of them moved in short-term, because we did have a home. But there were times when I got sent to them. And after Zephyr was born... it was 'we'."

The surgery was always a little cold: something which made it slightly easier to maintain sterility. It now seemed to be growing colder.

"They must have been home at least some of the time," Fleur didn't quite argue. "There isn't always an emergency --"

"-- some," Fluttershy quietly agreed. "The longest I can remember was two moons." Paused. "The longest one I can't remember was probably at least six."

"Can't --"

"-- he was always there," her love softly stated. "I can't remember any time when I didn't have a brother. So I don't remember when my mother was pregnant. The IST sends mares home when they're pregnant and for the ones who might forget to mention it, that happens when they start to show. So at least six moons." The sigh was barely audible. "And then there would have been a birth, she would have taken care of him for a while, and -- there would have been another summons. There's always another summons, and they go out every time because there's so few ponies who qualify for the IST. So few ponies for one of the most dangerous jobs there is, to help a big world, and... I'm lucky, Fleur. Not to have heroes as parents, because I know that's what they are. I'm lucky because they kept coming back. It just didn't mean they would come home the next time. Or the next, or the next..."

Every feather shivered. Fleur forced herself to stare at the needle. Sophie was important --

"...I don't think about them very often now," Fluttershy sadly offered, "because when I do -- I think this is going to be the time when they don't come back. And then I'm scared, and it's not a fear I can fight because there's nothing I can do to stop it. There's always going to be storms, and they'll always go out. Until the day they both retire, or... don't come back. And when you're a filly, and your parents are just about all you have..."

A trembling form pressed itself against Fleur's right flank.

"...being a filly," her love said, "was being afraid."

"You want to know about the boss?"

"And if she's with anypony," Zephyr announced with open eagerness. "And if you've heard anything about what she likes. Or what she's like." And because it was only innuendo until you openly defined it, "Especially once she really gets going."

Thunderlane carefully consisted his answer, employment and, in the event that anything got back to Rainbow, his potential remaining lifespan.

Zephyr didn't really talk about his parents or the IST. But he had a level of fascination with mares and sex which was normally only found in either the adolescents who'd just been introduced to both concepts -- or a stallion who was coming off the kind of dry spell which evaporated oceans. This particular specimen had created a rather difficult judgment call.

Going over random Ponyville residents had been awkward enough -- well, mostly random. Zephyr had a clear and open preference for pegasi, and he very obviously hadn't spotted Joyous yet. Ponies who spotted Joyous would either immediately inquire about her dating status or have a freshly-sulking rejection story to pass on. But Thunderlane had no intention of discussing Rainbow's sexual exploits. The weather team collectively treated their coordinator's sex life as the stuff of legends: to wit, there was a very good chance that the consequences of her bedroom actions would lie dormant for a thousand years and then come close to destroying the world.

"She's not dating right now," still felt as if it was risking his life. "And that's all I've got." A little more quickly, "Why don't you ask your sister for some names?" Fluttershy knew a lot of attractive mares. Admittedly, every Bearer was appealing in a different way, but there was also enough range in the group for at least one pony to trigger curiosity --

-- it turned out that Zephyr could snort. It just happened to make him look like he'd strained something.

"I'm not going to trust her on a mare," the younger stallion instantly said. "She makes bad decisions. All the time. So she's not going to pick a good mare for me."

"Bad decisions," Thunderlane carefully echoed. Hearing that the mare who'd wound up with Fleur wasn't capable of a good pick had left him at a temporary loss for original words.

Aquamarine forelegs briefly gestured, and only did so from the knees down before returning to a low-energy dangle. "She lives on the fringe! When she could live just about anywhere else. Just being on the fringe is a bad decision. That proves she can't make good ones."

Thunderlane took a careful breath.

"It's where she can get space for the animals. It's also where a lot of them are --"

"-- oh, the animals," Zephyr dismissed. "You should have seen her as a filly. Stray birds. Injured ones. Not even pets: wild stuff that just screams at night and takes dumps everywhere. And she's still stuck on that." This snort seemed to pull three non-crucial muscles. "You know what she really does? Some ground-level stuff for the Bureau. For years, without getting promoted or put on another post. Because she's scared and weak and afraid all the time, and it's all she can do. The same as always..."

He stopped. Completely failed to notice Thunderlane's staring, and simply sighed.

"So anyway," Zephyr said, "that's why she needs somepony to take care of her. One of the reasons. Even if some of the animal stuff is --" Paused. "So anyway, that's why I came here. Why I've been traveling for a while. To make sure she's okay. Because she can't be, not when she's alone. She can't take care of herself. She never could. Because she can't do anything."

There were several things which Thunderlane could have said, and every choice would have been wrong. He just felt as if he was going with the most obvious.

"What about her work with the Bearers?"

Zephyr blinked.

"The what?"

"How many aunts and uncles do you have?"

A brief movement behind the mask suggested a tiny smile. "...enough. Maybe you should have been listening a little more when Applejack was getting the list..." Which was followed by a small sigh. "Enough that they could all sort of divide it up. Until I was old enough to stay home by myself. Except that... I wasn't."

"Because of Zephyr." The stitches were now sealing the abdominal wall.

"...yes." On a waft of breath, "And... I was old enough to look after myself, but... that wasn't how it worked. Because of him."

Don't say anything.
Give her a few seconds.
Let her talk...

"...he got his growth spurt early. So he was taller than me, so... well, you know, Fleur. When you're taller, you pass for being older." And with a faintly bitter mutter, "Even though I'm older than you... And him. But he just looked older, and... he was strong, where I was weak. Strong in his magic, like my parents. To some ponies, that meant a lot. And things just... flipped. They thought he was responsible for me. When he wasn't responsible for much of anything. But so many ponies still felt like he was in charge. That he needed to be."

Don't go into that just yet. She's barely audible. Give her a side topic.

"How strong is he? Magically."

"...I don't know. He was tested, we both were, but... nopony showed me his results. And 'stronger' was good enough for him." Her eyes closed again. "I had to work for everything. The smallest effects. There were times when I didn't know if I had any real wind techniques, or if I was just flapping enough to raise a breeze." With a tiny sigh, "Not that I can flap very hard. Twilight still has numbers on that. But for him... it was all so easy."

Fleur leaned a little closer to her love. Tried to take even a little of the true weight --

"-- or maybe," the pegasus abruptly said, "he just did the things which were easy."

The unicorn blinked.

"I don't know what you mean."

"...he did a lot of basics in front of me. Because those were the things I couldn't do. Basics, but... nothing advanced. So I never saw how much he knows past that. Basics were enough for showing off. And Zephyr starts things, but -- he doesn't try very hard, for very long. He's never had to. He... only pays attention to what he thinks is important, for as long as he needs it. Like a student who remembers facts just long enough to write them on the test, except that would mean spending time with the book..."

A little too carefully, "Do you remember that one Summer Sun Celebration from a few years back? The one which... went on a little too long?"

"I haven't seen the dawn part in years," Zephyr proudly said. "I was partying until just before Sun-raising. Then I slept though it. And a lot of hours after. That's the way to do summer."

"Changelings?"

He thought about that. "They do smidgens for bits, right? Or was it the other way around?"

Thunderlane looked to the left. Right. Up, down, back, finished the sphere, and then waited for a flash of light anyway.

"Discord?"

It got a frown. "The name's kind of familiar. That's something from school, right?" Zephyr shrugged. "So it's probably boring. So anyway --"

With subtle desperation, "...centaurs?"

Cerise eyes blinked.

"What are those?"

Thunderlane carefully explained. Zephyr's ears responded by keeping the elaborate mane in place, and might have even had other functions.

"So there's one left," the younger stallion said.

"Yes."

"The female."

"Yes."

"And she's single?"

"...yes..."

"Does she buy anypony drinks?"

"What?"

Zephyr shrugged. "A guy's gotta ask."

"...do you read newspapers?"

"Who cares about newspapers? Who's even got time? Besides, it's not as if half that stuff is real. If something important happened, I'd know."

"How would you --"

"It'd be happening to me."

"So you've never heard of the Bearers at all --"

"-- so anyway," the col -- stallion said, "we were talking about Fluttershy. And if you know anything about her, you'll know why I have to see her. To be here. Somepony's got to keep her safe. So I've got to reach her place. As soon as I can. I just need a good reason."

Thunderlane, whose brain was currently responding to the presence of self-possessed willful ignorance through trying to keep his wings going while the cerebrum reset, allowed his neurons to fire off a few semi-random words.

"You could always get a pet and bring it in for grooming."

Zephyr's tongue and lips united to make a sound. It was very much like 'tiksch!' and as inherently dismissive sounds went, made 'So anyway' into the new diplomatic assignment for Prance.

"I don't need an animal. She's already bringing up the average. But if we're talking about her not being taken care of..."

The younger stallion flew a little closer. Several unnoticed wisps of half-dispersed vapor moved that much closer to each other.

The handsome features were now intent. Focused. Listening.

"...what do you know about Fleur?"

Fluttershy slowly shook her head. Shifted her weight away from Fleur. And with that, the subtopic of Zephyr was closed.

"...my parents love me," she said. "And I love them. But their marks were always going to call them away, Fleur. Every time. Sometimes I think I was conceived because it was something to do between storms..."

The giggle was just barely audible, and at least half a lie.

"...they love me," Fluttershy repeated. "But they don't understand me. They never have, and... they love me anyway. You don't have to understand somepony to love them. Not completely. I was... just too different. I wasn't like them, I wasn't ever going to be, and... they loved me anyway. The money which was supposed to put me through weather college... that paid for the cottage. Because it was what they could do for me."

You don't have to understand somepony to love them.
Someone.
They don't even need to be the same species.
Protocera knows that. But... it's so many different bodies, while all being one heart. You have to accommodate for the bodies, because not all griffons can fly or dominari.

Her adoptive parents had made sure she received unicorn magical training --

-- it wasn't their fault...
So many bodies.
But you know the love is the same.

Snowflake had first said it to Fleur, and now she knew where he'd gotten the words. Parents who loved, but -- didn't understand.

Parents who had almost never been there. And a daughter who was -- afraid.

I don't think they're the sort of people who find out their child has phonophobia and set off thunder over and over because it'll force her to get used to it.

Parents who had almost never been there. And a brother who was seen as having taken over.

"...you'll be better for our daughter," Fluttershy softly reassured her. "You'll love her, Fleur. And you'll be there." The mask contorted, shifted by the strength of the smile. "I know you will. You can close up. I'm going to go tell Aeon that we're clear."

The pegasus turned, moved for the door and silently left.

The glowing needle stitched, as the little cat breathed.

The glow flickered.

One heart.
But this is Equestria.
I can be there for her. I can teach her to recognize knee bend angles and tail tuft elevation as signs of link position, and it won't mean anything. Because she'll have a pony's heart.
I'll love her.
But I won't understand her.

She stabilized the needle. Closed her eyes, waited until the moisture had flowed away, and then finished the stitching.

The letter remained unopened.

Maybe there's some sort of trick to finding the pony you'll be with for the rest of your life. Something which the majority of the herd just knows on instinct, and that makes it feel especially cruel.

Caramel's spent a lot of time in reviewing every instinct he was born with. As far as he can determine, there's definitely one for getting up and trotting, because that kicks in a few seconds after birth. This may have a link to the one for suckling (although that wears off after a while), and there's a definite connection to having certain sights and scents set off This Is Scary And I Need To Run Now because when you're already walking on instinct alone, a gallop isn't exactly an advanced course.

But when it comes to locating a mate... to spotting just the right pony at a glance, letting her know that he's serious and then having her stay...

He's trotting down Ponyville's streets because it's spring, his work shift is finished, there's always new ponies moving into town and... in spring, that's when he really thinks about making that connection. Or rather, it's when the need for the link is strongest. Because there are ways in which Caramel searches constantly -- but for the stallion, the season of birth and renewal is also the one of desperation.

Trotting as casually as he can, looking for a specific category of fresh arrivals. A pegasus mare of roughly his own age, who has nopony with her and... might need a little help. Somepony who'll assist her with settling into the settled zone, and that's a non-joke he's made a few times. Definitely a few too many, because he only tells it to each mare once and ideally, he would have liked to retire it after a single performance.

He looks. But there isn't always somepony to look at and when there is... they don't always look back.

Is it something in the way he's supposed to stand? A special set to the tail? Maybe it's a pitch in the voice which only manifests once, or a scent which subtly wafts from the fur.

It has to be instinct, doesn't it? Something you don't need to think about or work at: it just happens. And if it's an instinct... then it's something Caramel was born without.

He's spent a lot of time trying to chase down what he's missing. Time and money, because there were a lot of magazine ads which promised the answers and once his best friend found out about them, she put a stop to that too.

(He tried protesting. Told her that if enough blurry home-printed pamphlets didn't work, then that just narrowed the category down to the one which would. It was just a matter of gaining experience. She'd stared at him for about a second, then told him that they were going to go find a high cliff. The first of what would be a series, all at near-identical heights. And if he gained experience through flinging himself off enough of them, then surely he'd find the plummet which could be survived.)

Caramel can start a relationship. He's proven that. He actually doesn't have a lot of issues there, at least once you discount the free advice which some mares nose over to new prospects: most of those whom he's dated before feel a certain need to share the gossip and on a bad day, some of it's going to be true. But when it comes to maintaining that connection... to finding that one truly special somepony, and having her stay...

...maybe it's him.

It's got to be him.

He... isn't special. Not the least bit.

Look at him. In theory, he could go into modeling: all that's required is for some genius to create a fully-illustrated dictionary and there he'll be, ready to provide the definitive example for 'average'.

For Sun's sake, he's a brown earth pony, and that's about as common as --

-- he can call it on himself --

-- dirt.

(He has wondered why that fur hue turns up so often among earth ponies. Anypony who somehow thought to consult Discord on the matter might just get a lesson in evolution. So many traits can aid in survival, and a degree of natural protective camouflage in a chaos storm might not hurt. Apparently there were entire flocks of pegasi tilting towards sky-blending hues just before the Princesses won, and you still see fillies like Cotton who get lost against clouds, whitewashed walls, and the occasional designer who just screamed past at top speed.)

What distinguishes him from the herd? Nothing. He doesn't feel his appearance is all that special. (His best friend has been trying to teach him about makeup. He trusts her for the hues, but the powders feel strange in his fur and he's still rubbish at applying it.) Mark and talent? Regarded that way, there's at least five of him in every settled zone, and that only holds true if the region isn't populated enough to move the minimum towards fifty.

And he thought he'd found the perfect manestyle, something which matched perfectly to him. He could carry that for a lifetime, as long as he made regular stops at the groomer for maintenance because when that kind of hold failed, it tended to do so with a minor blast radius. And then a certain unicorn...

What makes him special?
Worth being with?
Worth staying with?
Worth... having foals with...

...nothing.

Oh, he does have at least one relatively uncommon set of skills. Experience made him really good at acquiring short-term loans. Some of them were used to keep up interest payments on other loans, at least for those times when he wasn't putting off his rent in order to let those bits take the job. Caramel knows how to build a financial house of cards in a way which allows all of the paper to support itself, right up until the first wind gust hits. And that was necessary, because there's nothing impressive about him, there's nothing special he can give of himself and in that case, there's going to be a gift. Gifts. Enough to do some heavy relationship hauling on their own.

...once. They did that once. The automata he ordered from Mazein for Ratchette could haul a wagon. In a straight line. For a while. Until it bumped into something big enough to put it off-course, and then it would mechanically haul its burden along what it couldn't truly see as the non-road until it bumped into something else. Like a wall. And because it had been built by minotaurs, it would keep right on going because one wall wasn't going to stop it. Neither did four. It had just about reached the other side of the house...

...some of the gossip is true. Just isolate the most embarrassing parts.

The gifts had to impress on his behalf. Speaking for him would have been nice. They didn't spend for him because that was his job, but they did keep the cards teetering. He'd thought he was good with expensive gifts...

...a certain unicorn stopped that too.

He stops. Looks at a mare, smiles. She doesn't pay it any heed and after a few seconds, his legs try to move on.

...she's new. So maybe she's seen him with Fleur. And doesn't know about Fluttershy yet. Maybe she just thinks...

...the funny thing is that there are those who envy him. For Fleur. Because he has the occasional company of the settled zone's most beautiful mare -- it's Fleur or Joyous, and the debates over who's truly in first can keep a bar open well past the mandated closing time -- and doesn't that mean he's doing something right?

Except that they're friends.
Just friends.
(He knows she's beautiful. But she's not a pegasus. Any softness Fleur might possess can't extend into feathers. She can't perch on vapor and be free from the pull of the world. Also, her horn is a biological menace and he's trying not to pull back when she leans in, but why did somepony who's already larger than the average have to pick up some extra length there?)
And when you're friends with Fleur...

...he's average, and Caramel feels that includes his own intelligence. But you'd have to be a lot stupider than the median in order to spend that much time around Fleur and not recognize how controlling she is. Especially when he's been on the receiving end for over a year. She's reworked his budget, she tries to supervise the advancement of his relationships (and how hopeless is he, that having a professional escort as consultant isn't making anything last?), and she can't even stay out of his mane --

-- it's... just who she is.

(He didn't find out about the 'escort' thing immediately. Fleur doesn't talk about herself very much, and he's never heard her bring up any part of her life before Canterlot. Which is fine, because Caramel doesn't want to think about everything which happened before he committed to Ponyville. The local gossip is bad enough. He doesn't need to have any portion of the more distant variety following him.)

If you're friends with Fleur (and how many are? Maybe it's just him, Rainbow, and the police chief), then... you spot it after a while. She can talk about a lot of things (and he knows she's smarter than he is, tries not to resent it too often), but she's not very good with sentences along the lines of 'I like you'. Going all the way to 'You're my friend' isn't casual for her. Trying to seize the reins on somepony's life is how Fleur shows she cares. Because she's trying to make that life better.

Which doesn't mean it can't become really annoying. Fleur seems to feel she has the right to run herd over him...

...she cares. She just doesn't show it in the same way as other mares. She's not very much like other mares at all...

...well, of course she isn't. This one's stayed.

He saw her earlier today. She came into the shop just before his lunch break. Checking on him. They talked outside for a while, in full public view. And it creates a rather common mistake, because...

...what does the herd think somepony like her sees in him? Caramel can't even begin to guess. But newcomers to the settled zone spot them in close proximity and assume they're together.

The tendency to boss him around probably doesn't help with that.

But they're just friends.

She's company.

Life needs company. Because for Caramel, value is found in others. In how they feel about you, and how much you love them. And he's a brown earth pony of average appearance, with a common talent, who works in a candy shop, and he doesn't even have a particularly notable mane any more. He's just...

...single.

He moves through the streets. Looking for the new. For a smile and soft feathers, because he doesn't want to be alone.

(He can't be alone for long.)

But smiles are hard to find. It's a day where nopony even seems to be looking back. And he moves differently when he's alone. It's like the ground is pulling at his hooves with extra force, trying to drag him down and under and now he's alone on the streets, there isn't even a herd for company and --

-- if there's an instinct for finding the one who will stay, then nature was cruel. It's something he lacks, and is it even possible to acquire that which should have been present at birth? But there are things which can be learned, and he's become very attuned to the sound of approaching wings.

Different wings --

-- the griffon lands in front of him. Soft feathers rustle as the limbs refold.

"Hey!"

A word meant to gain attention. (As if her landing hadn't done it already.) Because she's speaking to Caramel. Looking directly at him. Huge golden eyes seem to drink him in.

His breath catches in his throat, and does so as his nostrils flare.

Her beak parts. Just a little.

This turns out to be a smile.

If Your Teapot Had A Sex Drive...

When it came to perspective, Fleur generally got to experience the so-called 'wisdom of the herd' from the outside. This usually meant doing her best to puzzle out just how much of an oxymoron was present in any given example while pretending that she'd been standing somewhere near the center all along. Somepony would begin to pass along a piece of false knowledge with an opening like 'Well, you know what everypony says!' And then the Protoceran would have to stand in place and politely nod, all the while hoping that the Equestrian propensity to repeatedly state the obvious was going to lead into being given actual details regarding the newest piece of idiocy.

The herd believed itself to know a lot of things, and having so many extra minds to draw on still didn't seem to lead into anything approaching actual thought. When it came to true observation, Solomon Short had been rather obviously capable of outclassing an entire herd -- and there had (just as obviously) been only one of him. Most of what the herd convinced itself was knowledge arrived in the form of a sonic wall: repeat the same 'fact' enough times, and maybe you could keep reality out.

And when it came to what the herd thought it knew about animal companions...

'The pet is a mirror of the pony.'

That little nugget of pyrite had been readily delivered into cottage custody and because the herd seemed to believe that 'facts' were delivered on subscription, it arrived a few times per moon. And no matter how many times the words were repeated into Fleur's pretending-to-be-interested lofted ears, they continued to be wrong.

...mostly wrong.

The part about pets and ponies looking alike pretty much never held up: the mane was generally going to be a problem, and numerous animals encountered issues with the frequent wing requirement. Where you generally saw the first hints of reflection was in personality, because companions typically learned from the one who was most dominant in their lives and when that happened, certain aspects of behavior could be treated as a model. An ideal to aspire towards, because the animal lacked the capacity to recognize that they were making a horrible mistake.

Take Thistle Burr, and one persistent rumor claimed there was a financial incentive for making the attempt. Namely, if another settled zone managed to both lure the stallion away and got him to stay there, then Ponyville would gladly make a donation to their region: more than enough to cover the upcoming regionally-filed complaint form printing costs. Some of those funds would have been provided by citizens, the rest was supposedly a permanent part of the mayor's budget and no matter how much the total amounted to, it wasn't enough to bribe the rest of the continent into taking the chance. Because the payment might have been impressive, but the price was Thistle Burr.

He was, in many ways, a pony of utter consistency. Name something, and Thistle would find a way to hate it. He was rather naturally against the tyrannical control exerted by the Diarchy. Rainbow had been an early enemy: just about everypony in the settled zone was a potential contributor to the Almost Killed Her total -- but Thistle hadn't even managed to completely exit the train. It was easy for him to hate the Bearers. And in what had been a fully literal case of guilt by association, he'd been more than capable of extending the tail lash of disdain to Fleur.

Thistle filed endless complaints with Town Hall, along with sending letters to the editors of multiple newspapers: with the latter category, he boldly signed his name because a stallion who felt the government controlled everything was also fully confident in its ability to track down where Anonymous Stallion actually lived. And when it came to those who tried to offer him words of reason, pleas which might somehow find a way to get through... he didn't know what they had to say, but it made no difference anyway. Whatever it was, he was against it.

(He would always counter any arguments intended to make him see the error of his ways, and do so with utter vehemence -- but if anypony truly wished to see Thistle's temper, or even get him to stand against them -- all they had to do was talk about personally getting rid of whoever he disliked. After all, they were his to hate.)

And Thistle had a dog.

A border collie. One which seemed to actively enjoy barking, growling, and taking snaps at anypony who wasn't Thistle. Fleur had gotten to experience that close up, because he brought his canine to the cottage. He'd done so for years, because why shouldn't he put Fluttershy through having to deal with that pet? (And until Fleur had stepped in, he'd done so while regularly skipping out on the bills.) The pegasus could understand the collie, speak with it and just like the pony, it didn't want to listen.

It also maintained borders. Constantly. Thistle's personal variety of full disagreement hadn't quite reached the madness known as Sovereign Citizen, but the collie had already dedicated its yard patrols to a constant defense for The Kingdom Of Loathing. And multiple ponies had said that with Thistle as its owner, there was no other way that the canine could have turned out.

There were times when the pet did reflect the pony. Other pairings offered more of a contrast.

Take Rainbow and Tank. (The tale of how the two had come together was one of the few Bearer stories which Fleur had been told without censorship or getting 'classified' involved -- and they'd still had a long talk about never bringing any innocent animals that close to quarry eels again.) The tortoise was remarkably calm. His default response to anything was blinking. This was sometimes followed by movement, and anypony waiting for that to wrap up was probably going to wind up setting aside a few calendar squares. Withdrawing into the shell was considerably faster, but tended to not reverse itself for a while. He was even-tempered, had never been known to snap, and when it came to speed... he got there when he got there. Tortoises generally did.

The fastest pegasus in the settled zone, partnered with one of the slowest animals on the planet. Just about nopony understood how that pairing stayed together -- unless they'd had the chance to see the one true commonality: an unending determination to reach the final goal. For Rainbow, that had started as the Wonderbolts and with Tank... keep up the plodding pace for long enough, and he would eventually be there at her side.

(With the other Bearers... Winona was just as much of a workaholic as her pony. Gummy always came across as being slightly off. A year-plus of having to deal with Angel eventually put Fleur in mind of an angry publicist who was forever trying to control access to his client. Opal was either aggressive, standoffish, or a combination of the two. And she'd seen Owlowiscious a grand total of three times, for a combined observation period of less than four minutes: the strigiforme preferred to hunt for himself, did so at night and during the day, usually tucked himself into a shadowed corner of the tree. Unobserved, unknowable, and barely there. And when it came to herself... Fleur felt she was a little too much on the large side to ever truly be compared to a shrew.)

It was possible to see Rainbow and Tank in each other, although doing so usually took some exposure and quite a bit of squinting.

And then you had the utter opposites.

Warmly, "Hello, Killer."

Bright green eyes stared up at Fleur from the examination table, then executed a languid blink. The tom's sleek black-and-white body stretched: something which started as a dip at midspine and then rippled its way in all directions. This was followed by a sound like fine-toothed clockwork cranked at both over and underspeed. At the same time.

"So this won't take too long," she told the feline. "Not that you ever mind, right?"

The purring stepped up in volume, intensity, and vibratory rate. Portions of the table were now lightly shaking in sympathy.

"Talking to a cat," sneered the bow-wearing pegasus in the room, because that one didn't allow much of anything to pass without commentary.

"So?" Fleur carefully set the trap.

It wasn't spotted. "You've been living here so long," the grayish blue mare snorted, "your mark is getting mixed up. Imagine, thinking you can talk to cats..."

Almost sweetly, "So what's your excuse?"

Flitter's teeth instantly pushed against each other. The little internal war quickly ended at stalemate. Killer simply wandered a little farther forward on the table, stared up at Fleur, and let the purring become that much louder.

With Flitter... for a good portion of the settled zone, she would be one of the ponies whom newcomers heard about long before meeting her: this was usually because those with previous experience would be trying to offer warning. She sometimes struck Fleur as being the sort of mare who was happiest when everypony else was miserable: in what the Protoceran felt to be the most hoped for case, that misery would have descended on a tide of Flitter's recently-spoken words. Flitter enjoyed sentences which could kick, and tended to exit the area well before anypony decided to let their hooves offer a response.

She was part of the weather team, and Fleur assumed this was despite popular demand. She used her off-hours to happily trot around Ponyville (because there were more victims to be found at ground level) while making commentary on the scenery, the residents, and Current Events: the nature of the settled zone meant that when it came to the final category, she never ran out of material.

Flitter always knew how to do everything better than whoever had actually done it -- if that action had already been taken. She also came with a host of alternative options, all of which could no longer be put into play. She had advice regarding new ways of looking at the world: those who made the mistake of listening tended to wind up staring at the interior of their own skulls. Flitter liked to shake ponies up --

-- and the Protoceran had decided it was a dominance game. One where the sole active player had very little concept of what the actual moves were supposed to be.

Which, as far as Equestrians were concerned, didn't really matter. In the eyes of the herd, Flitter could be casually cruel, frequently thoughtless, and came across to the majority of ponies who hadn't been able to avoid her the second time around as an utter bitch.

She was also on her second cat.

It was rare for ponies to choose a cat as their companion. Part of that scarcity came from the natural reluctance to deal with predators. Dogs managed to make up for it with a combination of servility, open adoration, and a general willingness to eat whatever their pony put into the bowl. Cats, however... they tended to be aloof. Many would treat their pony as exactly that: theirs, and since my kneading woke you up, servant, go fetch me a drink. And when it came to eating, they would take what they'd been given. Sometimes. Followed by going on the hunt anyway, and proudly showing their pony exactly what they'd found. Some of it would still be wriggling.

Most ponies wouldn't consider bringing a cat into their residence, and Flitter had a cloud house. That meant finding one of the few unicorns who could cast the permanent version of the cloudwalking spell (which had a weight limit, and adult ponies were well over it), paying for the enchantment, going through moons of rigorous vapor edge training, and adding all of those factors to everything else which had to be done during the first year -- which in Flitter's case, included teaching Killer how to walk on a leash.

Why had she chosen a cat? In Fleur's opinion, it was for the pleasure of seeing the reactions when she went out in public with what had been intended as an open, shameless predator.

The pleasures of being with a predator.
Fluttershy had chosen...
...Fleur didn't feel like she should think about that one too much.

Killer had been picked from his litter because he was healthy and ready to be trained. But as much as anything else, he'd been claimed because Flitter had believed his presence in the settled zone would put ponies through disturbing thoughts. And she'd been absolutely right.

It was just that the unsettling new concept which had been echoing within Ponyville worked out to 'I think I might want a cat.'

Killer was the rare young adult feline who'd kept just about all of his kitten curiosity, and it turned his default response towards the new into 'Who's that?' And having asked himself that question, he would then stretch out his leash in the name of investigation. Slipping it had been mastered before he'd reached his first half-year.

He was utterly fascinated by foals. Killer would jump into any unattended pram, curl up next to the infant, and decide this was his to protect. The foal generally responded to the presence of a cuddly vibrating heat engine through falling asleep, while parents typically needed to be on the receiving end of a rather hasty explanation.

The feline seemed to have an unerring instinct for recognizing when any given animal was somepony's companion, and accepted their presence accordingly. Stray birds got stared at. An avian in the cottage could perch on his head without a care. He'd once been found standing guard over a mischief of pinkies, and Fleur was still trying to work out why any long-term Ponyville resident who initially heard that story needed to be told it was the term for a group of baby mice. Up to six times, until the shaking went away.

The mare, by contrast...

...when it came to Flitter, it was possible to do a lot of contrast. For example, Fleur sometimes compared her to Joyous. Both mares had decided that their source for veterinary services was going to be the cottage -- but Flitter came to the grounds because trying to make that potential house call came with a few problems. A significant percentage of the population was attracted to Joyous -- a pegasus mare who had real trouble with allowing others to speak with her. And there had been ponies who were interested in Flitter, but that state typically only maintained until she talked back.

(Fleur wasn't entirely sure as to exactly what the intermittent relationship between Flitter and Cloudchaser was, and had tentatively decided it had been based in the ability to occasionally put up with each other. Conversations might not even be involved.)

But for the truest contrast -- a word which existed one hoofwidth away from 'conflict' -- Killer, perhaps in spite of his mare's best efforts, loved the world and everypony in it. Flitter... did not.

Those who came across Killer would generally exit the encounter with questions regarding what they truly wanted as a pet. Just about anypony who spoke to Flitter for a few minutes would start to wonder if there was any way to change their tastes in a partner. On the species level.

But the pegasus cared about the feline. You didn't reach your second cat unless you truly felt that way.

(She never talked about what had happened to the first.)

Flitter truly loved Killer.

It didn't change the fact that she was an utter bitch.

The session was fairly standard: check Killer's paws, make sure his teeth were fine, examine for general health and any changes in condition. The majority of cats, when being prodded on that level, would need to be wrapped up within a great length of cloth: that way, only one pointy (and immobilized) end was available at any time. Killer generally let Fleur know that she'd gone a little too far with a head tilt, yawn, and slight decrease in purr volume.

She did occasionally need to use her field for levitating him back to the examination table. There were a lot of ponies and animals in the waiting area, and he hadn't met some of them yet.

Flitter watched. She seldom let Killer out of her sight for very long.

"I wanted Fluttershy," the pegasus eventually said. "Not you."

"She's busy." Killer could be managed by anyone with knowledge of the basics and the willingness to hoof-stroke fur every so often. The hognose snake in the side room was more of a specialty case.

With an undertone of mutter, "She's always busy."

She's busy because I'm the one who usually fills out the appointment book. And when I saw Flipover and Killer were going to be here on the same day, I decided she needed to deal with the hognose.

Fleur, by contrast, had taken the snake.

"You're welcome to reschedule," Fleur calmly offered. "But since I'm already halfway through, that would mean charging you for two visits."

The non-muttering got a little louder.

"I need to schedule for next moon anyway," the pegasus eventually said. "Book me on the way out."

That got Fleur's attention. Flitter was exceptionally cautious about Killer's health -- 'paranoid' also would have been fair -- but to have a mere single moon pass between appointments...

"Any particular reason?" Fleur wasn't seeing any signs of trouble, but the pegasus was with the feline every day --

"-- reproductive health check," Flitter evenly stated.

The unicorn very carefully failed to blink.

"Because if that works out, then he's going to start fathering kittens soon," the pegasus casually added. "You do have some idea of how many ponies have been asking me about that, don't you? They're hoping his personality is in the blood. And if there's a litter, they want to know about it. Adopt. It obviously won't be in time for the cottage's so-called event, but..." The wings spread slightly, refolded. "I've been scouting for queens. Good matches." With a small snort, "Obviously not Opal..."

Queen. In this case, it meant an adult female cat of breeding age. It was a word which Fleur hardly ever heard used in Equestrian -- and when the rare term did appear, it more typically did so with a snarl.

"So I need to make sure he's capable and ready," Flitter continued. "To have children." A thin smile appeared, then precisely aimed itself at Fleur. "So many children..."

Don't react.

It had the potential to be an attack. But Fleur didn't know whether Ponyville was aware that she and Fluttershy were trying. They hadn't exactly been talking about it in public, and... actually, she wasn't sure how many of the Bearers knew. The group was certainly aware that they were having sex (and in Twilight's case, arguably didn't want to know that much), but it was possible that everypony hadn't been informed about the visits to Dr. Mester's office.

Still... there had been scant times when Flitter seemed to have a little extra information. The contrasting majority usually had her make something up and watch to see if anypony jumped.

The unicorn rebaited the trap.

"He does provide a good example," Fleur admitted.

Flitter's rib cage swelled with breath and pride. "Of how wonderful cats can be --"

"-- of just how much sex you can get from having a great personality."

There was a certain degree of hiss in the air. Fleur briefly wondered if Flipover had made a break for it, then identified the source as an exhale being pushed out between tightly-clenched teeth.

And there's another contrast.
One of you is getting laid.

"I'll make sure you two are booked on the way out," Fleur promised. "Ponyville could use a few more Killers running around. If they're properly trained."

The cat purred. Fleur worked. Flitter, temporarily silenced, watched.

"How's the schedule for the rest of the day?" the pegasus eventually asked.

"Full for a few hours," Fleur admitted. "Even if you could come back, we can't squeeze you in." And I'm not going to add you to the end of the day. There's too much else going on. With not-so-faint guilt, I still haven't opened that letter. Maybe if we wrap up a little early...

Flitter was watching her. Fleur shrugged. "Next moon would be easier --"

"-- so you're stuck inside for a while?"

Part of escort training had concerned small talk. It was just that with Flitter, tiny syllables had the potential to sport a considerable degree of edge. "Yes. Which isn't the worst thing, with this weather schedule. At least you've got the waterproof saddlebags for him --"

With just a little too much casualness for ready belief, "-- still giving Caramel dating advice?"

That's a switch.
Actually, that's more of a razorwhip.

Flitter was a pegasus who possessed a degree of physical attractiveness and accordingly, she'd been through the opening stages of The Caramel Experience. It had just been one of the rare times when the stallion had been the one who'd called it off and as with everything else in the mare's life, that offense hadn't been forgiven.

Spring the trap. If something had happened...

"Here and there." It wasn't exactly a secret.

"So you won't see him for at least a few hours."

"I wasn't planning to see him at all today --"

Smugly, as wing joints shifted into a ready position for getting out of the way, "-- so what's your advice for your not-coltfriend on dating the griffon?"

I can't turn my tail towards anything for five minutes...!

Getting the chance to reorient, make her excuses, clear the cottage, and gallop for Ponyville had required nearly four hours.

It hadn't been enough time for the weather to change. The Bureau had scheduled something which the schedule insisted upon describing as a 'spring mist': the actual effect was like constantly moving through the impact spray of the world's largest waterfall. A single hoofstep outside, taken for checking on the state of the clouds, would leave you somewhat damp. Any short trip quickly led to saturation. Moving for Ponyville at her best hoof speed while having left the back-mounted umbrella behind because the canopy just caught the air and created drag...

At the highest levels, humidity created trickles in the lungs. Fleur arrived in Ponyville with tiny streams flowing out of her fur. Tributaries dripped from her mane and tail. And to make matters that much worse, every now-slowed hoofstep she took through the town, in full sight of the gaping spectators who were heading back from work, risked bringing back the wet look.

If I wasn't stuck at the cottage...

Would she have heard about the matter so quickly if it hadn't been for the cottage? She wasn't sure. Flitter had insinuated seeing the two together on the previous day, and that didn't leave a lot of time for notifications. But she'd still been trapped within the pages of the appointment book, and that meant she'd essentially received the right news during hours when she couldn't do anything about it.

The calendar had moved past equinox (and that much closer to the Square): Sun had reclaimed the majority of the clock. But she'd been stuck at the cottage long enough for lowering to become a factor, with cloud-occluded grey fading from the sky as indigo began to close in. Streetlights would be activating themselves at any moment and no matter what she did, Fleur would be returning to the cottage under Moon.

Where is he...?

The candy shop was typically open at this hour: some commuters liked to pick up a few sweets on the way home. But Caramel didn't work every shift, and Bon-Bon adjusted his hours to suit what she felt would be the periods of heaviest sales. He was potentially at the shop, but that wouldn't maintain for long: everything would clear down shortly after hoof traffic from the last major train trotted by. And that would be happening fairly soon.

The shop, his home, a bar, just strolling the streets...
...being carried off by talons and paws --

She had to start somewhere. The shop was closest.

Fleur, in spite of her beauty, had a number of body issues. It was actually fairly common for those who'd grown up in Protocera: when you had a griffon's heart, then something deep down was occasionally going to wonder why nothing else matched. There were times when her own skin felt like an ill-fitted prison, and far too many dreams continued to question where her wings had gone.

She knew she was a pony. It just didn't feel like what she should have been.

...under one of the other hooves, being a unicorn meant that when she came across a shop which was on the verge of closing up for the night, she had a biological advantage for poking her head in.

There was music in the warmly-lit shop, and none of it was coming from a gramophone. Soft notes drifted out through a small gap in the kitchen doors.

Bon-Bon looked up as the door's overhung bell rang. Her teeth released the tray before she backed away from the display case, and the cream-hued body didn't straighten until she was fully clear.

"Hey, Fleur," offered a rather nasal voice: Bon-Bon was horrifically susceptible to seasonal allergies, and spring brought her to the point where anypony who didn't like her current tones was advised to wait two minutes. "Good timing. This is when we sort out whatever isn't going to be sold tomorrow. I can let you have --"

"-- Caramel," Fleur quickly cut in.

The earth pony went to her most natural move. She frowned.

"We could do a hooftap routine over the candy type," the confectioner said, "but I'm guessing you want him. Right?"

Perhaps a little too hastily, "Yes."

The improvised song continued to weave through the shop. Notes were occasionally counterpointed by the fading sounds of what had started as a distressed infant's sobs.

"I let him go about fifteen minutes ago," Bon-Bon informed her. "He said he'd spotted someone outside and wanted to go talk."

"...someone," Fleur just barely repeated.

Powerful shoulders shrugged. "Yeah, that stood out. Spike's 'somepony', everypony knows that..." Which Fleur recognized as a sort of honorific, and a very consistent one. "Maybe Zecora went by, or there's cattle away from the tenant areas. Could have been Cranky. I didn't get a look." Another shrug. "Not sure which way he went, either. So unless you're chasing, did you need any --"

A filly softly giggled. A sound of nearly pure joy, emotion which had to exist without words...

"I have to tell him something," Fleur quickly said, kicking all four legs into reverse. "I can't stay."

"-- you're sure you don't --"

Her horn cleared the gap. The door closed, and Fleur rapidly turned.

I could wait for him at his house.
...I could gallop all over the place and just hope to spot him.
Or I could gallop all over the place on the way to his house --
-- levitate? Try to get the view from overhead?

There were ponies on the street, and they were staring. She was sure there were going to be deliberately-soaked manes flooding the streets for the next two weeks.

Try going towards the restaurant district. He usually passes through there if he's trotting with a-- female. Creature of habit --

The hunt ended less than half a block away from his house.

He was standing quietly in the street. Looking up. And Fleur tried to track his line of sight, spot whatever he might be looking at, but...

Check the appointment book. See when Thistle is due in.

I know Fluttershy always tries to take him because she feels dealing with that dog just about requires a talent. But I need to speak with him. Area of expertise: he should be proud to boast about his techniques. Who knows more about filing complaints with Town Hall?

Not enough streetlights in this part of town. Additionally, while some do shine up in order to benefit passing pegasi, that lighting is insufficient. The settled zone clearly needs to install extra devices, or somepony could get hurt.

Somepony like whoever decided to put in this few in the first place.

He was looking up, and -- she couldn't spot anyone. Only what might have been a recent, tiny, self-sealing disruption in low misting clouds, with too little light to tell if that one potential hint of a departing feather had been brown.

Fleur carefully slowed down, brought her legs to a normal walking pace. Caramel didn't seem to notice the sound of an approach. He just continued to watch the darkening sky.

"Hey," she carefully said from four body lengths away.

His entire body tensed: she'd startled him. And then Caramel turned to face her.

His eyes were wet. Then again, his entire body was wet. That was just the weather schedule.

"This isn't your usual hour," the stallion openly noted. "Is something going on?"

You tell me.

And he could do so without words.

Fleur's talent lanced forward.

...and there it is.
That piece isn't half-formed any more. It's starting to contour. The edges are developing tabs. Protrusions which could fit some of the existing sockets.
The colors are brighter. Not just intensity: there's a little glow to it. Recent.
Fresh interaction.
Hope.

She had to distract him. Quickly. Take charge of her charge, and get him refocused before any of the intensifying hues had a chance to truly solidify.

"It was just a long day," she told him. "The sort of day where..." And sighed. "...I'm here. Leave it at that."

"So something is wrong," he quickly responded. "Is there anything I can --"

wrong track, wrong track

"-- it's hard to talk about, Caramel. I'd rather just --"

"Try," he suggested. And waited, as his tail dripped and the most recent manestyle continued to collapse in the non-rain.

She put a little effort into the sigh. Tried to think of an excuse. Something easily dealt with and dismissed, so they could move on to the next topic.

"There's just times when it's hard to be at the cottage," Fleur voiced. "And I don't mean it's hard to be with Fluttershy. The cottage. It's... something separate. I could almost swear it has a mind of its own, especially on the worst days. And I just don't want to be there for a while, and I --"

Which was when she became aware of exactly what she'd said.

Words died. Syllables withered. Thoughts mostly crashed into each other.

Fleur blinked a few times. This cleared some of the mist away from her eyes, collecting it into small flowing streams. Nothing else was accomplished.

"The candy shop can feel like that," Caramel quietly told her. "On a bad day. But it's easier for me to take a break than it is for you. I guess it just -- builds up."

There really weren't enough streetlights in this part of town. The glow around the scant available specimens turned the mist into half-suspended drifts of tears.

Fleur took a breath.

"Anyway," she said (because that was easier than thinking about what had been said before), "I told her I needed a night out. And, you know... it is spring. So I thought we could hit the bars together." With a small smile, "After we go inside your place for a minute. We dry off, each get an umbrella, and then we'll go on a hu -- search. This is the sort of night where ponies don't stay outside for very long. The bars are going to be packed, and with all the new mares in town --"

Multiple older pieces dimmed.

"I'll pass."

And then she was staring at him. The streetlights weren't enough to let him notice.

"It was a long day for me too," Caramel said. "I understand needing a night out, Fleur. But I'm tired. I don't know if I'm going to be good company."

He's resisting.
He's resisting.
Since when does he --

"If you just need some time away," the stallion told her, "then why not give the cinema a kick? That'll be good for a couple of hours. And I don't think you've been in for a while." With the faintest of laughs, "I hope you'll understand if I don't go along for that. Things don't end well when we're in the cinema together. Historically, I mean."

-- I'm losing control --

"It doesn't have to be bars or the cinema," Fleur quickly argued. "We can think of something else --"

"-- the only thing I can think of right now," Caramel broke in, "is going to bed. I know it's early, but -- I'm tired, Fleur. You needed to get away from the cottage. I feel like I understand that. And I want to talk about it under Sun, when we're both a little fresher. But tonight... I just need my bed. So I can be more awake when we do talk about it. And..." The smile was barely visible. "...going to bed really isn't something we should ever be doing together."

"Caramel --" had been meant as an opener. It also bought time while she tried to think of something to follow it with.

"You can use me as an excuse," he decided. "Tell Fluttershy that I was busy. 'Busy sleeping' is close enough. And you went to the cinema. She'll accept that."

"We should try something," formed the start of her final push. "The prettiest mares are going to be out tonight. Especially since the wet look might be coming back --"

An old tab parted from a socket.

"Honestly, Fleur?" the stallion began. "If you want the full truth of it, right down to the center jewel? Right now, I just feel tired of looking. Of mares. Like... I need my own kind of break. So I'm going to bed." With that little smile, "But come by when you can. Or I'll see you when I pick up Shimmy's medicine. And we'll talk about the cottage. Good night."

He turned away. Began to trot.

She needed to warn him.
She had to inform him about everything to beware of about Gilda, while telling him nothing about herself.
She needed words.
And by the time she realized there weren't any, his door had already closed.

She remained in the street for a while, as chilling water dripped from her coat. Ponies occasionally went by, pausing to look at her before fully passing. None of them worked in Emergency Speech Delivery.

He's willing to experiment to keep a partner. Would it go that far?

She... wasn't sure.

...I don't get it.
Resisting. In a passive way, defiance.
I thought I trained him better than that.

'Pants On Fire' Omitted Due To Local Lack Of Pants

There were a number of side effects associated with being Rainbow's friend, and that was when you looked beyond the frequent internal tendency to construct elaborate fantasy murder scenarios on a level more befitting to either a serial killer or a mystery novelist. (The writers possessed a stronger command of commas, while the serial killers tended to get out more and actually met people. Once each.) For starters, anypony who regularly associated with the weather coordinator was potentially going to pick up a fairly advanced knowledge of pegasus magic, because Rainbow absolutely wanted her friends to know that last stunt hadn't failed because of her. It was entirely the fault of inherent species limitations and in a more just world, those wouldn't even exist.

For example, there was the water issue. Pegasi were capable of manipulating bale-tons of it -- and simultaneously, would find themselves completely blocked by the contents of a 250-dram mug.

It was about dispersal. A pegasus could operate with water which had been spread thin within the atmosphere, strangling oxygen within chains of humidity or bound up inside the subtle matrices which created clouds. When the liquid was in a state where any given portion might struggle to reach a full dram of weight -- then a pegasus could readily move it. And when you totaled up all of the tiny amounts which were being shifted, considered just how much a cloud truly massed -- then it came in at bale-tons. Rainbow casually worked with numbers which Twilight couldn't shift --

-- and was utterly unable to command the contents of a hoof-deep puddle.

A pegasus could tell the vapor to coalesce, along with location and amount. But once it did, they lost nearly all future control. Any competent weather team could coax rain out of clouds, but it took the exceptionally tricky creation of a waterspout (and it had taken a few moons before Fleur had been given that story) to bring it back up again. And that was just manipulation of wind, while hoping the water would go along for the ride.

Bale-tons of vapor. But recreate the liquid state, and species magic would struggle to gain any degree of jaw grip. And Rainbow hated that. She could try to force humidity and vapor into becoming liquid in a hurry, the effort could be conducted along a determined path, and that was how a not-at-all-crashing Rainbow had tried to spontaneously invent the emergency speed-bleeding ground waterslide. Skid along the top of a now-slick surface, let momentum drop gradually...

Rainbow had spotted the ground tarpaulin at the construction site. She'd gotten the world's thinnest stream started, out to an initial distance of six body lengths. What she hadn't been able to do was control where the water went after that, and her body had gone along for the ride until the exact moment when the trail terminated at the pile of wooden beams.

(She'd once bitterly told Fleur that true control over liquids was clearly the domain of seaponies, Fleur had pointed out that seaponies didn't exist, and the weather coordinator had darkly noted that it was going to make lessons really hard to come by.)

But a talented pegasus could still manage a few tricks. For example, if the water was spread fairly thin -- say, absorbed by thousands of fur strands -- then it was possible to separate it from the hosting material. This could effectively dry somepony off all at once, but only if the pegasus was capable of getting the water far enough away to keep the subject from being resoaked by the inevitable splash.

Or, for a more advanced maneuver -- you could try to spread it out even more. Divide up the tiniest of droplets, and then subdivide beyond that. Do it again and again, and the result would be vapor. It was entirely possible, and the pegasus who attempted the feat with the pooled contents of the average cider mug would be defeated.

Still... when it was the body which had been thoroughly wetted down, a pegasus on Rainbow's level could at least make the attempt. And if they succeeded, then wisps of vapor would rise from fur and skin. Steam without heat.

Fleur, completely soaked by the humidity, her coat dripping into the street outside Caramel's residence, frustrated and angered and more than a little confused, had to settle for fuming.

The fuming didn't seem to be doing much.

I can't just pound my forehooves against his door. It'll make a scene.

A cinematic scene, but possibly not a literary one. Her escort duties had brought her to the premiere of that particular movie: she just didn't remember if the story had been a book first.

I need to speak to him in privacy. It's easier to dominate without an audience.
...I need to figure out what to say...

What could she say?

'You know I've been to parties in the capital. There were embassy staff members at a few of them. More than a few. Plus I used to live close to the Aviary -- the point is that I know how a normal tiercel acts, and that isn't it --'

'-- never mind who told me. Just because you're having bad luck with pegasi doesn't mean you need to try for anything with wings. Your truest inner desires have always been for pegasi, ever since what I'm guessing was your initial year of secondary school and what has to have been a mutual haypile hunt and look, anypony who's been around you for a week could work out most of this --'

'-- she's using you. She doesn't want you. I know what she wants. I always know --'

'-- I can't explain --'

'...please don't ask me to explain...'

The moisture in the air had already turned chill. It was now steadily bleeding out vital degrees as a not-distant-enough Princess took heat away from Fleur's part of the world. That was a good reason for shivering.

Sun was being lowered. Nothing about the descent was pressing vital sentences into her brain. And the humidity was a lot like being in Rainbow's hastily-woven cloud again, except that she would be able to see further for a few minutes because Sun was being lowered...

She needed words.
She couldn't think of any.
Nothing where the suddenly-resistant were guaranteed to listen.
Not when the sentences wouldn't ruin --

-- I need to think.

She also had to go back. Without Caramel, she no longer had an excuse for being in town.

Return to the cottage.

Place herself within that which destroyed thought or worse, tried to think for her...

Moon was mostly obscured by clouds, and there were portions of the path which didn't offer a lot in the way of clear sight lines to start with. This became especially true once she passed the mi --

-- passed the place where something had once been.

(She didn't look.)

As long as I stay alert.
As long as I stay focused...

The cottage was on the absolute border of the fringe. Technically within the realm of control -- but the wild zone was right there. And the mares laid down scent trails, along with utilizing other methods which had been intended to turn an imaginary line into something a little more solid -- but ultimately, they could only try to guard the edges of the property. They couldn't secure Ponyville. And there were times when no matter what anypony did... something would cross.

So she had to be on alert, especially at night. She'd heard timberwolves in the area before, there had been a sighting of a morboar... and if the area near Caramel's residence was sufficiently lacking in streetlamps to justify a letter to Town Hall, then the twisting trail to Fluttershy's residence was effectively begging for its own petition. It was easy to describe the artificial lighting in the region: there wasn't any. Creating a fully-lit, spell-secured path all the way from the bridge out of Ponyville to the cottage... that was beyond Fleur's budget, along with being well outside her casting capabilities. And with the veterinary service operating at increased levels of client traffic, there was a matching bump in hoof and wing travel to go with it. Some of which had to force itself to cross the distance under Moon, because emergencies didn't respect the clock any more than they cared for the calendar.

Monster sightings were rare. But even one constituted a total of Too Many. And you also had to consider the natural world, because animals might move through the area. Those whom Fluttershy had never spoken with: fully wild, operating entirely on instinct, and -- nervous. Disrupted, unsure of what was going on, because... the cottage was in the area, and it had its own scent. Something which reflected dozens of species living in close proximity. A population breakdown which normally would have produced prey corpses every night, because there were too many predators living in a small region and they didn't seem to be doing anything.

It confused newcomers. Put them on edge. And when a shaken, waiting-to-be-attacked animal darted past an equally nervous pony, when both parties were potentially on the verge of lashing out...

We need something. Permanent light placements, standing enchantments... eventually, the natural world learned to steer around those. That which nature would never truly claim would struggle to get close. But Town Hall had yet to place anything this far out. Fleur steered by what little moonlight was available. And that was just the base of it.

She had the option to add a few lumens, of course: no unicorn who'd gone through puberty ever truly had to fear the dark. But igniting her field, allowing the corona to temporarily illuminate the trail -- that had the potential to send vital sensory information scurrying away from her. Or worse, encourage it to come in from behind.

Besides, you couldn't rely on sight too much. Hearing had to play its part, especially when eyes could only move so far and ears had a little more rotation to work with. Scent could be essential -- but then you were trusting a little too much in the wind currents, while hoping that nothing which was lurking in the night knew how to avoid them. And if Fleur ever found herself completely relying on something like prey sense... then that meant sapience had effectively been discarded. She would be operating on instinct, and the tactics offered at that level came down to 'run' or 'kick'.

Stay alert.
Stay focused.

There were times when she found herself looking up, because she had her clearest sight lines on the vertical and there were some attacks which arrived by air. Then she realized that she was looking for Gilda.

Or -- Zephyr. Gilda was supposedly bound by a promise, at least for now -- but Fleur wouldn't have been surprised by Zephyr making some attempt to sneak onto the grounds at night.

Talk to him in a 'neutral setting'.
We wouldn't be on the grounds or in the heart of Ponyville. If I did see him, this would qualify --

She carefully examined the thought. Considered exactly what she was currently in the mood to deal with.

--not tonight.

This seemed to require an extra degree of reinforcement.

Not fornicatio tonight.

Also, there would be no fornicatio tonight. She wasn't in the mood for that either.

Think...

Except that she was having trouble focusing. Too dark, too much to think about when she needed to pay such close attention to her senses, and the air felt as if it was becoming more oppressive with every hoofstep. It wasn't the humidity: the Weather Bureau, in its infinite lack-of-wisdom, had scheduled an overnight clearing trend because that was the sort of thing you put in when just about nopony was around to enjoy it. It was the faint lights on the horizon, and the distant sound of a flowing stream. The first indications of the cottage.

It knew she was coming back.

She opened the door, and half of a beautiful face looked up from where the pegasus had been gently herding kittens towards what was meant to serve as their bed, and probably would for the first ten minutes.

"...I wasn't expecting you back so early," Fluttershy softly said. "Is everything okay?"

You lost another two decibels.
So no.

"He had other plans." Neutral words, carefully projected, under tight control.

"...I thought you said..."

"He changed his plans." Those syllables were permitted to carry a subtle undertone of frustration. "And I didn't know."

"...oh." The spectacular tail slowly shifted across the floor. "So, since you're back early --"

"-- I'm going out."

The one visible eye blinked.

"...you were just out."

"Out on the grounds," Fleur quickly clarified. "I want to check on the chicken coops. And a few other things."

The coral fall stilled.

"...oh," the pegasus quietly decided. "...all right." Slightly-oversized wings slowly began to unfold. "Did you want me to come with you --"

I need to think.
I can't be in here.
Maybe if I just go to the edge...

"-- no." The smile felt forced. "You've got enough to do." A small tilt of her horn indicated where a ball of mewling ineffective fury was attempting to roll into a corner. "I'll be back soon."

"...don't you want to dry off first? I knew the scheduled humidity was high, but..."

"I'll just get my fur soaked again," Fleur sighed. "It's better if I just get it over with and then clean up when it's done."

"...you're sure," didn't quite feel like a question.

"Yes."

Eventually, the pegasus nodded. Several mane strands slipped that much further forward.

She did check on the coops, because she couldn't try to vanish into the protection of verbal vagueness without clearing the directly-stated part first. The structures were full of chickens and because Moon was up, they were asleep. (Chickens had a tendency to rest from dusk until dawn, and did so regardless of the actual duration: winter had them in the nests for most of the day.) Fleur briefly considered waking one in order to give her a witness, but... someone should be getting the benefit of their rest and

the dreams are changing

it probably wasn't going to be her.

Fleur moved around the grounds for a while. Checking on various things, because there was always work to be done. At one point, she passed the place where she'd once seen a random grouping of debris, and forced her knees to operate normally.

And then she was at the border. Still on the grounds, but within a few body lengths of the wild zone. Following the same trail as the herb drag...

The unicorn looked up. Checked the other side of the border.

Moon was providing a little more illumination now. She could see wet branches, dripping leaves. It had clearly rained earlier, and fairly heavily. But on her side... the clouds were starting to clear, and humidity was slowly dropping. It was becoming somewhat easier to breathe.

To think.

She automatically glanced towards the cottage.

Let me think.

The sprawling structure said nothing. It wasn't capable of the act and furthermore, had no need for it. Speech added to static inanimate smugness would have mostly been redundant.

Fleur began to trot.

He's my charge.

She'd never asked for Caramel as a charge, and there had certainly been no plans to take him on. It had just -- ended up that way. It wasn't as if he even knew, and telling him what a charge was would have meant having to explain everything else.

I'm supposed to look out for him.

That was the most basic definition.

I need to bring him to the point where he can go on without me.

That was the core of the advanced one.

Except that Caramel wasn't ready.

She glanced up towards Moon again. Checked for monsters, griffons, and pegasi. Trotted forward, as saturated fur dripped onto damp grass.

Of course he isn't ready.
He's not even capable of grooming himself.

Which wasn't quite accurate. Caramel was perfectly capable of choosing and, with the now-defunct, near-constant assistance of a manestylist, maintaining the sort of look which had once rendered him into a Type. He just had a distinct tendency to make lousy choices. He specialized in the sort of decision which was so horrible as to effectively render itself personally invisible, because his mind refused to recognize the full scope of it.

For example, he had decided that Fleur was his friend --

-- her legs froze. Nearly locked.

-- stop it.
I chose him.

As a source of information, and somepony who could be --
-- used.

The easy target.
The designated victim.

...Fluttershy needed to learn about rejection. First she had to accept that somepony could be interested in her, then she needed to actually say yes to a date and I was more than ready to settle for '...yes', and then if she wasn't feeling anything towards him, if a mare whose puzzle was a blank. white. slate. at the time hadn't taken on that first tinge of color, she had to push somepony away. He was attracted to pegasi above all else, he'd thought about her, and...

Would the date have been anywhere near as bad, if Discord hadn't interfered? No. But Fleur couldn't really picture it as having been good. In her opinion, without the sort of instant chemistry which mostly existed in the kind of movies that pretended there was a workable formula, nothing would have gotten beyond the third date. And if it had somehow seemed to have been working, a first shot miraculously hitting the target --

-- I would have encouraged it. Tried to make sure it lasted. Because that was the fastest way out of my sentence --

-- she'd... told herself that at the time. That if there had been a chance at love between the two, she would have done whatever was necessary to make sure it caught.

Except that she'd been -- sliding. And she didn't know exactly when the descent into love had started, because she'd refused to recognize that anything had been happening at all. Rotate the reels back to that doomed first date, and -- if it had all gone differently, if a spark had caught -- would she have already been deep enough to initiate her own sabotage? Determining, just as Discord had, that Caramel wasn't good enough, and begun making arrangements to remove him?

She didn't know.

Move.
I'm not accomplishing anything by just standing here. Just... move.

After a moment, her hooves began to shift again. Almost gliding across the damp ground.

...ultimately, it didn't matter. The date had been a reputation-wrecking disaster, and the sheer scope of the humiliation had allowed her to discover that somehow, Caramel still had a portion of reputation which could be wrecked. And after that, with the exception of a faint chance at any potential helpful information about Ponyville and the Bearers, she'd pretty much been done with him --

-- but he had a ferret. He came to the cottage once a week, because he was trying to keep the true love of his life alive. They'd kept seeing each other. And it had allowed her to witness the ways in which he ultimately owned the disaster, turned it into a source of outwards-directed laughter, started to come back...

He was... somepony who had the potential to be better. If he just had the right guidance.

And that was where Fleur came in.

So she'd done her best to get him under control. Set a budget for the gifts. Pay off every last loan over time, get him to the point where he was living on his salary: ideally, this would then be followed by saving up. Offer dating advice, along with not-so-subtle nudges in the right directions. Train him to listen to her first and, for certain situations, only. Especially when basic common sense was required and on matters like 'Do not attempt to go out with the linkless griffon', he clearly wasn't at the point where he could manage that on his own --

-- for every potential means of domination, there was a griffon.
The green pegasus... had her own pieces, and they hadn't contained any hues which Caramel had been willing to match.
But he'd been Fleur's charge for over a year.
Maybe he'd just grown accustomed to being bossed around --
-- this is not my fault --

-- wings moving overhead, almost silent but not quite, Fleur looked up, a pale face and huge dark eyes briefly stared down --

-- barn owl.

A familiar one. Not a resident, but one of those who knew to seek the cottage when hurt, and so obeyed the rules when on the grounds. Effectively harmless --

-- is it?

She paused in her trot again. Thought, as Moon silently watched.

And when it came to making observations of the immigrant, Moon wasn't necessarily alone.

Fleur wasn't Equestrian. She didn't think the same way as the natives -- which, when it came to a depressingly large number of subjects, had the locals barely thinking at all. Weather control: something which was just about taken for granted -- while still generating complaints because it wasn't being done to their standards. The settled zones created a degree of safety and protection, so why even consider venturing out? And when it came to their own marks...

They dreamed of manifest, when they were young. Getting the right mark.
Eventually, their flanks blazed. Hips glowed. And when it was over, the vast majority would have touched their truest self. Come into contact with their soul. Something which would quite literally mark their lives.
They would find themselves in possession of new magic. Fresh potential. And they would investigate the possibilities.
For about a moon.

Equestrians, by and large, took their own marks for granted. Treated the core of their existence as a given. Brushed the surface of it, told themselves there was nothing more to learn, and -- stopped.

It was, in Fleur's opinion, more than a little insulting.

She'd investigated the dubious gifts which had risen from her own tainted miracle more deeply than nearly anypony ever would have considered trying. Pushed to the limits, because that was what she'd had to do. And so when it came to thinking about pony talents, Fleur had a rather simple, fully-consistent standard to apply:

'What could I do?'

Keep moving.
Rotate my ears. Listen. Check for all the little sounds.
Make sure I'm not being tailed.

She'd thought about what she could do, with Fluttershy's talent. And in Fleur's opinion, the spying potential was almost unlimited.

How many small mammals were present on a given section of open land? She had an answer to that: an acre would typically host about a hundred, and quite possibly more. But, just as much to the point -- how many could a pony actually hope to spot?

'...follow her. Please. Tell me what she does. What she says --'

-- not quite that last. An animal spy could report back on Fleur's actions, but wouldn't be capable of recognizing the vast majority of pony sounds. Recreating was right out --

-- she could use a parrot. Something which could try to duplicate any noises.

The wince was almost automatic.

Or a lyrebird.
Another lyrebird.

They'd hosted one during the previous summer, and an avian which was capable of precisely echoing anything it heard because the bird was under the permanent delusion that one of those noises had to attract a mate and would happily run through words, sounds, and thunder in the attempt... had gotten off the grounds and gone directly into town.

Which had resulted in a surprisingly long chase, because that false thunder had a way of disrupting the concentration of anypony who was trying to catch it.

And then they'd discovered that the bird's long-distance trip to the cottage had allowed it to overhear a number of monsters.

The avian could duplicate those sounds too. At full volume, typically from a distance of three hoofwidths.

...it had taken about an hour for the herd to collectively decide that there was a new menace on the loose. Fluttershy and Fleur had tried to tell a few what was actually happening (generally with one in full gallop and the other pushing for the best air speed she could manage while lecturing on the wing), and all that had done was set up an series of more accurate panicked cries. Which had mostly emerged as "LYRE! LYRE!"

(A high percentage of Ponyville's population had been born outside the settled zone. Nearly all of them had brought their native intonations with them. A number tended to slur terminal vowels.)

(Bon-Bon, whose spouse nearly wound up being implicated by accent, had needed a few days to calm down.)

Eventually, the bird had been caught. It had taken another two weeks before Fleur and Fluttershy had mostly been forgiven or rather, until something else happened and the entire settled zone focused on that. (Fleur still insisted that none of it had been her fault.)

But the incident had revealed another small part of her love's ultimate capabilities. Because there was an animal in the world which could reproduce sounds exactly -- and all Fluttershy had to do was ask what it had heard.

And would the pegasus ever consider doing that? Yes: Fleur was sure of it. If there was a mission which required that kind of relay and the species lived in the area, then Fluttershy would ask. Reluctantly, while being worried about its safety -- but the request would be made.

A request. Not an order. And with Fluttershy... 'I'm worried about Fleur: please keep an eye on her and tell me if anything happens...' ...well, the unicorn had been watched on the grounds before. Because in Fluttershy's view, that was protection.

That was part of how the pegasus saw the talent. As something meant to communicate, assist, and aid. And she would absolutely spy on Fleur -- out of concern. And love.

But it was still spying. And if Fluttershy was doing that, if the owl hadn't just been coincidence, then it meant that Fleur didn't have true privacy. All she could keep to herself were thoughts, and those were only controlled when she was awake because the dreams were changing and --

-- try to look normal.
Lock down the anger.
Push everything back.
Don't let anything visibly leak.
It's only because she cares --
-- it's still spying...

Fleur tended to view talents in terms of their ultimate limits. How far she could have pushed them, if only her life had been different.

Fluttershy: how can you hide from all of them? You can't. There's no escape. They're everywhere, and so am I.
Joyous: it doesn't matter what you were. You're mine.
Twilight: it's all mine...

...that's not me any more.

(Was it?)

What can I tell Caramel?

He was supposed to listen. The charge obeyed the guardian.
(The guardian had to recognize when the charge was ready to go on without them.)
(Caramel wasn't.)

How do I get him away from Gilda?

Without telling him more than absolutely necessary.
...preferably while telling him somewhat less than that.

Without telling him...
...about me.
If he knew...

She didn't truly notice when her pace accelerated. The unicorn's mind was racing, and it meant her thoughts were going in a circle without closing in on the distant lead, let alone crossing a finish line because she didn't have an answer and she was trying to create one while sight and hearing and scent were on full alert and she just kept pushing forward along the damp grass of the border and she didn't really register anything from touch until her left forehoof went into the mud.

All of the force behind that trot pushed, and the keratin sunk. The limb dipped into the earth, submerged to the fetlock, she stumbled as every instinct tried to bring her to a halt before she broke something, the right foreleg tried to brace and then that was going down --

-- she just barely managed to stop, and felt several muscles protest the abrupt deceleration. Several of them were in her neck, because twisting momentum had sent her head forward and down: she was mere hoofheights away from having her horn in the grass and, given her what lowered eyes could now see, the mud.

Fleur furiously jerked her head back. Isolated sections of pain waved across her musculature to each other, then decided to make friends.

The unicorn carefully looked down. Glared at every part of the wallow which Moon would let her see, then braced her hind hooves against what was still solid ground and did her best to rear up while jumping backwards at the same time --

-- she stayed where she was for a few seconds. Listened for wings and, by the total lack of whirring sounds heading for the cottage, determined that Fluttershy had not been spying on her.

...or it was something ground-based and they were going to need a minute.

No. Birds would have been more practical.
And I'm sure I didn't fall on anyone.

The mare slowly, painfully forced herself out of the wet grass. Stood up, oriented on the cottage, and squelched her way towards the back entrance. There was at least a theoretical chance to reach the bathtub without being seen if she came in from the back, although there were going to be some problems with wiping out her own trail.

Water dripped from her grass-stained coat. Clumps of mud fell away from her pasterns. Her mane decided it was a good time to show empathy and did so by having the last of the soaked styling come apart.

Disordered. Filthy. Somewhat less than attractive. And somehow, that wasn't the worst of it.
She still didn't have an answer.
Any answer.
She didn't know what to tell her charge.
What kind of guardian...?

No. That question had an answer.

The kind who can't even beat a stick.

She briefly looked up. Moon, which had seen the whole thing, kept its silence. No pegasus or griffon laughter echoed through the night.

The cottage waited. Loomed.

The mare forced herself forward.

"So you're going to do this again," the griffon told him, and then lazily stretched out across the nearest Moon-lit, half-coalesced cloud. "Only this time, you'll do it right."

There was a single instant in which Zephyr briefly considered kicking it out from under her. Dispersing the perch, because it was night and in his opinion, he was supposed to either be in bed, a bar, or somepony else's bed. She had him in the sky, standing on a cloud which wasn't supposed to be there any more, and she was telling him to work.

He was sure that he could break up her resting place with what might be a single move, and he was almost certain that she couldn't do anything to keep it together. Zephyr didn't think griffon magic worked like that, mostly because he'd been trying to remember what it was and since nothing had come back to him, it probably wasn't important. But it didn't feel like she could reinforce a cloud.

Then again, she could just move to the other one.
Or the other-other one.
Or the other, other, other...

...they were coming back together. Reclumping. Everything he'd put a little effort into, all of the work, was just undoing itself...

"You're just lucky," the openly lazing griffon declared.

"HOW?" was somewhat louder than he would have liked.

"You've got me here," she told him, and the smirk didn't have to be etched across an inflexible beak when it had already saturated the voice. "And she probably didn't come out to inspect this yet. Probably."

Zephyr blinked.

"She'd do that?"

"Oh, yes." The parting of the edges, however, still represented a smile. "You're just lucky I took the night off and decided to check on you. Or you'll be lucky if there's still time. So you'd better fix this in a hurry, hadn't you?"

With the kind of open frustration which was fully justified by the existence of unpaid overtime, "Why can't you just do it--"

"-- will you take 'griffon' for an answer?" the tiercel yawned.

He managed to keep his tail from lashing. It wasn't good for the look. Also, he'd had to settle for low-cost bonding gels, and you couldn't push those too hard.

Zephyr didn't enjoy working. He didn't understand how anypony could. He firmly believed that the best way to do just about anything was to get somepony else to do it for him. And the terminal syllables were tripping him up, because he was down to 'anyone'. Stuck with a griffon.

Working was pain. Therefore, the prospect of having to do any part of it more than once had to be torture.

"I can't do it," she casually shrugged. "Not my magic. Yours." The golden eyes abruptly narrowed. "But I know how it's done. Which means I know what you didn't do."

"And what's that?" was just barely pushed out between half-gritted teeth and a new kind of internal agony.

In a completely matter-of-fact tone, "You broke up the clouds. Not the moisture. And now you're going to fix it, because we kind of need you to keep your job if any of this is going to work."

"How --"

"Squint those pretty eyes," she condescendingly told him. "Switch your sight. You know how to do that, right? But you're not looking for heat. You want humidity. Water in the air. The little twinkles. Focus on that. And once you've got it, I'll give you the next step."

She probably doesn't really like my eyes...

Zephyr looked at her. He was still having trouble reading her own gaze. Were griffon eyes supposed to shift around that much? Did they always track whatever was moving, on instinct?

There had also been times when they seemed to lose focus.
When she wasn't looking at anything.
As if there was nothing to see --
-- she was probably just tired. He felt like he could have cared a little about that if she hadn't gotten him up.

"You'll fix it here," she ordered. "Then we'll check any other site she put you on. Hope you got a lucky wind current, colt. Something wild, which decided to care about you." Snidely, "Not impossible, right? But it didn't come here, because it didn't love you that much." And then her voice shifted into full smirk again. "And what's that face?"

He couldn't keep the tightness out of his words. "I hate doing things more than once." And I'm not a colt.

"So try doing it right the first time." Another shrug. "Tell me when you can see the humidity. We're wasting moonlight."

He forced himself to focus, reported the results. She gave him instructions. Telling him how to do something which she was utterly incapable of, making it into an order, and then it became multiple orders because she would only give him the next tiny wing flap after he'd cleared the last, this was all stuff he'd previously decided he didn't need to know, things which had been ignored because he wasn't --

-- he didn't want to --

-- why is this...

"Now that face," the griffon bemusedly declared, "I know. It's working. The humidity's breaking up. And you can't believe I'm the one who told you how to do it."

"How can you..." No: he could push on this one, because it was a natural question. "How can you know what to do? You can't see --"

"-- I had a good teacher," she stated. "So now you've got one. Keep going, colt. And then we'll clear out for the next."

It took nearly an hour to redo all of it, with the griffon assuring him that she was watching for any approach, could get out of sight in a hurry and if there were any questions, he could just tell his boss that he'd been double-checking on his own work. That devoted to the job. And he'd better be ready to present that explanation regardless, because there was a good chance that the boss would be looking deeper into it than just seeing if the sky was clear. She might inspect his weave and see how fresh it was.

She didn't want him to lose access to the overwound bundle of energy. And for now, neither did he.

Zephyr finished. They left.

The prismatic arrived eighty minutes later. Looked over the area, as Moon watched her features twist between frustration and reluctant acceptance.

Rainbow flew away.

It's Like A Relapse, Only Worse

There were multiple considerations involved in choosing a residence and as far as Fleur was concerned, the cottage qualified for just about none of them.

The most basic requirements? Her adolescence had given her plenty of opportunities to figure those out, because the vast majority of Protoceran gangs were just playing at it as an act of (theoretical) link-establishing defiance and thus had everyone leave the hideout at night. Going home, because failing to enjoy a parent-provided meal would mean less energy for being defiant tomorrow. And there had been times when Fleur had been able to take shelter within what was usually just an improvised clubhouse, but -- such places were seldom truly defensible, and she really didn't need anyone coming in on her at an unusual hour. Such encounters usually led to members wondering where her parents were.

A young mare with no true place to stay, skilled enough with makeup to present a minor appearance parade of those who shouldn't have been wandering the streets alone in the small hours and yet becoming progressively physically distinctive enough to make observers question whether there was a new family in the area... that mare had needed a succession of places to stay. In multiple towns, because very few gangs truly lasted, membership was fleeting and besides, she could never be entirely certain that someone wasn't trying to find her.

She hadn't had a home. Her various sites couldn't even be described as places to live, because truly living was no part of it. The goal had been baseline survival, and she'd had to locate something which could help to keep her breathing over and over and over. Those she carried with her only truly survived for as long as she did. And the hunt had to continue.

There had been several qualifications in play for a shelter, and it was a rare day when she could match half of them.

In the ideal, the site would have been abandoned for some time: no one had lived (or worked) there for a while, and there was just about no chance of anyone ever wishing to change that. There wouldn't be any casual drop-ins, no patrolling security detail ever came by to check on the property, and it certainly wouldn't have anything in the way of neighbors. Neighbors were a problem. It was certainly possible to find a house which was going to be empty for a few weeks because the owners were traveling, and some of them would even have food stocked in the kitchen -- but such residences tended to be in the vicinity of other homes and even if Fleur never went anywhere near a window, touched a lighting device, or risked a single ignition of her corona... someone was eventually going to wonder why they kept hearing hooves moving across wood.

(The old sawmill hadn't been perfect. Abandoned, yes. Just about nopony truly curious about what was going on within? Absolutely. But it had been alongside the path to the cottage and even in the moons before Fluttershy received what had turned out to be a permanent boost in clientele, there were just too many ponies going by.)

At the absolute minimum, you needed four walls, a good floor (with optionally-poor sound conduction), and a roof. All of which needed to be solid. And the cottage didn't qualify.

One of Fleur's earliest challenges in dealing with the structure had come from trying to get it thermally sealed. A number of pegasi were capable of rendering their residences into personal Fortresses Of Temperature -- but that was something which arose from their species magic. And when it came to such weavings, Fluttershy would forever be well below the average, while Fleur, who'd felt the need to do something before the professionals arrived, had been limited to jamming wads of temporary blocking material into the leaks.

This had held up for most of a night. Fluttershy's Moon-witnessed reversal of Fleur's efforts had wrapped up shortly before Sun had been raised, while the resulting argument had carried them across breakfast and nearly all the way to lunch. (It probably wouldn't have gone on that long for any other couple, but quasi-fights at the cottage usually had to work their way around multiple interruptions.)

A leak? That wasn't a way for heat to get out: it was the passage designated for squirrels to get in! And out, because some of them didn't like to be cooped up inside for very long. Oh, and it was just squirrels. The chipmunks had a different exit. And that's not a hole, that's a mouse highway! Which, in the best case, is solely used by mice. The rats come in and out over there. ...yes, that's very close to the bathtub. And sometimes they do scramble up to the rim and watch. But you shouldn't worry about that, because if one slips and falls in? They're good swimmers. Just try to lift them out within a couple of minutes. And they try to keep themselves clean, really they do, 'dirty rat' is just something ponies say when they don't understand how hard it is to stay clean when you're always pushing through tiny tight tunnels, but it's understandable if you want to drain the bath water after. Switch to the showerhead. But keep it on a light spray, just in case the rat wants to stay in there. Actually, if you prefer using the mist setting, then there's a lot of animals who could wash up with you...

Fleur had pointed out that having the walls honeycombed with passages to the outside meant a chance of having strays get in. Fluttershy had countered with the rather obvious fact that the grounds were pretty much under observation at all times, and anything which came within six body lengths of an entrance had probably been tracked for the previous thirty. Besides, a strange animal was potentially just a friend she hadn't made yet, and wasn't that important...?

Ultimately, they'd had to compromise. Pegasus contractors had done their best to keep the warmth inside the cottage, while still allowing the majority of the passages to remain open. Some of the smaller ones had been sealed because in Fleur's opinion, if squirrels and chipmunks could share scurrying surfaces within the sitting room, they could use the same tunnel without fear of anything more than a minor traffic jam.

Having any of the little passages closed off should have felt like a victory. But Fleur wasn't particularly fond of giving the outside world so much as a single chance of getting to her. The best way to treat security was as an absolute and if there was one vulnerability, then could you ever truly say you were safe? And yes, the cottage was watched and it wasn't as if anything over a certain size could try to use the tunnels, but somepony was probably going to come up with a viable shrinking spell any century now. Fluttershy was a Bearer: that was a high-risk profession and, given the kind of trouble which the seven tended to get into, might eventually translate into 'target'. Besides, even if that somehow didn't happen, hadn't Fluttershy heard the rumors about something called 'breezies'...?

Which was when Fluttershy had softly reminded Fleur of the difference between a shelter and a home. A shelter, in the best case, was a place which only the user could access. A home had people dropping by. Visitors. Friends. A veterinary service added 'animals', kicked in 'clients', and absolutely needed ways to accommodate all of them.

A home had to have a door. It was okay if it was locked once in a while, because that could represent an attempt to keep the fear out. And if you had several doors, then ideally, one of them would double as a loading dock because the feed deliveries had to arrive somewhere. But if it was a home, then ponies had to come and go.

Fleur still wasn't entirely convinced, and not all of that doubt arose from ongoing worries about security.

The cottage probably qualified as a home. But if it did, then... it was home for Fluttershy, and Fluttershy alone. When it came to Fleur...

Fleur had several requirements for a shelter. Security was rather high on the list.

Also, it helped if she could break into the place at will. Which might look like a vulnerability to everyone else, but the key was that she would be the only one who knew where the weak spot was. After all, you never knew when someone was going to decide it was their shelter now. Coming up from behind the intruder was one of the better ways to prove them wrong.

The cottage had a number of potential breach points. For a unicorn who could self-levitate, one of them was a poorly-latched giant swinging window panel on the south wall of the main bathroom.

She soaked for as long as she dared, and did so in what she hoped would be privacy. It was hard to keep all of the animals out of any given location without Fluttershy making a direct request, but she'd insisted on having the current rat tunnel lead somewhere else.

The mud trail which led in from the window was wiped away. Her fur was properly groomed, followed by mostly drying the coat. Getting rid of every last moisture drop could take too long, especially in spring. Besides, maybe the wet look would be coming back.

Fleur closed up everything, declined to apply cosmetics just for going to bed, and wearily let herself out.

Fluttershy was in the sitting room, resting on the fainting couch while surrounded by dual walls. One was comprised of animals, and the less mobile variety had rendered stacked veterinary journals into something approaching an exceptionally small palace. Given their collective ability to discourage those who weren't truly desperate, some of the cover prices potentially qualified as battlements.

The pegasus looked up at the sound of approaching hooves. About forty percent of a beautiful face regarded Fleur.

"...I didn't hear you come in."

"I used the back entrance." Which was technically true.

The blue-green half-gaze slowly moved over Fleur's body. A form which didn't have a single trace of powders on it --

"...I'm almost done with this," Fluttershy softly said, and the incredible tail swayed. "Or I could just stop now. Leave it for a little while. Or a long one..."

-- which was what the pegasus preferred...

Fleur activated her talent. Looked at her love, saw want and desire reflected in something very much like a mirror and, just for a moment, wondered why she deserved any of it. Shut herself down again.

No fornicatio tonight.

"Go ahead and finish," she wearily said. "I'll just go to bed."

The one visible eye blinked.

"...I can be there in a minute."

"You're not tired." Their sleep schedules would never match. If Fleur was exhausted enough to pass out for nine hours, then Fluttershy might make it all the way to five.

Fluttershy took a deep, slow breath, and something about the exposed iris seemed to dim.

"...you don't -- want to?"

If I looked at her again, right now...
The edges would be dimming.
Colors vibrate. Dull.
Eventually, fracture lines might start to work their way in from the corners. Recognition that I don't fit. Aspects, but -- not the whole. Never the whole of it. And the pieces separate, begin to fall apart...

"I'm just worn out." Her smile felt forced. "It was a long day."

"...it wasn't so bad," Fluttershy carefully offered. "Not compared to some of them. I didn't think so, anyway."

I don't think she's pushing. She sounds more worried than anything else.
Maybe she's worried that I'm not up to it.
To any of it.

"Some of it's just the humidity," Fleur lied. "I don't know what the Bureau was thinking, pushing it that high. It's tiring, Fluttershy. That's all."

Slowly, the pegasus nodded. Several kittens tried to pounce on the trailing ends of the shifting mane.

"...did you eat?"

Not really.

"I think that's my line."

"...did you eat?" arrived with just a little more force.

"I'll eat in the morning," Fleur pretended to promise.

A little more softly, "...and would you let me get away with that?"

No. "Fluttershy --"

"...vegetable broth," the pegasus quietly said. "I'll heat some broth for you. It won't take very long. And then I'll know you're sleeping on a full stomach." Four legs began to push against the cushions.

"You don't have to --"

"...I want to --"

-- which was when the outside birds went off at top volume, and both mares failed to freeze.

The cottage didn't possess what Fleur considered to be adequate levels of security. But it did have a few workable features, and one of them came from an alarm system which possessed some capacity for telling the occupants why it was going off. There was a melody for a friend coming up the path, another applied to strangers, Zephyr's arrival had placed a few notes of anger into the bars, and one version would only apply if a monster came in from the wild zone. Something which would be delivered on the wing, as Fluttershy had told the birds that their first priority would be to evacuate. That last was a song which had been sounded with true reason at least once before, but -- Fleur hadn't been in hearing range at the time.

This frantic aria wasn't any of those tunes. The desperate notes had a liquid quality, and invisible drops fell from the quavers.

Yellow limbs jerked to full extension. Fluttershy jumped off the couch, raced past Fleur to the door as slightly-oversized wings unfurled to their full span, just in case the slightest bit of extra speed could make any difference at all. Fleur's horn ignited, corona projecting towards the door in the name of saving what might be vital seconds --

-- the glow-coated halves opened together, and new sounds entered the cottage. One was the squeak of cart wheels, accompanied by the hard, too-fast breaths of a pony who'd been running for far longer than she should have. This was followed by the soft, confused multiple whimpers of those too new to the world for understanding any of it. A tremulous, uncertain cross between grunt and growl came in behind it.

And then the scent reached Fleur. Fluttershy, who had already cleared the door, was flying through an invisible cloud of it. That which brought fear, panic, and the need to flee into the heart of just about everypony -- but not the pegsaus, whose every wingbeat brought her that much closer to the source.

It was part of how Ponyville judged how bad a situation truly was. The worst things were the ones Fluttershy didn't run from.

"Please!" the short grey unicorn mare gasped, forcing overworked legs to bring her that much closer to what had to be salvation. "Please..."

Fleur stared out from the doorway. Looked at froth sliding away from Velour's exceptionally soft coat, saw the cart, the soaked red padding, and the sheer size of the dog within. It was a canine which could just about outsize Twilight, potentially outmassed the alicorn and, when it came to sheer displays of affection, was absolutely capable of outwagging her. 'Outlicking' was an automatic win for Bertha. Twilight was just about up to nuzzling her friends and kissing her little brother good night: licking had never entered the equation.

Both mares knew the mastiff, had been seeing her regularly ever since the pregnancy had been confirmed. They'd mutually agreed that Bertha was more than hardy enough to go through labor without direct supervision, and Moon shone down on the results: five healthy, wriggling puppies. Their fur was still stained with the residue of the birth canal, they would be blind and deaf for weeks because that was the natural state of puppies who'd just entered the world, but they were healthy. Too young for anything but instinct, and that had them trying to crowd in next to their mother's belly because that was where the scent of milk was.

Except that there was another scent.

There was a tremendous mass protruding from the vulva, red and swollen and dripping with blood, like a tumor which had inverted just before being expelled almost all the way out. Almost shapeless but for two almost hornlike protrusions of flesh at the far end, with so much of the surface covered in fragile arteries and veins. It was something which never should have been exposed to the world, never should have been seen, and something in Fleur wanted to retreat, to reach a place where the giant globule of inverted biology could never follow --

-- but Fluttershy had already landed.

Bertha made a new sound: a sort of snuffling confusion. A canine whose natural features always suggested that something had recently gone horribly wrong managed a blink. Velour, on the ragged edge of collapse, added her own whimper.

"Please..."

Fluttershy immediately nodded.

"It's not as bad as it looks, Velour," the pegasus quickly said. "We can treat her. But it might take hours to put it back."

Pale silver eyes just barely managed to look up, and multiple tears fell away. "Put... it back?"

"Prolapsed uterus," Fluttershy diagnosed. "It always looks horrible -- but it can be fixed, I swear on Moon that this isn't hopeless. Fleur, help me get them all inside."

Her guardian had issued an order. The Protoceran moved.

Water. Milk. Sugar.

The water was for Velour. She wasn't very large for a unicorn: taller than Twilight, but -- not by much. Something in the pony took comfort in having a companion who outsized her and, if the need arose, could protect the mare in ways which magic meant for the art of pile weaving could not. The mare was in no way meant for hauling a massive canine, puppies, and cart all the way from Ponyville at top speed and with her pet at risk, had done it anyway.

All of the preliminary medical treatment went to the equine, because that degree of froth had placed her at greater risk. Fleur kept the small mare on her hooves, walked her around in a cooldown circle while making sure she drank, checked her temperature, and didn't bring her into the sitting room until she was sure Velour wasn't going to pass out on the spot. And then there was extra water, because that rate of tear flow could almost risk dehydration on its own.

The milk, strictly speaking, wasn't quite. Puppies were meant to suckle from their mother. The five newborns were moons away from being put on solids, and digestive systems which were being asked to truly function for the first time weren't up to tackling the unchanged lactation of any other species. So you took distilled water, some egg yolk, a little yogurt, some corn syrup, added it all to a touch of cow's milk -- and then the results had to be thoroughly blended.

Fleur took care of that part. It was something she could do.

The results were divided among multiple small bottles, all of which were delivered to Velour in the sitting room. She was told to watch over the puppies, giving them a warm body to rest against. A feeding schedule was presented. And that was what Velour could do, across the long hours of a spring night. Keep new hearts beating, while she waited to learn if her own would break.

The sugar was applied directly to the surface of the prolapsed uterus.

It had taken just about everything they had in the pantry, dusted and coated across the red, oozing flesh. But Fluttershy had explained the reasoning: sugar, used in this fashion, could pull excess water out of exposed living tissue. Shrinking the mass while keeping it supple enough to be manipulated.

The mastiff, sedated into something which could almost pass for sleep, nearly overflowed the examination table. They'd had to improvise an extension in order to support the inverted organ, and too much of the sugar had wound up on the elevated folding tray. Fleur had tried to pour it out as carefully as she could, but -- her control had been shaky.

She wasn't affected by the bloodscent. The natural fear had been trained away by her adoptive parents: repeated exposure until the fading had become permanent. She knew she wasn't being set off by the blood. But the sight of that horrible mass...

"I'm glad you're here," Fluttershy quietly said. "I need you, Fleur. For Bertha."

"...need me," the unicorn replied, and briefly wondered if the words had sounded forced.

"It's going to be hard," the pegasus told her. "It almost always is. But with you, it'll be easier."

"We didn't reach this in any of the books," Fleur automatically protested. "And this never happened at the ranch. I don't know what I'm supposed to do --"

"Follow my instructions," the caretaker cut in. "Exactly."

"-- I don't even know what happened --"

Fluttershy softly sighed. Moved around the examination table, examined the dripping mass of flesh.

"The swelling is starting to go down," she observed. "We can start soon. Will you pull my mane back, please? You know how that goes --"

This time, Fleur felt the desperation reach her voice. "Fluttershy --"

"-- she's strong," the pegasus quietly said. "It's why I wasn't worried about her going through labor. But that strength can be its own problem." The yellow head slowly shook. "I thought about sending a bird to the Acres."

"To -- the --" had to emerge in stages.

"It's Applejack's tenants," the caretaker explained. "This happens to cattle more than any other species. Sheep too, sometimes, but -- with them, it's easier to put it back. A cattle uterus is huge, and -- they're strong. They push. Especially when they feel it going back in. If they aren't sedated -- and sometimes, even if they are -- they'll push on instinct. It's why I had to bring Bertha so far down, so she wouldn't fight back. As much."

"But -- what even happened?" Fleur frantically demanded. "To -- make this..."

Exposed arteries seemed to pulse. Veins traced paths across hot raw flesh.

"They push," Fluttershy calmly told her. "If you're pushing... things can come out. The uterus is just -- inverted, Fleur. But it's still healthy. Velour... she must have been rushing to get here, but she padded out the cart, and -- none of the major blood vessels broke. That's one of the real risks. And we have to make sure this is clean. Get everything foreign off it, before we put it back. If you see any placental fragments, any afterbirth, then that needs to be cleaned too."

"...put it back," the unicorn just barely managed. "An organ came out of Bertha's body, and we're just going to put it back --"

Almost placid. "Yes."

"And you were going to send for Applejack," Fleur tried.

Please send for Applejack.

"Because she's seen it before. And had to help the doctors. The ones who know how to get it back where it belongs."

"So there's specialists!" Clear shot to the door, top galloping speed, I can try to levitate across the straightaways... "And they have to live close by, if they can reach the Acres in a crisis! Give me an address! If it's just in Ponyville, then I can bring them here in --"

"-- specialists in tenant medicine," Fluttershy quietly said. "They might be able to improvise for a canine. But they're not used to it. And it's spring. Their busy season, Fleur. Nopony may be available."

"Any help we can get," Fleur pushed. "Any help. I can go to the Acres myself --"

"-- I could send for Applejack," Fluttershy stated. "I did think about it. But we don't need earth pony strength for this, not when there aren't cattle involved. We need delicacy. This is vet work. And we're the vets."

Yellow feathers gently brushed against Fleur's side. She barely noticed.

I'm not.
I'm still studying and we never got this far.
I don't have the mark.
I can't --

The next thought arrived. It appeared instantly, fully formed, with no effort or labor involved, and Fleur felt as if she would have given anything to have never birthed it at all.

She felt her eyes going wide. The tail starting to lash. And she almost tried to fight the words, hold them back, but -- they pushed their way out.

"You said this happens to cattle."

"It's most common with them. Fleur --"

Her volume didn't change. Just the intensity, rendering the words into something very much like a soft scream. "Can it happen to ponies?"

The pause was just a little too long.

"I'm not a doctor," Fluttershy quietly said. "You'd have to ask Dr. Mester. The next time we're in. Fleur, I need you..."

Beneath a powder-free coat, ribs heaved. The unicorn wondered if they would erupt through the skin.

Don't run.
Don't run.

"...what do you need me to do?"

"Fourth drawer down, leftmost cabinet," Fluttershy softly instructed her. "The black cloth bag. We're going to need that."

It gave her something to look at which wasn't the mass. Fleur turned, trotted over when she didn't strictly need to, ignited her horn and followed instructions --

-- the fabric was utterly clean, and the strangely-shaped metal contents looked as if they'd never been used.

As carefully as she dared, "Fluttershy?"

"Disinfectant next. And warm water. We're going to need a bag which won't leak." Rather clinically, "You'll put the uterus in the bag. I'll dilute the disinfectant, and then we'll pour the mix in --"

She let the desperation coat her words. She needed to be heard. "-- have you ever done this before?"

Silence, and it didn't last long enough.

"I know the theory," Fluttershy stated. "I've read the articles. And I know that we shouldn't try to move her again. Trying to fetch Genia, bringing her in from town... it might take too long. This is an organ outside the body, Fleur. Time matters. Genia's good, so much better than Sweetbark ever was, and I'm glad the palace found her to divide up the work -- but we're the ones who are here now. So we're the ones who have to do the job."

It began.

It could be argued that working with Fluttershy was part of what had brought them together. Something which had started shortly into Fleur's sentence, because she'd told herself it was easier to be in the examination room than to hemorrhage endless hours while waiting outside it.

The shared labor had brought them together. Or perhaps it had simply closed the trap.

The organ...

...temperature didn't really register to the surface of a field. The corona didn't conduct that way. Any reactions thus became psychosomatic and because there were days in which it felt like everypony in Equestria was crazy, the delusion that you could get a thermal sensation that way was just about constant. But when it came to the oppressive heat of the warm, slippery, bloody vein-covered mass... nothing truly registered, or ever could. Fleur kept telling herself that, and insisted to her psyche that it had to be true.

Temperature didn't conduct through a field.

But you could get a sense of the texture.

Fluttershy had to keep giving her instructions and in terms of general directions, it could be said that every last one of them was familiar. Lift. Examine. Clean. Disinfect. Check for debris. Push. There wasn't a single order on the list which Fleur hadn't done before. There was just the decidedly non-minor issue of having to go through all of it with a massive, recently-extruded blob of reproductive flesh. Something which Fleur happened to possess inside of her own body, and she was still waiting for some degree of reassurance about hers not having the potential to put on an outside appearance.

Texture... oh yes, you could definitely get a sense of that through a field. And Fleur had used her corona to hold back the edges of carefully-inflicted wounds, separate layers of tissue, plus there had been a few hairballs extracted and that wasn't exactly a pleasant sensation. None of it compared to the experience of moving an extruded, raw, living, and not-exactly-where-it-should-be uterus.

She'd butchered animal and monster corpses on the ranch. Fleur didn't consider herself to be particularly good at it, and her parents had quickly concluded that her talents didn't really lie in that direction: she possessed enough skill to be decent at such duties in the kitchen, but -- that was it. The majority of what such trials had originally been good for was desensitizing her to the bloodscent. And now, several years down the line, they were also providing what felt like a fully-accurate basis for comparison.

Moving the uterus was exactly like manipulating a recently-rendered corpse. One with all of the skin removed, half of the muscles gone, and the deboning process complete. And, at just about the moment, you were about to place it within the freezer for storage, having it pulse. Twist. Shift and vibrate and come very close to breath, because it was still alive.

She couldn't get a true sense of the organ's warmth through the field. But psychosomatics weren't known for being reasonable, and her brain kept insisting that there were layers of hot meat being pressed against her frontal lobes and she really wanted it to STOP.

But Fluttershy kept issuing instructions. And the charge had to obey.

Bertha was... mostly oblivious. Fluttershy had assured Fleur that there wasn't a tremendous amount of pain involved in the extrusion: in fact, when it came to cattle, some of them had to be informed about the gigantic mass which was now hanging from their --

Don't vomit.
Don't vomit.
Aim away from --
-- swallow it back...
...rinse out my mouth.

But there had still been sedation. Powerful muscles had recently pushed. A sleeping canine wouldn't snap or try to escape -- but those same muscles, at the moment the body sensed an intrusion, might try to push back.

The sugar did its job: the organ involuted somewhat, brought down to dimensions which merely looked to be roughly three hundred percent of what the mastiff's body could accommodate. It was cleaned. And they had to be so careful, because the tissue was surprisingly fragile. No hoof contact was possible. Teeth couldn't come anywhere near it. If one of the major uterine arteries snapped, then... they would have a new, decidedly urgent problem. It was all done with tools carefully applied to the surface, and the cautious pressure of Fleur's field.

Blood dripped from the flesh, became entangled with the corona's energies and flowed around the interior of the field bubble in red rivers. Liquids tended to do that.

She was told to knead the flesh slightly and carefully: something which was necessary before trying to put the organ back. The texture embossed itself onto her brain.

And then she had to push.

Most of that was the tools. The tools were necessary to maintain the pressure, because Bertha's body kept trying to expel what it now considered to be an unwelcome intruder. Fleur got a quarter-hoofwidth to slip inside again, the dog would make a strictly casual effort, and then it would all come back out. Each specialized instrument was necessary to keep the force constant. The only thing more constant was the risk of applying too much of that force and tearing the uterine wall.

Fluttershy... mostly watched. She did what she could with the tools, but she needed to keep her jaw clear. Somepony had to give Fleur instructions.

The pegasus tried to keep the unicorn's morale up. Humor was invoked. At one point, Fluttershy told a story about a doctor who'd been trying to treat a cattle case, using a clean cloth sheet to keep the exposed organ away from a barn's grime. Replacing the organ for cattle frequently required marathon sessions, and the doctor had been surprised to find herself on the verge of setting a world record. Right up until the moment she discovered that she'd actually been pushing the flesh through a rip in the sheet.

...Fluttershy still wasn't funny.

It had to be the tools. A unicorn couldn't move any object which was fully inside another. Vision was also a problem. Every time Fleur got a section of living meat to slip a little closer to where it belonged, her corona lost that much more of its grip.

She pushed. The dog unconsciously pushed back. Fleur strained, fought, concentrated, tried to maintain focus and as long as she was pushing, she could push against the desire to stop, what was becoming an absolute need to vomit, and there was also this rim of grey at the edge of her vision and she could push against that too. In theory, if she pushed back against all of it with all the strength she had to give, she would fall into a personal darkness and then everything would become somepony else's problem.

Her field began to waver. At one point, the bubble developed multiple small gaps. Blood dripped onto the floor, flowed around her hooves. She wasn't sure if any of it had gotten into her fur, and couldn't afford to look. And she was aware that she normally would have felt the liquid against her skin, but... as senses went, touch apparently wasn't currently important. Her entire body seemed to have gone numb. Prioritizing for sight and the half-tangible sensations from her field's feel.

Fluttershy kept giving instructions. There might have been times when feathers brushed against her, reassuring her that the pegasus was still there. Fleur couldn't really register that either, and -- it didn't seem to matter.

She pushed.
She pushed.
She pushed.

The most complicated instruments in the little kit were designed to rotate the uterine horns. This was necessary to reestablish the organ's place within the body's cavity. Fluttershy made it very clear that without getting the fleshy horns properly situated, there was an increased chance for the uterus to come out again. And it all had to be judged by sensation, because the bone-glow screen couldn't show how an organ was seated and cutting Bertha's abdomen for a more direct look had a chance to make everything worse. The canine's body was already strained.

The way you tested to see if the horns were reseated was to use the tool's soft end to try and shake them loose. From the inside. The process was carefully explained to Fleur, and then Fluttershy patiently waited until the unicorn stopped choking on repressed vomit.

Lavaging the interior of the replaced uterus was the simplest part. Take a sterile saline solution and rinse. Just in case. After that, it was a vulval stitch, because the first full day after a uterine prolapse was the most likely period to see it happen for the second time and the stitching was supposed to help prevent that. Some of the time.

Bertha was given herbs with anti-inflammatory properties, along with some basic antibiotics. Fleur's field, now flickering at the edges, massaged the dog's throat. Made her swallow.

The unicorn looked up, and light hit her pupils like a spear.

Fleur recoiled. Her dock nearly went into one of the cabinets, the attempt to keep that from getting jammed sent her forward, produced impact, and the bloodstained tray table loudly crashed to the floor --

The "What happened?" hit before the first echo. "Is everything all right in there?" Quavering, "Is Bertha --"

"-- it's already over," Fluttershy carefully called back. "It was just a falling tray, Velour. Just a tray..."

"Can..." They both heard her swallow. "Can I come in? Is she going to be..."

Five puppies united in a chorus of tiny whimpering noises. Their mother shifted in her sleep.

"I'll come out," the pegasus replied. "She should be all right, Velour. But she'll have to stay here for at least a day. The puppies, too."

"...she'll be okay?" The eternal sound of hope.

"I think so. Her prognosis is good. We have to be sure."

The barest wisp of an exhale. "...all right..."

The pegasus turned to face Fleur. Two weary eyes regarded fully-exposed features.

"...you're strained," Fluttershy softly said. "Please don't lie about it: I know that's where the reaction came from. I've seen it from Twilight and Rarity, after they overexert. It wasn't a lot of weight, but -- too much field use, too many fine adjustments. You need rest, Fleur." A little sadly, "But you can't leave the room just yet. Not when you're this covered in blood, and Velour is -- still on edge. Once she's calmer, after I send her home... then you can go up the ramp. Take a bath. I'll help you wash up. But for now, wait here."

Fluttershy slowly trotted past her. Left the examination room. It was just Fleur, the sleeping dog, and a preview of everything the unicorn could look forward to in her personal future.

Her eyes went down. Looking away from the light, towards the titanium circlet around her left foreleg.

And for the first time in over a year, the word echoed in her strained mind.
The overwhelming desire.

Run.

When You Move To Ponyville, You Stick Your Entire Body In 'Crazy'

Rainbow had sent off a few scrolls to the Princess in her time (or asked Spike to do it, which clearly counted), and had initially resented the implication that she might need to do so. When it came to understanding how various kinds of relationships were supposed to work, Twilight was the one who had started out as strangely, sometimes incomprehensibly, and almost comedically behind. The suggestion that Rainbow could still have something to learn about anything so basic as friendship... that hadn't gone over well.

Under the other wing, some friendships could be sort of complicated. Often in unexpected ways. One of which had her out of bed in the predawn hours, in full flight above a Ponyville which danced with colors both perfectly natural and strange, because --

-- maybe that was a potential scroll-in-waiting, or at least the opening line of one. Rainbow wasn't about to tell the Princess about everything which had been taking place during the spring, because some subjects were simply too personal and most of what her recent attempts to write out her feelings had done was produce a lot of furiously-chewed wads of blame-taking paper. But when it came to the lesser details...

'A friend is somepony who, when you tell them what part of the problem is, can probably hold back some of the laughter for at least three seconds.'

Rainbow had insomnia.

She was fairly sure that telling most of the others would have been good for watching multiple sets of ribs doing their best not to heave. There was one exception, of course: Twilight would have simply locked up the tree. Again.

It wasn't the first time. The first time Rainbow had experienced that level of sheer biological betrayal remained fully inexplicable. Sure, some ponies claimed that sleeping too much during the day could leave somepony unable to get the normal number of night hours in, but Rainbow was effectively a priestess of sleep and knew exactly how much had been offered up at the altar. She'd just had a night when she hadn't been able to fall asleep for more than a few minutes, then she hadn't been capable of managing even that much, and when she'd finally gone for help...

Okay, so a freshly-awoken Twilight didn't want to try creating a sleep-inducing spell on the spot. As Rainbow saw it, a librarian had certain duties to the community. Something which, in what had clearly been an emergency, needed to transcend normal operating hours. So asking for the most boring reading material in existence should have just demonstrated how much she respected the then-unicorn's job. And waking Twilight up a few more times in order to provide crucial sections of the Day Court transcripts with some historical context? That was an open admission that Twilight's lecturing skills had value, so shouldn't the librarian have stopped muttering to herself after a while? And really, the half-audible death threats were completely uncalled for.

Besides, if Twilight had really wanted to help, then she would have led off the suggestions with the one about Rainbow going outside, putting in some intensive exercise, and tiring herself out. Instead of waiting for several hours. And when Rainbow had rather kindly pointed out that minor priority-sorting error, Twilight had asked her if she was familiar with a strange word, followed by using her field to fling the pegasus out the nearest window.

Rather cruelly, this had been done without defining the word first. And as soon as Rainbow figured out how to spell it, she was going to use a dictionary and finally find out what 'defenestration' meant.

The exercise suggestion had totally worked out, though. To perfection. She'd performed the single most energy-burning activity her rest-deprived brain had been able to come up with, and it had put her to sleep. It was just that the police chief had expressed an opinion regarding setting off a Sonic Rainboom over Ponyville at three in the morning.

Miranda Rights had also made it rather clear that she was passing that viewpoint along on behalf of the citizenry. Verbally, as opposed to using the sign language which the majority of the newly-awake had preferred. Rainbow didn't know a lot about the speech made from foreleg, ear, and tail movements, but was hoping it didn't normally involve kicks.

She'd been lucky enough to avoid a second brutal bout with the sleepless condition -- for a while. But as it turned out, there were a lot of things which could trigger insomnia.

Like having too many words in your head.
Not knowing if they were the right ones.
Having no one to hear them...

Sun wasn't due to be raised for at least another hour. The settled zone was mostly asleep: some of the earliest commuters were already up, staggering in the general direction of the train. And to Rainbow, each of those travelers registered in her eyes as something which wasn't quite red. It lay beyond red. A hue which was perfectly natural in her sight -- but when speaking with two-thirds of Equestria, it was utterly impossible to describe.

How could you truly talk about a sense to those who lacked it? Describe purest crimson as a musical note and for those who couldn't see it, the first faint shade of inphrārēḍa would exist as visual ultrasound. But for Rainbow and just about every other pegasus who'd finished puberty, the ability to see heat was normal. As natural as flight. And with the ponies who weren't gifted with either...

Words. Only pegasi talked about inphrārēḍa, and the hues of heat which lay beyond. They did so using terms which earth ponies and unicorns never invoked. The other two species had no need. They would never know, and -- there were ways in which that hurt. So many of her friends had been deprived of experiences which Rainbow saw as fundamental, and they didn't even understand enough to mourn the loss.

Even Twilight had issues with it. Rainbow was the alicorn's flight instructor, along with teaching her how to weave the threads of power which made up pegasus techniques. And when the librarian managed to truly tap into her winged aspect... that was when Twilight could see heat. Rainbow had taken pride in being the one to give her the names for every color which existed in the true spectrum, along with allowing for a little justified smugness when she got to correct Twilight's pronunciation. And as with flight, it had felt so good to share a little more of the true world with somepony she cared about --

-- but once that aspect receded, when Twilight was truly thinking as herself again -- the librarian didn't remember what she'd seen. Couldn't even describe it. And with the others, who would never be able to reach for even the most temporary of experiences...

Where were the words which would make them understand how it felt? Did those terms even exist? And if they didn't, what good were words at all?

(Twilight had wondered about some of the words. Terms had to arise when there was something to describe -- but the words pegasi used for the hues of heat didn't sound like anything else in Equestrian. Twilight had proposed that pegasi might have had their own language once, and only the spectral terms had survived. The alicorn could have that sort of thought, and there were times when it made her cool. Rainbow was just really hoping she was wrong, because the rest of the lost language might be written down somewhere and there was something sad about a book nopony would ever be able to read.)

It was so hard to find words. Almost impossible to know if they were the right ones. And when those words were meant for one person, just one, and you didn't know where they were...

Rainbow couldn't sleep. The most obvious cause was an excess of words, when there was no one present to hear.

(There was also guilt.)
(Fleur had said it wasn't her fault. Maybe Fleur was wrong.)
(Or maybe...)
(...the thing Applejack never understood was that there were times when friends would lie as a form of protection...)

So she was searching for Gilda.

Maybe it was pointless. An excuse for moving, because that was the best way to fight back against the insomnia and seriously, Chief Rights could have at least allowed her to set off a Rainboom over the dam. But at least this way, she was doing something. And she was mostly staying focused on heat, because it was a fairly dark night and what the other species considered to be 'normal' sight wouldn't be doing much for a while.

Which was a good reason for maintaining altitude. A low-flying pegasus who wasn't working with the more standard assortment of colors could occasionally get a high-speed reminder of how portions of the inanimate tended to match the temperature of the ambient air.

Gaze down at Ponyville, during what was frankly a far too humid spring night and Rainbow didn't know what the Bureau had been thinking when they'd put that much moisture into the schedule...

An occupied home might glow. Temperature comfort varied somewhat by the individual, and it was deep enough into the season for some ponies to have turned off their heating systems. Others were still running their vents at full blast, while a very few opened windows to let the cool air in. But thermal vision didn't work like a bone-glow screen: unless there was something very hot or cold on the other side of a wall, then what Rainbow would get was the temperature of the wall. A pony moving around within the house didn't show up.

There was dew on the ground, and it cooled the world. But every pony on the street, in the air... that was a beacon. Some had taken their pets out for early walks, and it all gave off the radiance of life. And for a pegasus who was willing to look closely...

There were three major Equestrian pony species. Rainbow, who'd been aware that she was one of the first ponies in generations to get a true look at the crystals, had tried to evaluate the residents of the North in full sight and -- found that something about their coats did strange things with the radiance of heat. Crystal ponies seemed to have a wider temperature tolerance, could go out beyond the Barrier and stay in the swirling cold for a time without ill effects -- but fur-to-flesh contact made them feel a little cooler than normal, and it had to be touch because it was just about impossible to see how hot any crystal was running.

When it came to body temperature, earth ponies and unicorns were very close to each other. Pegasi, who tended towards quicker metabolisms, were somewhat warmer.

Griffons ran hot.

It wasn't that much of a difference, and Rainbow felt it potentially varied by the individual. A griffon's body could display any combination of great cat and hunting bird: perhaps those facets contributed to the thermal result. But with Gilda -- hotter than earth ponies and unicorns, a few crucial degrees above pegasi. And as the only griffon in Ponyville (or rather, the only one who could claim that status in mind and body), Gilda would stand out. It would be easy to spot her this way, in the crucial hour before Sun brought in the rest of the light.

As long as she was in the open.
She also had to be within Ponyville.
And Rainbow didn't know.

There had been multiple sightings within the borders: a single biological griffon in a settled zone wasn't going to be confused with anyone else. But it didn't mean Gilda was staying in the town. Rainbow had already checked the hotels, she couldn't peer into every private residence and when it came to personal comfort for a traveling griffon, Canterlot and the Aviary were right there.

If it's the 'linkless' thing...
(She didn't want to think about that for long.)
She might not want to stay near other griffons.
...I should check Canterlot anyway.

Too many presumptions. Gilda could be curled up in the cool basement of an abandoned house. Safely tucked into the corner of a bell tower. For all Rainbow knew, her friend was trying to sleep in the Everfree.

Just find her.

Searching the Everfree was something best done with 'normal' light on standby, because there were monsters who were aware that pegasi could spot heat and had evolved a few tricks to match. Rainbow was still considering whether to go in anyway.

She checked the shopping district. Hovered over the restaurants. To the east, fast-dissipating clouds of short-lived warmth represented the train: the steamstack was venting.

At one point, she passed through another of Zephyr's assigned sites and because she would have had to eventually do it anyway, risked a few seconds in checking it over.

The results were somewhere beyond satisfactory. They were also somewhat odd.

I think this residue is fresher than it should be. Not that she was always the best judge of that, and the traces of certain basic weaves could fade at different rates. But it's more than that. This feels like...

...maybe 'feel' was the wrong term. (Words could be exceptionally stupid that way.) As with unicorns and earth ponies, every pegasus worked magic in their own way. In that sense, the assigned cloudbreaking area didn't feel as if Rainbow had personally done the job. She had a good sense of Zephyr's signature now, and it couldn't be confused for her own.

It wasn't the signature. It was the style. Because there were enough lingering threads in the area to indicate the pattern of the weave, and when she looked at how they had been traced against the loom of the sky...

He did this the way I would have. 'Close enough for changelings', as the very recent saying went. Not that changelings could actually use pegasus magic, but words could be suspect and a lot of sayings were stupid.

...maybe it wasn't that strange. Rainbow considered herself to be -- 'talented' was an understatement, but it was also the best way to keep Rarity from rolling her eyes when the accurate terms came out. And Zephyr was an IST foal --

-- adult. He was an adult, if not by all that much. But something about Zephyr made it very easy to think of him in terms of extreme youth, and none of them centered on the want she'd spotted in his gaze. A near-stare which didn't care very much about whether its owner got caught. Rainbow didn't need Fleur's talent to tell when somepony was just about openly lusting after her. And nopony needed a mark to stamp an eternal NO over the mere concept of being with him. Anypony who felt like they would enjoy being on the receiving end for that kind of attention was welcome to intercept a portion of hers and in doing so, find out how long it would take them to change their minds. She didn't think much of Zephyr as a stallion and when it came to what little she'd experienced of his personality, Rainbow vastly preferred not to think of him at all.

But if she forced herself to do nothing more than evaluate his efforts -- to be fair...

She was talented. So maybe she'd just naturally done things in the same manner as the Bureau's crisis stormbreakers, while he'd picked up the style from his parents. Living with, and learning from, the best.

She'd... occasionally found herself wondering what Fluttershy might have become, if the caretaker had inherited that raw field strength. It was a hard thing to picture, and any attempt at creating an image quickly found jagged gaps developing from the center out. She didn't want to imagine Fluttershy that way, because the resulting mare might not have been her friend.

Rainbow didn't want to picture a world where Fluttershy was a future part of the IST, and the cottage was just... empty.

But when it came to what the caretaker might have been like as a prospective stormbreaker -- maybe Zephyr was it.

She didn't like him as a person. She didn't have to. Not if he was the right pony for the job and, incidentally, figured out when to bucking blink once in a while. Because there was such a thing as sexual harassment of a superior. Rainbow had briefly looked over the paperwork required to file that complaint with the Bureau, considered the time involved to get through the triplicate, and had then decided that kicking would be faster. Lightning would put a significant divisor on that --

-- no.

This... wasn't about her. Not completely, and certainly not as far as the Bureau was concerned. It was about Ponyville. Because somepony in the Sphere had decided to pull a Stratus, and had done so with a colt -- stallion -- from Stratuston. Calendar and clock were both counting down the scant time remaining until the Bureau would demand her answer.

One or the other. Not both. She'd been trying to make 'both' work, but she knew there were problems. She understood why all parties wanted a final decision. And when she tried to think about which one it had to be...

...it hurt.

The pain was fully familiar.

"A weighty choice is yours to make: the right selection or a big mistake. If a wrong choice you choose to pursue, the foundations of home will crumble without you."

An ache which went into the soul.

(She'd relayed Discord's speech to Zecora, roughly two moons after it had all ended. Partially to get a professional opinion on the rhyme quality, but mostly because the potion-brewer possessed what might be the best derisive snort on the planet.)

Rainbow fully believed that she was capable of being loyal to any number of things: her Element clearly didn't come with a capacity limit. She could commit to everyone (and right now, 'everyone' was very much the proper term), but -- she couldn't be everywhere.

She was trying to make a decision. She wanted to, if only to get it over with. To -- figure out what she truly wanted. And that had to be the Wonderbolts, right? The whole reason she'd originally gone for a Bureau post was because she'd figured out the secret: she would essentially be getting paid to practice. Compensated training. And it had worked. She'd made it through the Academy. She'd achieved her dream --

-- their dream --

-- but...

It wasn't just the Bearers. When it came to participating in missions, being a full-time Wonderbolt actually wasn't much of an issue. If anything happened which required the group to assemble, then the palace would dispatch escort-capable teleporters to fetch her. By Rainbow's best estimate, she could be brought in from anywhere on the continent in something under an hour. Taking her out of an international tour was actually faster, if only because the sheer distance meant the Princessses would need to become personally involved. She wouldn't have as much time with her friends, but... if there was an emergency, she would be there.

She could leave Ponyville, if she wanted to.
She could.
(She kept telling herself that.)
And if she committed to the Wonderbolts, then -- Ponyville would need a new weather coordinator.

Maybe Fluttershy's brother was it.

I have to be fair.
Passing Shower wasn't fair with me. The only times when he wasn't trying to get me fired every week was when he was trying to do it every day.
I need to give Zephyr a chance.

She needed to find Gilda.

Rainbow flew on. Cyan wings beat at the wet air. Moisture soaked into her coat, saturated and begin to drip as faint touches of rose light began to creep into the horizon's fringe. Sun was on the way.

The hardest part was maintaining the pace. Keeping it from accelerating, because there would always be something in Rainbow which wanted to go faster and a speed overfly during a search was exactly the wrong thing to do. She was currently moving at a little over a standard trot.

She was always better at hide-and-seek.

Most of which had taken place before Rainbow's full vision had come in. (As with just about all of pegasus magic, it had been something which had only truly arrived at puberty: fillies and colts who tried to tap into the sense would find themselves squinting at thermal blurs.) But there had been a few after, and...

We talked about it.
We talked about everything.
Our magic. Our dreams. What we could do to make it all come true.
Together.

What had telling Gilda about that first true sighting of inphrārēḍa done? Well, for starters, it had inspired the Protoceran to get that much more creative about hide-and-seek. All Rainbow had really accomplished was to teach her friend about new forms of concealment. Surround yourself with enough obscuring temperatures and it would create a different form of invisibility.

Gilda had truly listened to what Rainbow said. Always.
Until she hadn't.

She was always warm.

Wingbeats faltered.

Sometimes it got cold at camp. Cold on purpose, because the counselors wanted us to practice in different conditions. And it would still be cold when we went back to our bunks. None of us could shift heat yet, it took a while to warm up and the blankets didn't always feel like they were enough.

And Gilda was warm.

We'd share a bunk. And she wanted me to stay close, because... I was her friend. The only one she had at camp, the only person she really knew.

I was her guardian.

So we'd go under the blankets together. Feathers and fur, pressed tight. She wanted to warm me up, because it was something she could do for me. We talked and laughed and...

...cuddled.

All the time.

Is this my fault?

She had to make it right --

-- the Bureau would understand. So would the Wonderbolts. If Gilda hadn't been found by their deadline, then they would have to understand. Rainbow would stay in Ponyville for as long as she needed to. Or in Canterlot, or go into the Everfree. Wherever a griffon could potentially hide.

But it didn't have to take that long. All she needed to do was keep looking. Maybe ask a few ponies to come and alert her if Gilda was spotted. And until then -- well, maybe the insomnia was actually a freshly-recruited ally. More hours awake meant more time to search. To carefully slip through the sky, trying to find that familiar warmth.

That was what you did for a friend. For someone you loved. And there was something in her which had loved the tiercel, from the very start.

She loved Gilda. But... not in the way Fleur had said Gilda felt about her.

Cuddling. Snuggling together. During summers on the ranch, sharing a nest. Talking about magic and life and a shared dream.

They had planned to do it together. Everything, together...

This is my fault.

She had to fix it.

It was the distant-seeming suggestion of shifting colors which got Caramel to truly look at the sky, when he'd been focused on his company for so many hours. And when he spotted those first hints of rose and warm orange, a fast-approaching Sun told him just how many hours it had been.

"Oh, Sun..." the earth pony softly moaned, and his company laughed.

"Right," she said, and the huge golden eyes briefly looked over his head, stared through the living room window. "That's Sun. Or it's going to be Sun in a few minutes. We're just getting the warning shot." The eagle head shook, and leonine shoulders tossed off a powerful shrug. "We'll call that a decent talliho anyway."

"A --"

Her beak parted slightly, and the powerful body shifted slightly on his couch. It was one of Davenport's finer models, wide enough for a pony to rest while fully facing forward -- with company. And the tiercel was sitting right next to him.

Caramel hadn't asked her to do that. There had been no attempt to shift his body closer to hers. She'd just taken up the position. And when she shifted a little, or got up because he'd made sure to keep her mug topped off with water all night --

-- she couldn't really use the hoof loop as intended, but the flexible talons had a way of establishing powerful grips --

-- the tiercel was surprisingly warm.

"It's something we say on the hunt, if it's being done as a pride," she educated. "It just means you're the one who made the first sighting, and it can call in everyone else to help. But you can't always say it too loudly, or you might scare off whatever you were after." It was a rather soft snicker and, to his ears, almost entirely free of malice: the minor leftover was put down to the natural desire for scoring a few points. "Not much chance of that happening with Sun, right? Or was that whole incident a few years back just you going loud because it was getting a little light out and that was going to make it easier to track down the good grass?"

His own smile was fully natural. Warm. And the little laugh felt good -- but the shifting colors of the sky still represented a problem.

"Not me," he admitted. "I don't think I've ever seen grass good enough to shout about. Not even yoysia, and that's supposed to be the most expensive grass in the world." Curiously, "I don't suppose you've ever tried --"

It had once been a natural tactic for him. Discover what was desired, then spend on it. A Lot. But somepony had ridden roughshod over his budget, the lessons had been pounded in with extra force --

"-- sorry," he winced. "I didn't think..."

-- and he'd just remembered that he was talking to a griffon --

-- she laughed. It was a boisterous sound, one which echoed in the small house while carrying no traces of received insult at all.

"I haven't," she admitted. "I could, but I haven't. Not that type of grass. Never even heard of it."

Caramel blinked. "You can really eat --"

It got him a little shrug. "-- omnivore," she reminded him. "I don't really get anything out of it, though. Not for food. But when I've got an upset stomach, there's some kinds of grass which can calm it down."

He shifted his position a little, tried to picture it. The sky used the pause to become that much brighter.

"Does Protocera have any grass which has natural caffeine?"

The beak closed for a few seconds, and that meant he had to watch her eyes.

It was so strange. Half of her face was relatively immobile, and the motions made by the beak weren't particularly subtle. It placed just about all of the expressions into the upper portion, and that meant he had to look at her. Pay real, near-constant attention, just to try and work out a little more of what she was feeling. Caramel had been putting in true effort for hours and like so much else about that night, it had been an education.

But that was trying to read her features. The voice was slightly raspy, a little rough -- but not unpleasantly so. And the tones almost felt -- normal.

She seemed to be thinking.

"Not grass," she finally said. "There's yaupon, and I can eat the berries. You can't. The leaves would have to be steeped for tea. Why?"

"Because," the earth pony softly groaned, "we've been at this for hours. Just -- talking. And that's Sun on the horizon, and I've got a work shift today..."

The beak parted again: the smile. "You'll live."

"Not if Bon-Bon catches me nodding off, I won't."

"You'll still live," the tiercel opinionated. "And you'll be even more awake. Getting a hoof in the side does that."

A little morbidly, "You think she'll stop at a hoof?"

"If she doesn't, just yelp." The tiercel made a minor show of inspecting her talons. "Maybe I'll hear it."

With a perfectly straight face, "Please don't hunt down my employer."

The huge golden eyes rolled. "Fine..."

Talking. They'd spent all that time in just... talking.

The griffon was utterly fascinating.

She'd originally touched down in front of him because she'd needed directions. Advice, because she was new in town and didn't really know how to get around. And she'd just -- kept talking to him. She seemed to enjoy it.

The tiercel had dropped by his house. Asked if he wanted to talk a little more. And he'd invited her in, because... he'd felt as if she was curious.

She'd been the one to choose her position on the couch. Sitting close by.

He'd needed some time to get used to that. Caramel wasn't accustomed to griffon scent. Neither was Shimmy: his ferret had taken one look at the guest and retreated to privacy for the night. (Great golden eyes had carefully watched the movement.) And there was a slight overlay of blood. Something which was likely just the result of her normal diet, but -- blood. A scent which made it hard to stay close.

But then she'd started to talk.

She wanted to know about Equestria.
About him.
And in return, she'd spoken of Protocera.

The stories of her home...

International Studies had never been his best subject. Closer to the worst. He didn't remember much of anything about her home, and was now fully prepared to blame the study material. Neither book nor teacher had made Protocera sound particularly interesting. But when she talked about it... he could hear the love. And it all sounded so strange, strange and wondrous and...

Caramel didn't know how to judge her looks: when it came to griffons, he didn't have any basis for comparison. He genuinely had no idea whether she was attractive.

Of course, there were things he'd picked up on. Like the bloodscent, but -- perhaps that was natural for her. (Fleur used a certain soap to fend off the olfactory consequences of veterinary work, and maybe that would help the tiercel if he could get a supply.) And he'd spent more than enough time around pegasi to recognize when wings badly needed to be preened. The tiercel needed a good grooming season, especially since the oversized feathers which came off the forward crest of the head were starting to droop.

There were times when she paused in her speech. Breaks which could stretch out across multiple heartbeats, as his wall clock ticked on and her eyes remained unfocused. He put this down to Equestrian not being her native language. She was very fluent, but she probably wasn't accustomed to using it for this kind of duration. Stopping to recover vocabulary wasn't unexpected.

She also had strange ways of moving. Part of that came from what he was starting to recognize as a natural, predatory stalk: something which had half-notes of near-familiarity trying to sound in his brain. And she didn't always seem to keep full track of his position. When she got up or sat back down, the talons would come a little too close, and -- the tips weren't exactly blunted. The couch cushions were becoming scratched up to the point of requiring repair, and he couldn't make himself care.

He didn't know if she looked appealing. It was nearly all coming from the voice, added to the simple fact that she'd wanted to come in. To spend time with him. And... she was so close. Like a pegasus, any little adjustments to her position tended to include her wings. They unfolded, brushed against his flank...

The feathers felt the same.

They'd talked all the way across Moon's time, bringing them both back to Sun. It meant he'd been feeling better about himself for hours. More complete.

Part of him recognized that if it had been two years ago, he already would have been trying to research international travel costs. Recent training instructed him to hold off.

"You're being very nice to me," the tiercel abruptly said. "Are you always this kind to new arrivals?"

"I try," Caramel admitted -- then paused, and considered how to place the proper emphasis within the next words. "I met my best friend that way. Trying to help her get used to Ponyville." Carefully, "She's just my friend, though. She's already in a relationship, and she's not my type."

Somewhat quickly, "The tall white mare, right?"

He didn't question it. Caramel didn't think of himself as being the least bit distinctive, but Fleur stood out. If the griffon had seen them together -- well, even the most casual glimpse from the air would have lodged itself in memory. "Yes."

A little eagerly, "You met her when she moved here?"

"A couple of days after," he told her, and curiosity began to rise -- but then he yawned, and fighting off the blush took priority. "Sorry. It's not you. I'm just tired --"

"-- so where's she from?"

"Drayton."

The huge golden eyes took a while to complete their blink.

"...Drayton..." the tiercel slowly said.

"It's okay if you've never heard of it," Caramel said. "It's the smallest settled zone in the realm. Most ponies have no idea where it is. Personally, I'd need to fetch a map --"

"-- Drayton," she repeated. "That's -- interesting." The beak parted again, held position for a few seconds. "I know you've got work. And you'll probably need a nap after. But once that's done... do you mind if we talk some more? Maybe you could show me around. Help me get used to the place, like you did for her. Is that okay?"

"Sure," he quickly said. "And it won't be too much of a nap. I'm an earth pony. Endurance is a specialty --"

It was partially a lie. He could keep going for longer than many, based on species alone -- but it wasn't exactly his mark, and there were plenty of pegasi and unicorns whose talents kept them on their hooves for far longer than Caramel could press on. Fluttershy alone --

"-- it would almost be like a date," the tiercel considered.

His tongue froze. Her head tilted towards him, and white feathers bobbed.

"Did you want it to be?" the griffon asked.

Caramel's brain went into overdrive. Every neuron seemed to be firing at once, trying to decide if the tiercel was joking and, if she wasn't, what kind of answer she wanted to hear. Along with trying to determine the one he needed to give.

But they'd been talking for hours...

She didn't remain still as she waited for his answer. Wings shifted, brushed against him. And perhaps all feathers were the same.

All hearts.

Then she languidly stretched: something which was decidedly catlike. Forelimbs extended. Shifted to the sides --

-- it had been hours. It was reasonable to expect that she was tired. She hadn't really been keeping full track of where he was in the first place, and when they'd been both been up for most of the night...

The tiercel carried a constant background scent of blood and if Caramel hadn't adjusted his position in a hurry, some of it would have been his.

Great, Now There's Three Of Them

The first thing Fleur would have wanted to do when she woke up was tell herself that she'd been overreacting. Yes, the world had presented her with what could be considered as a masterpiece of biological horror: something which poorly-designed (and cheap) attempts at centaur costumes could never begin to approach and quite frankly, if anypony tried to put that on screen, then there were going to be some problems. The filmmaker might legitimately be able to claim that it was the scariest thing to enter the cinema, but movies were frequently screened before anypony committed to a reel rental. This was sometimes done by the cinema's owner. Plus even if there was a madpony willing to take the risk, they would eventually get sick of removing the fainted bodies. Along with cleaning up some of the... other reactions.

It had been -- 'awful' felt like too drastic of an understatement. 'Nightmarish' didn't even apply, because Fleur was fairly certain that she would have preferred to face down something which was 'wearing' an alicorn before doing that again. And when looked at in terms of what the cottage might attempt in order to get her out (because the first few seconds after waking weren't a good time to tell herself that the structure wasn't alive), the whole situation had been over-the-top blatant.

But at the same time, she'd come through it. Reached the other side. So wanting to run away, flee the cottage grounds and Ponyville and probably Equestria forever -- that was an overreaction.

Something in Fleur wanted to spend those first view vital moments of consciousness in telling herself that.

But the just-concluded nightmare had priority.

It wasn't real.

She could feel the billows of the Cumulus supporting her shaking body. The blankets across her back. The nest.

There was also a tiny warm curl of life pressed against her left ear. Katherine had her own ways of knowing whether a day had been especially bad and whenever that happened, the shrew slept close.

She could feel all of that. Knew she was awake and alive, without having opened her eyes. But there was still something to see behind closed lids, and everything within her was trying to push the last remnants of dream away.

Just a nightmare.
It was just a nightmare.
Nothing happened...

Nothing real.

As if that had ever mattered to her nightscape.

The old dreams were changing.

This had been a new one.

In the dream, she's been in labor for -- she doesn't know how long. Her journeys into the nightscape tend to be more detailed than most: there's been times when she's invoked aspects of warmth and touch. But time can still go strange in a dream. The same thing applies to a mare who's in extreme pain. Seconds can slip -- or stretch out into infinity.

She can't seem to find the exact details of the pain. But given that she's eleven and a half moons pregnant and in labor on a birthing table, it can be presumed as the worst physical agony of her life.

There's a doctor there: sometimes she gets glimpses when the agony makes her head toss. Fluttershy is -- somewhere. She knows the pegasus is present, but she can never get a glimpse of yellow fur or coral mane. Every so often, there's a half-whispered word which cuts through the unicorn's screams, telling her to keep going, to push, because they've come this far and this is the end of it.

The beginning.

The starting gate for the rest of their lives.

The unicorn, who's completely failing to rest on her right side, keeps trying to get up. This is instinct. Moving around during labor can represent the body's attempt to reposition the foal.

...there's going to be a foal.

The spell took. The pregnancy was normal. A foal is on the way, they're going to have a child and there's going to be a new life in the world. An Equestrian life, raised on pony soil. Somepony whom the unicorn will never truly understand --

-- no. That's a thought for later. Right now, the important thing is that the unicorn isn't a failure. Not for this part. The fault wasn't hers, there's a foal on the way and she just needs to push and strain and scream until there's a new sound in the room, a soft cry --

-- there's something moving through her, she can almost feel that, it's almost over/started, she just has to push and

she pushes
and the scent of blood comes out, the odor of rust and the texture of raw meat as something nearly shapeless erupts from her body, hot and slippery and traced in pulsing arteries and leaking veins, almost without form except for the hornlike protrusions: two at the far end. It drips, it drips blood and slime and fluids she has no names for, it swells as it leaves her body but it's still attached, it's draped across her back legs, her fur is stained and soaked with grotesquerie
and the love of her life whispers tender words
the filly looks just like her mother

...just a nightmare. When Fleur opened her eyes, she would find herself fully in the world and it said something about the just-concluded experience that the cottage-hosted version of reality was going to be an improvement --

-- wait.

She'd... had a nightmare.

In the nest.

There was no greater source of warmth pressed against her: Fluttershy had likely gotten up some time ago. But just being in the nest, in the heart of Fluttershy's controlled territory, was enough to shield --

-- no.

She knew why the protection hadn't worked. This wasn't a nightmare which the pegasus could shield her from, because it was an abomination which Fluttershy could inflict --

-- just... get up...

Fleur opened her eyes. The light failed to stab her, which was the first sign that rest had allowed her magic a degree of recovery. The next test was to ignite her horn, coat the blankets with her field and move them back --

-- which was when psychosomatics decided to have their say again, and an extra-flexible texture of hot meat tried to emboss itself against Fleur's brain.

The corona winked out. Fleur carefully moved her head until she was fully clear of Katherine's sleeping position: she wasn't about to get up until she was sure the shrew was safe. This also let her spot the nearest clock.

The Protoceran blinked. The display didn't use the opportunity to correct itself. It was still early afternoon and if she wasted enough time in denying that basic fact, it was going to be night.

She let me sleep in.

There had been very little reason not to. From what Fleur could blearily recall of the day's schedule, the docket had been fairly light. It was nothing the pegasus couldn't manage on her own. Fluttershy had been holding down the grounds for years without Fleur's presence and in that sense, very little needed to change --

-- the unicorn tried to stretch her back legs. The only weight draped across them came from blankets, and she slowly worked her way out from under the layers. Katherine slept.

Fleur went into the bathroom. Toiletries were performed, and there was no need to waste another stick. She had a very dim recollection of Fluttershy having come into the bed at some point, but the pegasus hadn't tried to do anything other than sleep. Fleur was grateful for that.

Thank --

-- thank -- what? Fleur wasn't used to thanking the world for anything positive and after the previous night, did 'positive' even apply? Besides, when it came to thanking higher powers, she didn't really believe in there being much of anything out there to hear -- or rather, if there was, it probably wasn't listening.

Some believed, though. A number of ponies still prayed to the Princesses, and Fleur felt that was a waste of time. She didn't feel there was any true divinity there: for starters, that level of power would have eliminated any need for Guards. And when it came to prayers, she could say the words right in front of them and when it came to Celestia, Fleur mostly felt it would get her glared at. With the younger...

A nightmare. In her bed. And no rescue.
Never an alicorn in your nightscape when you might actually want one.

A minotaur would thank their ancestors, but just about the entire species truly believed that the departed were watching over them. Fleur, who didn't really have faith...

She stared at the bathroom mirror. She was clean enough: Fluttershy had helped with that before the nest had been sought -- but the weary, worn-out reflection which was going to need a significant amount of silver-flipped cosmetics before going down the ramp.

Her peripheral vision caught a glimpse of the calendar, then That One Square, and she jerked her attention back to center. She couldn't think about That One Square right now. She didn't even want to open the letter. She wanted to --

I want to get out of here.

That wasn't overreacting. It was a slow day at the cottage. She could spend a few hours away from it. Fluttershy didn't need her.

Nopony did.

She looked at the mirror again. Her mouth slowly opened.

"Thank..." Her tongue felt far too dry. "Thank..."

No actual words seemed to be volunteering for duty, and so nonsense syllables scrambled to fill the gap.

"Thank... hoofness?"

The reflection stared at her.

Never say that out loud again. Not in private, and certainly not if there was a chance for anypony to hear her. Fleur would have normally considered the term as being too stupid to catch on, but -- ponies. There was no sense in taking the chance.

And perhaps there was truly nothing worth thanking. It seemed possible that if there was any higher power out there, then it was actively malevolent and had recently noticed that Fleur had spent over a year in being relatively happy, so now it was arranging for everything to swing back the other way --

-- stop it.
I'm being too dramatic. I know it.
...then again, look at the bucking evidence.

She made herself presentable. (It took longer than usual, with her brain insisting that various tins and powders were on the verge of dripping blood.) Then she went down the ramp.

The client waiting area was nearly empty: three ponies greeted her, a pair of companions gave her I Know Bad Stuff Is Coming looks, and she might have said something: nopony had any complaints about her greetings, at least. She could distantly hear scissor blades moving against each other in the next room: Fluttershy was grooming a pet. There was no emergency.

She went into the kitchen, and managed to eat something on the second attempt. She wasn't entirely sure what it had been. Her mouth had been rinsed out multiple times and she'd used a wash, but -- everything carried a distinctive flavor of bile. Then she headed for the recovery area, because Bertha was probably out of sedation. There was a need to check on the patient.

The puppies, blind and deaf and oblivious to horror, were crowded against the reposed mastiff's belly. Fleur saw the wriggling, heard the tiny sounds, looked away, checked the vulval stitch, spotted swollen red --

-- she eventually remembered that the mastiff had given birth less than a day ago, plus the labia had dealt with the replacement of an organ. Some degree of distention and blood spotting was to be expected. It was perfectly normal.

The time required to fully recall that information turned out to be roughly twenty percent of what was required for the retching to stop.

She didn't want to be in the cottage, and -- Fluttershy wanted her to have the day off.

"...it's strain," the pegasus softly projected, words just barely wafting the poodle's curly fur. "You shouldn't be doing much of anything. And it's slow today." Gently, with open concern echoing within white ears, "No duties, Fleur. No cleaning, no checking the grounds. You could even go back to bed, if you wanted to. I'll bring some food up later..."

Fleur shook her head. "There's always something to do --"

"...yes, there is," Fluttershy quietly agreed. "So I'll do it."

"I was in the nest for too long." She felt as if most of the accusation had been kept out of it. "I'm not going back in there."

"...you needed the rest." Even for Fleur's trained ears, the sigh was just barely audible. "But... all right. I still don't want you working, though --"

"-- then I'll go into town."

The one visible eye held a steady gaze. "...any reason?"

Would she usually ask?
She trusts me.
She wants me.
Why?

Fleur forced the smile, and did everything she could to hold back the rising tide of bile. "For starters? We're just about out of sugar."

The date palm was starting to display early signs of bearing future fruit. So now there was a tree showing Fleur up.

The trot into Ponyville mostly existed as a series of sensory impressions. The humidity had been brought back down: it was a nice, perfectly ordinary spring day. She couldn't seem to appreciate it.

She kept herself on high alert, listening for just the right kind of wings and the scratching of talons against stone: Gilda didn't appear. The mill's former site went by, and she refused to look at it.

At one point, shortly after crossing the bridge, Fleur passed an active playground. She could hear children laughing and shouting and tumbling about. There were no squawks or fouls. Somepony called out a greeting, and she forced a pleasant nod before trotting all the faster.

How long can I stay away?

The cottage wasn't testing her. The cottage couldn't think. That was the theory, and Fleur currently saw no means of moving the concept into proof.

How much can I get away with?

She was absolutely going to purchase some sugar. But as long as she was going into town anyway...

Fluttershy's capable of running a bluff. She can conceal a lot about how she's feeling: the manefall doesn't exactly hurt there. But when it comes to direct lies... then it can come down to what she told me about Applejack. Knowing the truth doesn't create an obligation to say it.

"I'm not a doctor. You'd have to ask Dr. Mester. The next time we're in."

Fleur had no intention of waiting that long.

There were a few stops along the way, and the first two came up empty. Caramel wasn't at the candy shop. Bon-Bon was, and the proprietor irritably informed Fleur that the stallion had yawned his way through half of the work shift while staggering across the rest and if the unicorn had any influence, she should try to make sure the earth pony got some sleep. This led to a natural check of Caramel's house, and she didn't find him there either. The only thing her expended minutes managed to technically purchase was a fresh supply of mints, and that was because Bon-Bon was always going to try and load Fleur down with some amount of freebies. The Protoceran simply managed to steer the giveaways towards what she was convinced was still needed.

I don't know where he is.
Or what he's doing.
Or what he might want to do with Gilda...

There was a failsafe of sorts. Shimmy would need medicine for the rest of her life, and Caramel came to the cottage once a week to pick it up. Fleur would be able to see him then.

She hadn't intended to find Rainbow. Fleur just wound up veering a little more to the right than usual during one turn, passed directly under the tree, and nearly took a dangling limp cyan foreleg to the horn for her trouble.

It made her look up, because this particular tree wasn't one of Rainbow's favorite nap spots. And when she saw how utterly exhausted the sleeping pegasus looked, with all six limbs out of their usual position, mane and tail separating along prismatic lines... the sensible decision was to simply let her rest. Fleur ignited her horn, carefully adjusted Rainbow's posture until she was sure the perch was secure, and went on her way. The weather coordinator hadn't even wriggled too much during the process: a frequent response by the sleeping to the half-awareness of abruptly-tingling limbs. The fur touching the inner surface of the corona had even mostly come across as fur.

And then there was a second sighting.
Fleur found a griffon.
The view immediately pissed her off.

The first thing she saw was the protruding dark vertical feathers along the top of the head. It was something which made the harpy eagle portion look as if it had grown a personal tiara, and to spot it at a distance was more than enough of a warning shot for Fleur to get out of sight. She found a shadow near the open-air market, quietly noted how a weary-seeming wood sculptor was conducting repairs on damaged pieces while waiting for customers, and then simply watched.

The feather crest was easy to spot, as this tiercel was on the tall side. It was somewhat harder to make out the panther aspects of the body, because there were a surprising number of ponies around the griffon. Five Ponyville residents were listening to soft words, and twitching tails were slowly beginning to still. One cerulean fall was already hanging limply: a near-surefire sign that the pony had relaxed.

Her grooming's good. It's not the way she styles herself for the office: this isn't trying for the professional level of neutrality. But she does take care of her looks. And she keeps her fur and feathers free of bloodscent.

They don't know how to deal with a griffon. Based on what's been moving through the examination room, most of them barely know anything about us.

And she's talking to them. Making a miniherd listen, and calming them down.

Which, for Dr. Tria Lorem, represented an exercise in domination.

I let you think you won...

For every kind of domination which could ever exist, there was a griffon. And if there was somepony who was afraid of your very form, had no true experience with griffons while probably having both heard and passed on a few rumors about eating dogs -- and you could find a way to reassure them --

-- then you'd exerted a kind of control.

So much of the chain was about control. Who could influence you, those who were entitled to give orders, and whether you wanted to be controlled. Trying to get Gilda out of Ponyville? That would have been control, and Dr. Lorem had forbidden it. An order issued for what was potentially a legitimate reason, but... that was still control.

Dictating a new way for somepony to feel? Well, clearly that placed you on the link above theirs. And perhaps the results were positive, but... as far as Fleur was concerned, it was domination all the same.

What was a psychiatrist? Someone who felt they knew how you should be thinking better than you did. And tried to enforce it.

I told her to come into Ponyville for the next session. And of course that was when the world had chosen to pay attention to Fleur's words. I don't want to have one right now. Last night was bad enough. And if she comes to the cottage --

-- no. Fleur had a very good idea why the older tiercel was in the settled zone, because she'd already been told. Dr. Lorem was likely present to speak with Spike. Get a letter sent off to Protocera at the highest possible speed, requesting an expert on treating the linkless. Fleur was vaguely surprised that it had taken this long.

...maybe she was already there. Or maybe she still has to go in. I have to --
No choice. I'll have to risk it, especially since I don't know when I can get into town again. As long as we're not meeting on the street.

Of course, there was another option. Dr. Lorem had also talked about speaking with Miranda directly and if the older tiercel was heading towards the police station, then there was no way Fleur was going to follow anyone in there. The key was that they couldn't be seen together in public, because the psychiatrist might openly display recognition. Which would only lead to somepony asking how they knew each other, and Dr. Lorem had lived in Equestria for some time. Long enough to potentially humor ponies through acting like honesty was an actual virtue. And while Fleur felt the tiercel was likely to honor confidentiality on anything which had been discussed within a less-than-private nest -- true point of origin included -- the unicorn really didn't need the herd to discover that she was in therapy.

Maybe Miranda will ask her to put the officers through dominari. See how they deal with griffon magic. It wasn't impossible, and the psychiatrist might even agree. But Fleur had no idea where Dr. Lorem perched on the dominari chain. Their social wrestling match at first meeting hadn't gone anywhere near that far.

And she's probably going to try and find Gilda while she's here. To observe. It'll give her a reason to hang around the settled zone for a while, if she hadn't been here for hours already. Fleur would need to be cautious about her own movements for the rest of the day.

But if the older tiercel hadn't been to the likely primary destination yet, and Fleur still needed to go -- then at least it would allow her to control something about the encounter. Meet in a place of the unicorn's choosing, and that was only fair because Dr. Lorem was on Fleur's territory.

If nothing else, it would practically be forcing the psychiatrist to keep the volume down.

"Fleur?" The little alicorn nervously looked up from her bench, and a too-bright corona flipped the front desk's patron fine ledger shut: one tinge of sparkles helpfully placed a bookmark first. "Is something going on? You usually don't come into the library at this hour." Wings shifted just enough to allow a few key feathers some twitching space. "If you're looking for Spike, he's playing. But if it's an emergency --"

Fleur quickly shook her head. "I just need to use the library, Twilight." And added a careful smile to the end of the sentence. "I do read, you know." Which had almost emerged as 'I can read,' because there would always be those who felt that beauty and intelligence existed in inverse proportion: the more of one, the less of the other -- and Fleur had been told that directly. Those who'd informed her of how they felt that aspect of the world worked had done so freely, because they generally felt she was too stupid to truly understand. She'd managed to gain revenge on a few, mostly through instituting extortion based on the things she understood --

-- that's not me any more.

The tall unicorn took a slow breath, looked down at curious purple eyes. "And I could use some help in getting the right book."

"It's what I'm here for," Twilight immediately declared, and did so with open confidence. As far as the librarian was concerned, she'd effectively just been informed that Fleur had no intention of trying to examine the alicorn's puzzle today: something which went a long way towards smoothing out interactions. The little mare began to get up. "Fiction? I don't think we've ever discussed your tastes there." With mild offense, "Not even while we were all waiting for bail to be posted and just about everypony else was trying to predict the new Yearling novel. But if you're just looking for a good new story, I can recommend --"

"-- pony reproductive biology," Fleur softly told her. And waited.

Twilight's legs froze.

At low volume, with hope buoying the words, "Are you --"

The other Bearers were among those who knew they were trying.
They wanted it to work. But they didn't want to make the couple feel as if pressure was being applied. And when the topic was pregnancy, Twilight could manage 'Are you?' With sex, she topped out well short of 'Did you...?' And possibly always would.
But the mares kept waiting for news...

Fleur silently shook her head.

"-- oh," the alicorn softly finished, and the narrow chin dipped. "I'm -- I didn't mean to -- I'm sorry --"

"-- there's nothing to be sorry about," Fleur carefully corrected. "I just have to check something."

With just a touch of timidity, "Is it a... medical issue?"

"It's a question," the Protoceran calmly stated. "A doctor could answer it. But Fluttershy and I aren't going back to the fertility clinic for a while, and I didn't want to wait that long. So I thought I'd just read it here. Twilight, I can go looking for the right book myself, but you're the one who knows where everything is." Given all of the reshelving tales, the alicorn might be the only one who did. "Please?"

The librarian finally nodded. Finished getting off the bench, then trotted around the desk. "Follow me."

They moved through a nearly patron-free library. It was spring, and it was nice out. There were a few ponies browsing through New Releases and Periodicals. That was it.

"It's been an unusual day," Twilight quietly said, sedately leading the way. "We had a griffon earlier, before Spike left. Emergency scroll sending. She had a letter from the Princess to authorize it." And glanced back at Fleur or, given the disparity in their heights, back and considerably up. "I'm guessing this doesn't relate."

Fleur shook her head again. "Not to the research." Twilight had to know that Gilda was in town -- the alicorn was nowhere near isolated enough to miss that -- but Fleur wasn't sure what to say. At least that means Dr. Lorem shouldn't be coming back in here. One thin slice of luck --

Luck runs out.

"-- Twilight? Can I ask you something?"

Another glance back, and thin lips briefly twisted. "Spike would say something if I did a can/may canter right now," the little mare decided. "What's the question?"

With her voice pitched as low as Fleur could manage while still having some confidence in being heard, "This is going to sound awkward, and -- I'm not trying to be insulting. I need to make that clear before I say anything else."

The alicorn briefly stopped moving. Four legs locked, the wings clamped tightly against narrow ribs. And then she turned to face Fleur.

"In my experience," Twilight slowly said, "ponies who say they aren't trying to be insulting are usually telling the truth. Because they don't have to try. It's automatic. But maybe this is different. What's the question, Fleur?"

The unicorn noted the lack of lumens around the purple horn, and took a breath. "This is probably going to sound personal."

Which got her a stark "Really." Bright eyes were beginning to narrow.

"If I make it through -- everything -- all of the studying, the tests, the license -- then I won't be a marked vet," Fleur told her. "And... you're not a marked librarian. I... wanted to ask... if you ever feel like you might be doing the wrong thing. That somepony else should be in the tree, and..."

Her head dipped, and pale purple eyes briefly closed.

"...you should just be doing what your mark wanted. Not -- this."

Far too steadily, as the streaked tail threatened to lash, "Is there a reason why you're asking this now?"

"We had a bad one at the cottage last night," Fleur quietly said -- then, more quickly, "The patient came through. But what happened -- that was a subject we hadn't covered yet. Fluttershy had to teach me everything as we were doing it, and... it was rough."

The alicorn's tail slowed. "How rough?"

"Bad enough," Fleur carefully informed her, "that I don't want to give you the details." Steadily, "And I was thinking that if I had the mark, the instinct -- then maybe I would have just known what to do. Or been able to do it more easily, or kept going for longer. Maybe..." The next breath was carefully regulated. "...maybe I'll be good at it, when it's all done. But I'll never be the best. And..." The displayed smile was a rueful one. "...I really hope I'm not being insulting, but -- it's something we have in common. We -- finally have something in common on the personal level, Twilight. Neither of us was born for this."

The little mare seemed to be thinking.

"Fluttershy isn't a marked vet," she finally said. "You could ask her if she's ever felt --"

"-- she has communication. I don't. Her talent substitutes. When she can just ask where it hurts..."

And finally, the alicorn nodded.

"Sometimes," the little mare quietly said, and did so while looking directly at Fleur. "Sometimes I still want to just go into the basement's lab and -- stay there. Experiment and test and try to understand, while the only books which come down are for spell research. Published papers go back out. I've had ponies say I shouldn't have the library. There's been a couple who wanted to take it out from under my hooves, and one of them wasn't exactly subtle about it. That's mostly stopped now."

Because of what Miranda said. It's harder to believe you can displace an alicorn. But she didn't say it. Fleur simply listened.

"Before I came here," Twilight continued, "I worked in the Canterlot Archives. I was still doing spell research, but -- the Princess wrote up my grant. The restrictions. The bits would only keep coming for as long as I had a job. I was -- almost angry with her, when I read the terms. For the first time, really. 'Frustrated' might be closer. I thought she was stealing the time I needed to make it all work. To change the world. But..."

The narrow ribs shifted across the consequences of an exceptionally deep breath.

"...she was forcing me to deal with ponies," the alicorn went on. "It took a while before I figured that out. That she thought the chemistry between molecules wasn't as important as the chemistry between people. And when I was assigned to the library here, when I was in charge... I overdid it, Fleur. I changed things around all the time because that way, I was showing everypony that I had some control. Maybe it would look like I knew what I was doing. I can spend hours in making sure a card catalog is sorted and updated -- but it wouldn't teach me to match a single patron to one listed book. And maybe a marked librarian can just tell what somepony would enjoy. I can't. And there's times when... I still feel like I wasn't supposed to be here. The basement would be so much easier..."

She sighed. The tail twitched once, and then the little mare tilted her head slightly to the right.

"'Easy'," she said, "can be a mistake. Marks make things easier. Sometimes they make things so easy that the pony never does anything which isn't part of their mark, and the rest of the world turns strange."

"Falling into the mark," Fleur quietly said. The psychological condition of essentially thinking with your talent, until you could barely think about anything else at all. Following the mark's dictates simply felt too good.

For ponies, it was the most common addiction known, and there were those who said true recovery was impossible. You could be brought back to yourself, led by those who loved you --

--- but you could avoid alcohol. Stay away from suspect potions. The mark was forever.

Twilight nodded again.

"Some of the fallen barely exist as people any more," she sadly observed. "They're skills which can talk about themselves. But they do know they're doing the right thing, don't they? They... just don't know much of anything else." Calmly, "This is the only answer I can give you: there are times when I still don't know if I'm the right librarian for Ponyville. I just know that I'm Ponyville's librarian. So I try that much harder."

She looked past Fleur, just for a moment. At shelves and tomes and carefully-dusted cases. And then she focused on the Protoceran again.

"I wasn't born to this," Twilight said, and then her wings briefly spread. "I wasn't born to this, either. I'm just -- trying to make it work."

The unicorn was silent.

But if you make a librarian mistake, nothing is going to die.
Not unless it's 'put the heaviest book on the top shelf, then lean it out over the edge so ponies can read the spine'.
I saw the Mazein guidebook back there. That could cave in a skull.

The alicorn sighed.

"I don't feel like I really answered your question," Twilight told her. "So maybe you shouldn't thank me. But you didn't insult me. And I still think you should talk to Fluttershy about it."

She turned to face forward again, led the way. Eventually, they reached the Medical section, and a pinkish corona sorted texts.

"This one," the librarian said: a thick volume descended from the shelf, and Fleur noted the soft red glow which surrounded a thin section of pages. "I know the cover sticker says that you should only look at the most graphic images after speaking with a doctor, but you're already seeing a specialist and you're in vet training. I don't think there's anything here which could set you off." The corona intensified slightly, and the red glow winked out. "So I've neutralized the lock. Let me just put this on the table for you... there. I'll let you read in private, Fleur. But please come for me if there's anything else. And --" the little mare paused "-- good luck."

Fleur nodded her thanks, then went to the reading station.

Luck runs out.

She had to flip past the unlocked pictures of 'hoof slippers' to reach what she needed, and she didn't react. So newborns had soft fleshy coverings over keratin in the womb, to keep the mother from getting hurt? Horns and wings were covered too: those protections were smooth and somewhat denser. The fact that the so-called 'fairy fingers' resembled small rubbery tentacles by way of runaway cave fungi didn't bother Fleur. The book said they fell away within minutes, because the foal could be walking within that same time frame. What was underneath would be four normal hooves. Besides, she'd grown up on a ranch. She'd seen monster births. Anypony who felt that hoof slipper pictures would be disturbing had never watched an eggshell melt away because the nexibyt within was testing out its acid secretions for the first time.

Fleur had flipped past those images because she'd taken the simple step of checking the book's index first. The existence of an entry had given her most of the answer. The photography, once found, simply displayed a few dripping examples for the definition.

The unicorn looked at the color-rendered details for a while. She didn't vomit, nor did she retch. There was nothing left to give.

We talked about it, almost at the start. I would be the one carrying. The Spell allows us to determine that much.

(If she was capable of becoming gravid at all.)

Fluttershy needs speed on the missions. Pregnancy would slow her down. So it was always going to be me. And there's exercises mares can do to work on their vaginal muscles. Escorts know about most of them. Snowflake probably doesn't, because there's no personal need.

Snowflake was going to help me get back into shape after the birth.

Working on those muscles. Making it easier to push.

Maybe there has to be something wrong inside, to let that happen at all. Or maybe it's possible to push a little too hard.

...when Dr. Mester asks why we haven't been having as much sex the next time we're in that surfaced piece of Tartarus, the answer is 'prolapsed uterus'. And if she can't understand that...

She nosed a page over. Looked at exposed arteries and veins.

It's all so -- fragile.
The pony body and every system in it.
The situation. The stability.
Ponyville --
-- yes, I know what put this in my head, but it has a point.

Her appearance was one thing. Fleur had always known that she had a good chance to lose her looks as she aged. It was why the clock had been constantly ticking down on her escort work -- or rather, her effective close-up blackmail research period with legitimate earnings on the side.

She didn't know if Fluttershy would want her after that.

(She wasn't sure why the pegasus wanted her now.)

As horrors went, aging was somehow considered to be a natural one. A prolapsed uterus was biological betrayal.

I could always try to find out if it can be removed --
-- overreacting...
...both parties need functioning ovaries for the Spell to work: that's mandatory. One partner could potentially lack a uterus. If the palace just took Fluttershy off missions for a year...
...overreacting...
Stop looking at the pictures.
Just stop.
Any second now.
Any second...

The book closed and to Fleur's corona, the pages briefly felt like paper.

She loved Fluttershy.

Why does she love me?

They were trying to have a foal.

I won't understand my own child.

It wasn't as if every birth went wrong.

Luck runs out.

Fleur stood up. Headed for the front desk, with the book trailing in a field bubble. The pictures had to be resealed.

She failed to see either tiercel during the winding route which took her to Barnyard Bargains. Stopping there was a necessity, because she did have to pick up sugar. (And realized, a little too late, that Bon-Bon had finally possessed a freebie which she'd needed.) It was probably just going to be a night or two before she could really think about using any of it. And because Fleur was rather easy to spot...

"Miss Dis Lee?" asked the familiar voice of a weary stallion, and she turned to face him. "Do you have a minute?"

"Mr. Rich," Fleur greeted the continent's most overworked store manager. "Yes, I do. I'm heading back to the cottage after this, but I don't need to rush."

He managed a tired nod, took a slow breath.

"It's about Miss Phylia's sibling," Mr. Rich said. (Fleur felt multiple muscles tense, tried not to think about the consequences.) "Or rather, it may be. I don't really have any details yet, and it may be nothing at all. But..."

Fleur braced herself.

"I don't want to alarm you," was, as followups went, counterproductive. "But I told you that something didn't feel right, when he asked for credit. Instinct." His head turned, and tired eyes briefly glanced at his mark. "Or -- a little more. And his name wasn't on the list of those who've run out on their debts before. But I couldn't shake the feeling. So I wrote to the other stores, and -- one of them said the name was familiar. But it may not be in a written record, and they're trying to track down exactly what happened before they tell me anything else." Carefully, "So don't be alarmed, please. It may turn out to be nothing. But if it is a subject of potential concern -- I will tell you. Just know that I'm still looking."

Carefully, "Maybe he was an employee for a while?" A very short while. Mr. Rich was nowhere close to being a nag driver, but he did ask that his workers actually put in the work.

"I don't think so," the stallion said. "It's not impossible, but... I don't feel as if that's the case. Regardless, I will let you know either way."

And that was it.

Shortly after returning to the cottage, with the illusion of privacy only being broken by an intrigue of kittens, she took the mourning box down.

It usually rested on the highest shelf in the sitting room. The best possible view of the proceedings, along with being too far up for anypony to truly tell what it was. Not that they would even know. To Equestrians, it was just a box.

She opened it. Looked at the contents. Thought about how long it had been since she'd done exactly that, and felt ashamed.

Lost time.
A lost past.

What was the future? In the best case, that which she couldn't seem to truly believe in...

The cottage.
Forever.

Fleur closed the box. Carefully levitated it back to safety.

I need to take it with me when I --
-- if.
It's 'if'...

Still Better Processing Than The Last Intel

There were terms which didn't really apply to the cottage, and Fleur was truly hoping that one of them was 'sapient'. It was an inanimate structure. The fact that it had a near-endless supply of life scurrying about within the walls couldn't possibly be granting it any capacity of thought, and the Protoceran was going to keep making herself believe that until the thing stopped openly plotting against her.

You couldn't describe the cottage as a thinking being or rather, you really couldn't do it in public: the low end on possible reactions started with some rather odd looks from the audience, while the worst-case had Dr. Lorem engaging Spike's services again. Looking for an emergency referral, because the mare who'd made that decision was clearly beyond the current level of non-help.

But there were descriptions which, when applied to the uneven, frequently-repaired sprawl, found themselves sliding off. Starting with 'still'. It should have been easy to think of the cottage as being motionless: it was a construct of stone, wood, sod, and a few stray metal parts. Absolutely nothing about the whole was capable of moving on its own. There were places where 'with assistance' barely applied, because a powerful (and presumably unscheduled) wind gust could hit that one window shutter, test itself against the hinges, and nothing would happen because some birds liked to perch sideways and the protrusion of the hinge was perfectly suitable for establishing a talon grip. Which didn't exactly damage the hinge to the point where a shutter would no longer function, but birds also tended to lighten their personal loads as they took off again and when it came to where those expulsions would land, the gummed-up hinge was right there.

The cottage didn't move. But with so much life inside it, forever scrambling to reposition for best advantage on pouncing, playing, or being the first to the food -- there was just about always a sense of movement about it. That there were so many kinetics bounding about the interior as to potentially lend walls the ability to walk. All the cottage had to do was ask, and Fleur wasn't exactly going to start discussing that thought with her psychiatrist either.

It was hard to think of it as still. 'Quiet' also refused to stick, because there was no animal species in existence which didn't produce sounds. There were a number for whom vocalizations were comparably rare: Angel was (somehow) in that category, compensating with back leg thumps and a surprising capacity for withering looks. But he could make sounds. A sort of clucking: that was the most common thing to hear. Then you had the irritating grinding of bruxism: this could be a means of expressing stress, and more often simply helped him to keep his teeth down. As a lapine, they would continue to lengthen for the whole of his life, and he needed things to chew if he was going to close his mouth properly.

Rabbits, like cats, were capable of purring. Most ponies were fully unaware of that, because it took an exceptionally content, safe-feeling rabbit to purr and when that sound came from Angel, the first instinct was to wonder what he'd gotten away with.

And rabbits could scream.

Those who heard that never wanted to hear it again.

Rabbits were generally thought of as being near-silent, and their throats produced a number of sounds. Now: work out the typical population of the cottage, recognize just how many residents were regarded by ponies as being fairly vocal, then take every individual production of decibels and start asking some hard questions about how the overlaps managed to add energy to the system.

The cottage's owner was quiet. The pegasus sometimes seemed to exist as an occasionally-flying sound absorber, with fully-drained echoes plummeting to the ground in her wake. But when it came to the cottage itself, 'quiet' just about never applied. To the best of Fleur's knowledge, she was the only pony other than Fluttershy to have ever slept in the building, and that still required the occasional use of an enchanted, sound-suppressing blanket.

(According to Rainbow, Fluttershy had once tried to host a sleepover for her friends. And while Fleur did understand that a typical session had the participants come very close to greeting Moon and Sun in turn, it was meant to actually end in sleep. Fluttershy's lone attempt had wrapped with five reluctantly-departing mares wearily looking for any rest site which might offer less in the way of racket and in Rainbow's case, that included the clock tower at Town Hall.)

Motionless. Silent. Terms which never fully applied. And yet, as Fleur held her position in the sitting room, looking up at her mourning box... she began to realize that both qualities were just a little too close to actually existing.

The appointment book had been set for a slow day: it was part of why Fluttershy hadn't possessed any true concerns about letting Fleur have the time off. And Fleur had known when those appointments were supposed to take place, had carefully measured the hours she'd spent in town and then gotten a good look at the sitting room's clock when she'd come back. Finding the waiting area empty of ponies and their companions was a reasonable expectation.

But the animal residents were... subdued. Sounds were minimal, and a number of movements came across as hesitant. Several looked at Fleur as if openly questioning what was supposed to happen next. And when she rotated white ears, strained for the faintest traces produced by Fluttershy moving about the cottage -- she didn't hear anything at all.

She could just be on the grounds. It was the most likely explanation. There was always something to be done on the grounds, although Fleur wasn't quite ready to start questioning whether those were sapient. (And if they were, then it most likely counted as an extension of the cottage.) I can just go back outside and look. Which didn't necessarily mean using the front door, because so much about Fluttershy had been steadily darkening since Zephyr's arrival and the graves had never been so clean --

-- Fleur, upon returning, had let herself in. Casually, because the front door had been open. The cottage had an unsurprising number of locks (or rather, the count tended to surprise newcomers until the moment they figured out a few things about the mare who owned it), but Fluttershy didn't like to seal them during the day. A second spent dealing with locks was likely a second which the next emergency patient was going to need and in any case, the majority of the cottage's security came from residents who were fully aware of when ponies were supposed to be there.

Many locks, seldom utilized -- when the pegasus was within, or close enough to the door that she could watch. Further out if she was still within sonic range of an avian alert, and of course there would be animals scurrying to find Fluttershy if anything truly went wrong. So an unlocked door during the day wasn't fully unusual. And yet, when combined with the behavior of the animals...

Don't panic.
Do not panic.
We have an agreement.
Just look in the usual place.

Her legs seemed oddly stiff. Knees flexed under protest, then filed formal complaints and threatened to go on strike. But Fleur turned, began a careful trot as fretful residents trailed in her wake.

A mission could come at any time. For Fluttershy, it had been over a moon since the last, and there was this nasty little factor in the mares' lives: the non-cursing description was Cumulative Odds. Eventually, the palace would send for the pegasus, and royalty seldom deigned to let Fleur accompany her love into danger. There had been one time when her first hint of something being wrong was finding the Princess-designated fill-in personnel starting to set up shop, and none of them ever put the instruments back in the right places. And other occasions had found Fleur engaged in an increasingly-desperate search of the grounds, because there were a lot of non-mission reasons for Fluttershy to not be present and she really, really wished somepony had bothered to tell her what the current one was. It was rare for the pegasus to practice veterinary care as a home visit, but some patients just couldn't be moved and when that happened...

Fleur, who'd found herself in a situation where even the explained absences had the chance to turn fatal (although not necessarily for the pegasus), had made the sensible decision to deal with her stress through giving it to somepony else. A dream therapy session with Princess Luna had been paused long enough for a few Words to emerge and after the younger of the Diarchy had agreed that Fleur had a legitimate point, there had been an upgrade to WORDS. And ever since then...

If a mission was called while Fleur wasn't in a position to see the Bearers being assembled -- if, in fact, the palace summoned the group for any reason -- Fleur had to be contacted. For that matter, any Bearer family members residing in Ponyville got the same treatment, and she'd convinced the palace that the same needed to apply with Snowflake. Celestia certainly had her own capacity for sending scrolls: dispatching a quick round to inform all associated parties that Classified was under way hardly put a dent in the alicorn's day. And if all else failed, Spike now had a stack of mini-scrolls in a library desk drawer, ready to go at all times: Mission started: details if I'm allowed. It at least gave everypony some idea of what was going on, if not whether it could be reasonably survived.

And because there were numerous reasons for Fluttershy to leave the cottage, along with a perfectly-suitable desk in the sitting room -- Fleur had asked Fluttershy to use a similar system. Create a group of prewritten notes, because the pegasus could genuinely have the sort of emergency which didn't leave time to compose one. In fact, there didn't even have to be much writing involved. Color-code the paper. This hue means she just stepped out for a few minutes, that one is a veterinary emergency (while a double-underline on the destination meant Fleur should try to reach it), and this much-loathed shade means Scroll To (Hopefully) Follow. Designate a desk drawer, tell the animals not to touch it, then create a place to put the note and make sure everyone knows not to touch that. Not repeating the instructions with every generation and species of newborns had meant spraying a lot of bitter apple.

All Fleur had to do was -- check the right place on the desk. And if a note was present --

she could die
on any given day, at any moment, the palace can send for her and
at some point, one of them isn't coming back
if she doesn't

-- then she would at least know what she was trying not to panic about.

She moved carefully, perhaps too much so. Forced her eyes to focus --

-- yellow.

Somepony came to the cottage with a veterinary emergency. It was important enough to get her off the grounds, but she doesn't need me to be there and she's expecting to return in a few hours. Which, even with the days getting longer, may mean she doesn't get back until well after sunset -- but she didn't see any need to bring in a temporary to take over the cottage.

...of course Fluttershy hadn't worried about evening duties. She'd known Fleur would return.

She's -- gotten too used to my being here...

Fleur closed the last of the distance to the desk. Verified the lack of underlining, then read the actual words. The very fact that Fluttershy had been comfortable enough to pause and add anything to the generic emergency form had already told the unicorn that the current problem was the low end of the scale.

And there it is. 'Communication.' Somepony really needs her to speak with an animal, and it can't be brought here.

No mission.
No lying awake for hours within the nest, staring at billows which had lost all ability to comfort.
No treating every twinkle of light as if the scroll was going to coalesce on the spot, as her imagination rendered every stray sunbeam into an imminent notice of death.

"There might always be missions. And... I need to know if you can be strong enough. To take a chance on me, every day. To... believe I'll come home. And, if I ever don't... to move on. To try and be happy."

"I lost everyone. Everyone I ever loved. I -- I don't know if I can..."

"...we'll work on it."

Progress had been slow.

Okay. It's got to be really minor or Bertha's doing much better. Possibly both. Even with her knowing I would be here, I don't think she would have left if she thought it would all --

Raw meat tried to press itself against her brain.

-- come back out.

And had Fleur possessed a more normal life, that would have been it. A working partner making a house call for the job, and the unicorn with a night alone at home.

But it was the cottage. Fleur was just about never alone. And when it came to being home...

Duties unending. Having no substitutes on the way in meant there was nopony else to perform them. And when it came to using her field, she was still somewhat strained

what if it comes back out?

but she would be capable of normal casting. She just couldn't do anything too strenuous for at least one more day.

(She'd done all of the actual labor in putting the organ back, and was trying not to resent it. Horns had their uses and while Fluttershy's instruments would have substituted, her field had been more efficient. And still, half of the things she'd picked up during the day felt wrong...)

There was a lot of work to do, because there always was. She needed to get started.

what if it comes back out?

And for obvious reasons, there was something she very much needed to do first.

The cottage wasn't sapient, and Fleur was going to tell herself that (in public) because her current slate of counseling sessions was already more than enough, thank you. By a similar token, her legs were absolutely not capable of thinking for themselves, and so the unicorn truly resented the knee-locked decision which represented her having taken one look at the mastiff's resting area and having her limbs decide they weren't going in there. It was her body. It was supposed to obey a certain number of orders. 'Don't age' was more or less hopeless, but 'trot forward' was supposed to be built into the species.

She marshaled herself, forced shoulders and hips into cooperating: the last had no true sway at all. The knees, which were in something of a huff about having been overridden by a higher authority, finalized the strike and began to compile a list of demands: the first one could be presumed as New operator.

Bertha's head came up as the door opened. Dark, near-liquid eyes regarded Fleur with a variant on the mastiff's default natural expression of 'Something has gone horribly wrong': this one heavily implied that she didn't need a pony making it worse. But there was a soft snuffling sound to go with it and along the exposed belly, puppies suckled, wriggled, jostled for position, and failed to have any early understanding of what housetraining was for.

Fleur forced herself to look. Then she silently regarded the curtain of blackness which had just descended, wondered exactly how tightly the lids were pressed in order to create the black-and-gold fireworks which were dancing in her private night, and made herself do it again with her eyes open.

The stitching had held. There was still some distension in the general area, but -- that was normal. And Fleur had just spotted some discharge: greenish-black, with a consistency which -- well, which was utterly disgusting while still representing a significant improvement over asking her field to move a living organ. It was just standard afterbirth.

She cleaned the area. (The cloth which was partially held within her field mostly came across as cotton.) Checked on the puppies: temperature, degree of activity. And after that...

The first attempt to display the leash got her a light growl for the trouble, and Fleur kept a very close eye on the mastiff's jaw. But it had to be done. Nursing canines needed a few minutes away from their puppies. Food was important and in a room which already had five newborn digestive systems at work, so was getting a chance to go outside. At best, Fleur would be able to keep her on the grass for a few minutes -- but that time could be absolutely vital for the mother's health.

It took two more displays and a few strategic applications of corona, but she got the mastiff on the leash, then managed to make the new mother stand up. The big dog softly padded towards Fleur, and the unicorn continued to keep a very close eye on Bertha's mouth. There were only two canine breeds in the world which could exert more bite pressure than a mastiff, and if a hormone-soaked new parent decided to become upset...

But it didn't go badly. Fleur sent a secondary flicker of her energies to the makeshift bedding, got the confused puppies briefly levitated away from it before sending the filthy cloth to a nearby wastebasket and swapping in a new one. A blanket was carefully placed over the lowered newborns, because the first weeks of their lives required extra warmth and they were too young to maintain their own body temperature. And then she carefully guided Bertha out the door.

The mastiff's central source of confusion was probably due to having a stranger walk her. (Fluttershy would have known, and could have explained the necessity.) But she really didn't want to stay outside. Fleur just barely cleared the cottage before Bertha, without anything in the way of sniffing ado, picked a patch and used it. And after the cleanup, it took an extra effort to keep the mother from immediately returning to the puppies: it was easier to check on their health without a very large, protective dog in the way.

The newborns were... fine. A quick check of all vitals came up with a diagnosis of 'puppies', which at their current barely-age meant they never stopped wriggling and kept trying to figure out where the milk had gone. Fleur collected a few drops from Bertha, put them in a vial, checked color and scent, then let the mother back in to resume nursing.

But milk wasn't produced from vacuum. The big dog needed food. And when it came to cottage duties...

Psychosomatic reactions. Fleur knew that was what she'd been experiencing. Part of her was still trying to deal with a fully-unexpected advanced live tutoring session in veterinary duties, and some section of her brain had decided the best way to avoid having that ever happen again was though providing negative reinforcement. Go ahead: resume picking up things with your field. See if having all of them come across as possessing the texture of that one thing does anything for you. And if you aren't particularly enjoying the experience, have you considered the benefits of a quickly-packed set of saddlebags and a clear path to the door?

It was all just mental trickery. The mind trying to set up conditions for future avoidance. (Fleur had gone through a mandatory psychology course as part of escort training, then added some personal studies once Dr. Lorem had been inflicted upon her. She'd needed to know if the tiercel was doing anything wrong.) And it didn't matter right now because when she was in the cottage's kitchen, cooking up a stew for resident and visiting carnivores, that was what it was all supposed to feel like. Her brain was insisting that she was carrying raw meat in her field? Congratulations to her senses on their temporary 100% accuracy rating. Let's try to have that apply for more than a few minutes.

Fleur got the pots out, preheated a few things, allowed corona-held objects to slice, sort, and stir. Most of it felt -- normal.

Separate mix for Bertha. Bump the protein and fat content. Plus sweet potatoes. You just about couldn't go wrong with dogs and sweet potatoes. Let's see what's in the meat storage area... She began to walk over and because her mind was about to deal with the real thing, decided to distract it.

I need to speak with Miranda. Soon. If Dr. Lorem made the trip for Spike's services, then there's just about no way she would have stayed out of the police station. I've got to find out what she -- Well, the day had already been nauseating. -- 'instructed' Miranda to do. And maybe she'll have more news on Zephyr.

Somepony has to know more about him.

She opened the storage area, examined the raw cuts. Her body didn't attempt to pull back, and she directed her corona towards the first choices.

Of course, the first and best suspects for that are probably going to be --

-- the meat felt like -- meat. She would have expected nothing less and even with her own senses in open rebellion, she didn't think they were going to come up with anything more. And when it came to the impression of texture through a field, that was all she got. Meat, dead and cold.

The scent, fully unblockable because half of it had been constructed from memory, shot directly into her nostrils, saturated the olfactory bulb, and directed the whole of its intangible bale-tons to lean into a button marked NO.

Her own mind was fighting her. The knees were still deciding how far to carry the strike. Reflexes, by definition, weren't allowed to think about anything.

She came within three hoofsteps of reaching the sink in time.

Cleanup was... slow. Fleur had a lot on her mind.

Years.

Still, the scent of vomit was less offensive than what had triggered it. And once she applied the soap to any impacted areas...

It's been years since that happened.

She'd been a ranch kid. Her parents had known she would need to become accustomed to bloodscent: when you raised monsters as a food source, the stench of rust and iron was just part of life. The same applied to dealing with the actual meat. It was why they'd given her basic butcher training, with a vomit bucket on perpetual standby. And every time she'd lost the battle against her instincts... they'd comforted her, assured Fleur that none of it was her fault, that she'd get better. Given her some time to rest. Recover. And when she was ready, sent her back into the processing room again.

The unicorn had never been very good at it. The fine control offered by a horn allowed her to do some decent rendering, but -- she didn't have a natural talent for the job. It was probably harder when you couldn't personally appreciate the direct results. Which didn't prevent ponies from manifesting marks for the art every so often (and the palace had its very own meat station chef), but it hadn't taken long for everyone to figure out that Fleur wasn't going to be counted among those numbers.

Still... exposure had its own power. Repetition. She kept going back into the processing room and in time, the bucket had been retired with honors -- along with a little teasing, added to a hefty amount of congratulations. That was what you did for someone who so obviously had a griffon's heart.

Years since she'd last had a reaction. Years.

It's temporary.
It won't linger.
And if it does... take the pain.
Forge it.
Turn it into a weapon...

...against what? Assorted cuts of meat? Canterlot's butcher shop? The concept of non-plant biology?

She finished cleaning. Rags were carried to the laundry and added to the puppy mess.

Then she went back to the meat storage area and started over.

It didn't take very long to completely empty her stomach and after that, finishing the stew was mostly a matter of turning her head away from the pots during the dry heaves.

Bertha still needed to eat. All of the cottage residents needed to eat. And on that night, there was nopony else.

Feedings. All of them. She took care of Angel personally, because that was just a salad. Her tentative attempt to nibble at a leftover leaf didn't go well.

Check on Bertha again. Check on the puppies. Get some laundry going. Also, there were always areas which needed cleaning and as long as she was putting a washload up, might as well dirty enough rags to make it a full one.

At one point, the cleaning process put her in the main bathroom. She shifted the stick supply without breaking any, then looked at The Square for a while. There was absolutely no need to have the calendar near the mirror. She knew when the deadline was, if not whether it would come to pass exactly on schedule. The calendar wasn't necessary. But Fluttershy had a way of claiming small victories...

I had a thought earlier. Or almost had one. About Zephyr.

But she couldn't seem to recover it.

Maybe if Zephyr's the one who starts a fight with Snowflake.

It wasn't an unreasonable expectation. Zephyr struck Fleur as exactly the type of stallion who would find his own public commentary on the personal appearance of others to be incredibly amusing. Especially if he decided there was going to be an automatic head start. Nopony ever looked at Snowflake and expected him to have genuine speed in the air, and the sheer maneuverability of the big body...

...which was being performed with half-amputated wings. All things considered, that was a good reason for nopony to expect it.

She briefly entertained the fantasy of cerise eyes being blackened shut. Then she gave it a longer running time, added some strategic slow-motion to the finer details, and finished up by assigning herself a producer's credit.

If I had an in with Zephyr... if there was any degree of control, and I could set things up so that he'd just happen to say the wrong thing...

But Snowflake wouldn't respond to verbal attacks. Not when they were against him.

If I got Zephyr to make a comment about Applejack?

A stronger possibility, at least in that the odds had decidedly shifted away from zero. But -- that wasn't her any more.

...was it?

She checked the weather schedule before going out to the grounds. More spring rain, although most of it wouldn't hit until well after midnight. Even so, she knew that Fluttershy would have been out at the border with a lantern.

But Fleur didn't have pegasus senses. What was she supposed to be looking for, when she was effectively blind to the magical aspects? What could she even do about it if she did find something?

She almost scheduled it anyway. Just so there would be one less thing for Fluttershy to deal with upon return. But then the chicken coops loomed large in her sight and a split-second after that, the stench took over the whole of her snout.

It was still an improvement over the meat.

Sun was lowered. Patients were checked again. Fleur took an inventory of the attic herbs, making sure that her hooves came nowhere near the well-anchored dome which kept the residents away from a single potentially-deadly flower. She gave various animals some time, which included taking a few vital minutes for Katherine. The shrew, aware that a long day was coming to a close, snuggled against white fur.

And then she was in the bedroom.

Technically speaking, it was too early for Fleur to be settling down in the nest. In more practical terms, sleep was supposed to be a restorative. And like most of the restoratives sold in the Tangle, it was at least partially a lie. Slipping away from the waking world meant landing in the nightscape, and -- the nest no longer offered the same degree of protection. There had been a new nightmare to go with changed dreams, and if anything from her personal catalog of night terrors chose to inflict itself upon her...

Still -- it was one of but two passages into a fresh Sun-raising. The other was staying awake for the rest of her life and for a pony who absolutely refused to sleep, that was just about a guaranteed way of never dealing with The Square.

A bad day. A very-likely-to-be-worse night. And once they were over? Get up. Because the duties renewed with Sun, and somepony had to take care of them. The cottage demanded it.

Stupid cottage.

Fleur arranged her form in the nest, tried to get comfortable upon the billows. Closed her eyes.

Waited.

I'm hungry.

It didn't matter. Yes, she needed food. She was also giving her stomach a few empty hours to itself. Maybe that would make it more willing to retain custody of any offered contents by morning.

I should have cleaned myself again.

No. The little discolorations and stains were gone. Any additional maintenance would threaten to tip over into compulsion. She was fine.

Her hooves kicked at the billows. Solid vapor absorbed most of the impact, then rebounded a little back.

Sleep.
Sleep, Sundammit.
Sleep --
-- I could clean the bedroom.

Fleur got up.

It would been more practical if she'd thought of it before starting the washload. This was just going to generate extra used rags. But cleaning up was something else which the cottage effectively made perpetual, and so she dusted furniture, straightened paintings, moved the journal which recorded sexual activity for Dr. Mester and tried not to think about how few recent entries had been placed --

-- instinct. Action without thought. That was what did it. You were cleaning, so you cleaned under the bed. Perfectly natural. It was just that the two of them slept on a Cumulus. A cloud which had been so saturated with pegasus magic as to allow any living being to rest upon it, molded into the shape of a griffon nest.

There were some limits. A Cumulus couldn't be used to substitute for a cloudwalking spell through making a city out of repurposed mattresses: the wonder stopped working once it got past a certain size, and placing multiple specimens in close contact would eventually see the magic leak. In fact, a Cumulus in a cloud house needed a frame: the other option was to try sleeping in a very thin puddle. Fluttershy's bedroom, predominantly wood in its construction, didn't have that issue. The thick mattress rested directly upon the floor, and seemed happy there.

A living body treated a Cumulus as solid. The same applied to blankets, at least after they'd been left near the mattress for a few hours. A field, however, attempted to surround vapor and found the bubble closing on air.

Fleur, who hadn't exactly been in the best of moods to start with, found her grumbling mind considering that they owned a mattress which allowed dust to drift through the bed and thus there remained a certain need to clean under it. And if it wasn't solid to her field...

Her left foreleg nudged the side billows. They indented slightly.

She pushed. The cloud slid.

And then she was looking at the book.

The Manual Of Equine Reproduction.

It was a medical textbook, and the thickness alone told her it was a comprehensive one. And when she factored in what had to be an utterly hideous cost...

Why is this here?

But she knew the answer to that. They were attempting to use the Most Special Spell to bring about a pregnancy. And Fluttershy likely trusted Dr. Mester (and probably more than Fleur did), but -- it was still having two medical professionals in the same room.

Fluttershy was a vet in all but mark. She also knew a fair amount about pony medicine and was always trying to learn more, because there was always the chance of somepony needing emergency treatment on a mission. If anything ever truly went wrong --

-- if she's the one who gets hurt --

-- then the caretaker would be the closest available equivalent to a physician. And Fluttershy, faced with the prospect of a pregnant partner, knowing how much could happen during animal births -- had decided to look into the pony category. Just in case.

It was probably mail-order. With a stamp. She wouldn't have wanted Spike or Twilight involved. There might have even been a drop address, so I wouldn't see it come in. Fleur brought in the mail on most days: her field just sorted envelopes more quickly than Fluttershy's mouth. She wouldn't have wanted me to know she was worried.

Because a pregnancy created through the Most Special Spell was fully normal in all ways. And that included every last means by which it could go wrong.

She's just trying to make sure I'll be okay. That she can be the first to act if --
-- it's because she cares about --
-- she lov --

It was... a very thick book. Give it minotaur binding, place it next to the Mazein guide, and watch new friends go to war against the world. No softcovers would survive.

A comprehensive medical guide. There would be far more information available than in what Twilight had offered up, in exacting detail.

Fleur's horn ignited.

The book felt like a book, and she settled into the nest with it for some bedtime reading.

It only took four pages before her body began to feel like a badly-designed prison for the soul.

Breech births. The foal is trying to emerge tail-first. The resulting mental image is almost comedic, and remains so until you realize that the head is supposed to be smoothing the passage for all of the considerably-wider parts which come after it. It's possible to survive a breech birth, for both foal and mother. The possibility of surviving also includes the chance that at least one of them won't.

Fescue toxicosis. Better check your grass for fungus if you want your foal to be born on time. Or to be born healthy. Or at all.

Nuchal cord. The umbilical is the lifeline. It provides the nutrients which the foal's body can't acquire on its own. Oh, and every once in a while, it gets wrapped around the neck. The unborn, not truly breathing yet, can still be strangled in the womb. Or on their way out.

Ectopic pregnancy. Congratulations: the Spell took, and the egg is fertilized. Pity it didn't manage to reach the womb. So now it's going to develop right where it is, and will continue to do until the increasing mass ruptures the surrounding tissue. There won't be a foal, which means the surviving member of the adult pair isn't going to be a single parent.

Uterine torsion. The good news is that the egg got where it was going. The bad is that the host organ isn't sitting properly, and that's going to cause some complications. But at least it's still in the body, right?

...prolapsed uterus. Because of course.

Turn a few more pages, and here's the birth defects.

Missing limb. Prosthetics exist. If the substitution is for a leg, then the foal can have a nearly-normal life. No wing and... still the case, but those artificial limbs can never seek the sky. Still, the child would be healthy in all other ways. Consider yourself lucky.

One or more sense organs don't work. Well, the blind can do a lot. Deafness? Speech and music are lost, but at least you can see where you're going.

Internal organs weakened. Maybe it's the heart. You get a few years. If you're lucky.

Possibly organs are missing.

Nothing forms below the rib cage. Above the neck.

A fertilized egg partially splits. If the division had been full, you would have had twins. You're still going to have twins. They're just sharing aspects of their conjoined body. For an hour or two.

And then there's Lavender Foal Syndrome.

Picture Twilight's parents -- or rather, imagine, as Fleur had never seen them. The delivery is complete, and the doctor tells the mother that her daughter has a rather pleasing hue to her newborn coat. Also, said hue means they have to run a full slate of tests immediately, because there are two possible results. The first is that the foal has natural lavender fur. The other option is a neurological condition which triggers seizures, hyperextension of the spinal cord and, long after the suffering becomes too great, death.

Fleur's field flipped pages. Her eyes went from left to right and back again. Nothing else about her moved. There was no need. She had all the horrors in one place, packaged into a single convenient bundle. What purpose was there in seeking out anything else?

The equine body. There were those who claimed it was both fearfully and wonderfully made. To Fleur, this mostly indicated that the quality control team had never gotten back from lunch.

Would anypony ever risk pregnancy if they knew how much could go wrong? Because the brain could gloss over physical pain -- after it ended. Start applying coatings of cloaking relief, as the doctor smiled and got ready to present the newborn to her parents. The agony ended, and you started to forget how bad it had been. That was why mares were willing to become pregnant twice, after facing the horrors of labor for the first time. They truly forgot how bad it had been.

The brain could gloss over pain.
But not knowledge.
How was she supposed to do this?
How was anypony...?

Griffons had live births. Even if Fleur's body had matched her heart, there would have been no escape.

...seriously: what was wrong with external, hardshelled eggs? Spike was fine...

She read for a while. Then she closed the book, got out of the nest, and put the too-thick volume back exactly where it had been.

There was no need to mark her place. She wasn't likely to forget that either.

Fluttershy returned to the cottage in a good mood, because it had been a rather silly sort of emergency. There were simply times when animals looked at the protective hollows offered by pony homes and decided to do some rent-free subletting. She'd only been gone so long because negotiations had become involved and somehow, the hardest part had been convincing the weasels that a water heater wasn't a viable home centerpiece. Or, viewed from another angle, a viable hostage.

The pegasus was happy when she came in, especially when she saw that the cottage had been properly tended and her partner was still awake. It led to a suggestion.

The unicorn refused.

There was some talking. A few careful, half-whispered uncertain queries formed one side. The negation from the other was consistent. And in time, a yellow form timidly got into the nest, and the pegasus did her best to snuggle close. The unicorn half-scooted across billows, winding up pressed against the vapor borders.

And so they remained, as neither truly slept.

It's 'Nothing Good Happens At 3 A.M.' Somewhere

Zephyr considered himself to be a creature of the night, and that was why he currently (and absolutely) hated being awake under Moon's too-soft glow. Trying to make his way through the same park, in the dark, on hoof because... well, because realistically, if you were having enough trouble seeing to make trotting through an area difficult, you really shouldn't be flying through it. Even invoking the thermal side of his vision wasn't helping much. It was possible to spot some of the animals that way, but...

Trees had their own temperature. The outer -- bark? -- mostly matched whatever the air was doing, but the core of a tree held steady at the level of a really nice day in late spring. And that seemed to hold true no matter what the tree looked like on the outside. They all had the same inner heat.

It was a little weird, especially when compared to the outright chill of clouds: something which made the life which resided upon them stand out all the more. In the park (which might as well be an all-out forest once you left the paths, or a wild zone), there was a constant background level of warmth. The fine shades of inphrārēḍa and beyond were -- everywhere. And between unexpected thermal sabotage, the fact that Moon could probably shine a lot brighter than this if it wanted to, and stupid overhead leaves intercepting what little of that light there was...

Picking out the path again was turning into work.

And he was already on-shift.

His parents -- and why did so much of the weather team want to hear about them? All IST stories were exactly the same, including the part where they took place really far away and you had to leave your kids for --

-- anyway, one of the many things about being international stormbreakers was that his parents didn't exactly have regular work hours. They went out when the government (or someone's government) said they had to, and came back at some point after it was all over. It was possible for them to get time off, and that was a blessing directly from Sun because everypony needed to do something which wasn't work. ('Sometimes' at a minimum, with 'never work again' as the ideal -- but even with the best plans, you usually had to do an almost ironic amount of work to get there.) And if they hadn't been able to take vacations -- well, no sensible stallion wanted to think about his parents' sex lives too much, but he'd heard a lot of stories and then done some rather basic math. No rest stop in Yakyakistan to recover strength before heading back, and the world would be suffering from a total lack of Zephyr. As much to the point, Zephyr would be suffering the same lack, and he wasn't sure how to deal with that.

No scheduled shifts, because emergencies didn't seem to have those. Instead, IST members were permanently considered to be On Summons. They were expected to keep their skills sharp: extra training time, regular reviews, and a few light sessions with the local weather team were usually considered to be enough. But outside of those requirements -- an IST pegasus went to work when someone was potentially going to die. Maybe a lot of someones. And they never seemed to think about the fact that one, or even two, of those deaths might wind up being --

-- his parents had always come home.
Some IST ponies didn't.
Everypony knew that.
So why would his parents just keep leaving?
Over and over again, while the kids...
...waited.

Maybe his parents had just been lucky. And nopony could be lucky forever -- well, almost nopony. There was a mark which guaranteed that kind of luck, but it was once a generation at best and Zephyr didn't have it. Not that he usually minded too much, because his own mark had gotten him this far -- although he'd recently taken to reminding the icon that if it wanted some version of normalcy back, it really needed to start putting in some more effort.

Or maybe it was. Marks worked in strange ways, and it wasn't as if his had ever tried to talk back --

-- stormbreakers went when and where somepony told them to -- but if the global atmospherics were relatively calm, then there was a chance for several moons to pass between disasters. Zephyr, who was currently, reluctantly, and rather more normally -- employed... had assigned hours.

And they kept changing.

It was apparently some sort of rule. The weather schedule covered a full cycle, every cycle. Rookies needed to learn all of the fine details, along with how they were applied across all of the shifts.

In direct practice: if the Sphere had assigned a certain set of conditions to be present when Sun was raised, then Moon got to watch Zephyr suffer through setting a few of them up.

He'd already been at the Too Bucking Early team meeting, and the part which had really stung was that the boss hadn't been there. The briefing had been given by Thunderpain (and in an additional cruel twist of fate, it turned out that the older stallion's mane just looked like that when he got out of bed at night too). Zephyr had gotten the impression that having somepony take over for the boss at awkward hours was a fairly common event. And he totally understoood not showing up Too Bucking Early for work, along with the whole 'rank has privileges' thing -- but it had ruined what he'd been hoping would be the best part of the experience: seeing how the cyan streak looked when she had to be up at that hour. It didn't even have to be all that good. There was a certain honest appeal in a rumpled mess, especially when you knew it could be groomed right out again. Or preened.

Not having the boss present for predawn meetings didn't feel like a particularly rare occurrence. And from what the others had been saying before Thunderpain showed up...

Get a great view. And then his thoughts went (justifiably) sulky. Lose a great view.

Maybe. It didn't sound like anything was settled yet. But it wouldn't have surprised Zephyr. The low-altitude world as a whole seemed to be surprisingly cruel and the lower you went, the meaner it got. To snatch that away from him...

Then again, maybe that was his cue to operate a little more quickly.

Not that he had the chance right now. Because work. And, very much to the immediate point, because griffon.

She'd arranged for the current meeting time, and had done so while not showing the least bit of caring about what it meant to him. Futhermore, she'd done so before Zephyr had been told that his rookie duties were going to have him awake under Moon -- at one of his favorite hours, and now that was ruined too.

Under normal circumstances -- the ones he was fighting so hard to restore -- Zephyr loved seeing this final segment of night. Because to be awake in this part of the cycle usually meant you'd been having a good time. The party had gone on, the mares had been pretty, and the fun just hadn't stopped. Still, the good time had to end eventually, because you sort of needed rest if you were going to have another one later.

So... if he was leaving the party at this kind of hour, and things hadn't gone perfectly enough to let him be following a mare home... then in Cloudsdale, he might just find himself with certain things to himself. Like Cloudsdale. Be in the right section of town, staying away from the night workers because those poor souls needed all the peace they could get, and it was possible to wind up as the only pony in the air paths. Looking down at a whole city of happy homes and sleeping kids, resting in protected peace.

It was a beautiful thing. Zephyr loved the experience of it. Being with a mare was better, but a quiet moment of perfect serenity under Moon wasn't the worst consolation prize.

So he'd pause. Drink in the night. Sure, you only had so much lifetime, but what was a better use for it than appreciating beauty of all kinds?

Sometimes he'd maintain a degree of hover until Sun started to come over the horizon.

And then he'd go to bed.

Zephyr loved the deep night -- if it was the last thing he saw before he went to sleep. Having had to get out of bed in order to reach it was taking a certain something off the experience. And having had to sneak off...

He'd actually gotten lucky there. Thunderpain was temporarily in charge, and that meant he hadn't been able to pair up with Zephyr for the night. Pretty Good-Looking Stallion Boss (not that Zephyr was attracted, but you had to acknowledge what worked) was stuck in the office until Real Boss finally showed up. Zephyr had been given a solo assignment, and so hadn't had to create an excuse to get away for an hour. Still -- the griffon really needed to consider his needs, including the one where he'd finally have a reliable way to contact her. Previous experience told him it was pretty easy to fake a temporarily illness once, but if you had to keep skipping out...

Zephyr had forced himself to conduct some basics in his assigned area. (He was paying more attention to the local weather now, because he had also been forced to take completely unfair responsibility for a portion of it. And it had just occurred to him that he might be able to request the park for a future assignment because if he had to work anyway and meet the griffon here, then he could at least arrange for a little extra meteorological personal comfort.) Enough so that if somepony did check on him, they'd see effort had already taken place and probably just conclude he'd temporarily flown off to find a friendly toilet trench. And then he'd headed for the park. Skipping out on some degree of work, while still getting paid for that time.

The tiercel often acted like he worked for her.

Which meant he was doing work, while at work, in the middle of dodging work. And only getting financially compensated for half of it. The less crucial half.

An intelligent stallion could get a headache from thinking about that one too much. As bad of one as he was getting from trying to maneuver through the night-blackened vegetation.

He moved his hooves languidly. You didn't want to shift your legs with too much force when you couldn't be sure of what they might contact at the other end. There were things to dread in the forest.

But there wasn't much point in looking for the worst of the hazards. It was too dark to see much of anything within the grass and when it came to heat, corpses cooled quickly.

The fierce, six-limbed breathing fire stalked through the night, blazing brightly through the half-shroud of cooler trees. And Zephyr watched.

He wasn't quite in range to call out yet, and saw very little need. She was -- clearly busy.

...were griffons nocturnal, and that was why she'd wanted to meet him at this hour? Probably not: they'd met during the day before this. But just about anyone could probably change their waking schedule if they forced it...

Maybe they were at least a little nocturnal. Or it could depend on the griffon. Component parts. Wasn't there some kind of bird which was most active at night? His sister would probably know, because useless information was most of what she had. So if there was a griffon whose avian portions came from that bird --

-- he didn't know and if he'd ever learned it, then he didn't remember. That usually meant it wasn't important.

(Or maybe it hadn't been important until just now.)

But he could see her, when she probably couldn't see him. (He was almost sure there hadn't been anything in International Studies about griffon vision, but... he could barely remember International Studies as a course title.) Watching her heat as the body moved, and she was warm indeed. Noticeably hotter than a pegasus, to the point where she shone within the trees -- or rather, within the grass and between the bases of the -- he was almost sure the word was 'trunks'. But in thermal sight, the strangest thing was the beak. It -- kept changing shades. Shifting up and down the scale, and seemingly doing so in response to the ambient temperature. Zephyr didn't know why.

He also wasn't sure why she was so low to the ground, especially for someone who had wings. (There were ways in which the tiercel was an extremely alien form of life -- but at least her presence didn't make him continually fight the urge to check her flanks for amputation scars.) Keeping her entire body down, as the thermal trail of the tail (which went all the way to the tuft, and then stopped) wiggled a little. It was like she was looking for something she'd dropped in what he felt had been fairly tall grass --

-- he heard a rustle, instinctively glanced in that direction: left and down, in front of the griffon. Something small, quadrupedal, the tail shape was weird in a different way but it was definitely warm and alive and starting to move away --

-- the griffon pounced.

Liquid heat sprayed across the grass. A faint, oddly-shaped protrusion of warmth extended from the variable heat hues of the beak...

There were spots of steadier warmth on the beak now, and the tongue. But they cooled quickly, Just like the motionless remnant was doing on the cold ground, as keratin-coated bone edges tore at flesh and the fever of life found its final cure.

Because this was where it all ended.

Dead forever, on the ground --

"-- you're not as quiet as you think you are," arrived as a sort of temporarily-satiated low purr.

He did his best to swallow back the acidic tide, and felt the bile burn his throat.

The vomit had been forced into retreat, at least for the moment. But he couldn't seem to move, and he didn't understand why.

"Would it help," asked the bemused purr, "if I told you it wasn't a pet? Because we look for collars. For grooming." She paused. "And we also memorize every animal which ponies might keep as pets, and then we don't eat those. Because we're keeping most of them as pets ourselves. Plus it didn't talk. That's the other rule, right? The international one. If it talks, you don't eat it."

She paused. It was possible to hear her licking the grass.

"So maybe," the tiercel wickedly added, "this might be a really good time for you to say something."

"I --"

"-- for the sake of the Treaty Of Menagerie," she cut him off, "let's say that counts."

More of the fast-cooling blood soaked into the ground. The tiercel's beak went to work.

She was going to have blood on her beak when she raised her head into normal sight. So much blood --

-- she was just eating. He was trying to tell himself that it was just normal eating. And there were no mindless cries of agony coming up from the base of the swaying blades. She hadn't tormented her prey. She was just -- rending a corpse. Over and over.

The tiercel ate. Then she straightened, pulled herself up to her full height, and moved towards him. There was something about the way she moved. Half of it was a sort of ground-based power glide being done with paws and talons. The rest vaguely reminded the pegasus of watching somepony get out of bed. Right after they'd shared it with him.

Zephyr's frozen legs did a magnificent job of holding unwanted ground, and he thought to congratulate them. But it still really should have been sky.

"So let's talk," the griffon said. "Mutual update."

"We..." He swallowed again, and instantly regretted it. There was just enough of Moon's lights to make the reflections off the griffon's beak look oddly -- liquid.

"We?" It almost came across as a tease.

"We should do something about that."

"...need a better way to arrange stuff," Zephyr forced out. "Meeting times. Maybe places. My... work hours keep changing. I'm supposed to be on shift right now..."

She shrugged. "Next time you're in the office, get a look at the master schedule. I can tell you where she probably keeps it. That'll have your hours written out a moon in advance." And, before he could say anything, "Not that you want to be at this for a whole moon, right? But we don't have to keep using the park. I could always just drop by your place. If you think that's private enough."

Where is she staying?

He could ask the question, and maybe the answer would even be suitable for hooking -- for meeting up. But it would probably just make her press all the harder on his current quarters. Unless...

...how much did she know?

She can't know.

"It isn't," Zephyr said.

"And I'll take your word for it," she offered with openly false magnanimity. "So let's talk. Mutual update."

The griffon had just said that --

-- maybe it had been for emphasis.

"What have you learned?" she asked. And waited --

-- for about two seconds.

Talons raked across cold soil.

"Talk," the griffon suggested. "Let's start with anything you've picked up on the job. And don't take too long. Still not my problem if you're late getting back. And it's spring. They'll start checking on you when Sun's here, and Sun-raising is going to be earlier than you might think. And a little earlier every day."

Which would mean having to see the fresh blood in two ways...

Zephyr talked. The griffon listened and at first, she looked -- well, it was still hard for him to tell, but the slight sagging of her eyelids suggested the upper half of her head was somewhat bored.

Then he got her attention.

The wings flared out to full span, doing so as the tail twitched and golden eyes went wide.

"Might be leaving," she said. "You're sure?"

"It's not a rumor," Zephyr quickly clarified. "The Sphere ponies already had her at the Canterlot offices. She's got some kind of --" what had the weather team ponies said? He really hadn't paid full attention, and that totally wasn't his fault. Learning he might lose his view before getting the chance to experience the closeup version hadn't exactly been happy news. How was anypony supposed to concentrate on listening after that?

"Some kind of what?" demanded the irritated tiercel.

"Part-time job," was the best Zephyr could do. It felt accurate and at the moment, that was just as good as being accurate. "Somewhere else. And the Sphere wants her to pick. This or that."

She took a deep, satisfied breath.

"Good," the griffon exhaled.

"You think so?" more or less slipped out. Of course, it wasn't as if she had to worry about losing a perfectly great view, and obviously any chance at sex had been forfeited at the moment of griffon birth -- hatching?

It probably wasn't important. Even to the griffons.

"I think it could be," she considered. "I've got to think about how to use it, though. Right now, it's just another possible avenue. But that could sunder a few chains."

She stopped. The golden eyes unfocused.

"...unchained..." she considered.

The beak was slightly open now. Not at the level which represented a smile. Just -- hanging there.

There was a little more light available: not Sun on the approach just yet, but Moon having been guided into a better position. It gave him a clear look at the blood-spotting, across beak and feathers and some of the fur. He tried to make himself look at something else --

-- her grooming was somewhat better than it had been at their first encounter. Still nowhere near what he would have considered acceptable for his own person, but she'd clearly made some degree of effort. He decided to take it as a compliment. Not that he was interested --

-- the beak closed. She blinked.

Guess she really needed the food.

"Give me some time on that one," the tiercel said -- and followed it with an order. "And find out all you can about the details on why she might be cut loose. And where this other job is."

It was like she thought he worked for her. They both had goals -- even if he still wasn't fully sure what hers were. Just that if she got what she wanted, then so did he. So at worst, it should be a partnership. Or maybe he should be the one giving the --

-- admittedly, being in charge was basically work. Anypony who had a sister that couldn't look after herself would understand that.

Still, it was easiest to leave things as they were for now. And when it came to getting things back to how they should be...

He wasn't sure this was going to -- this word was coming up way too much -- work. He certainly hadn't seen any direct benefits yet. So if the tiercel wasn't making any progress towards Zephyr's ambitions, then...

"Anything else?" the griffon quickly asked. "How about the little giant? Any information on her?"

"Yes," was as far as she initially let him get.

"Oooh," she teased. "The quinella bet may actually come through for once! We're going to have first and second place! What did you get?"

He passed it on. She listened. He wondered where her ears were. There was no visible structure. He'd grown up among ponies, and the lack of griffon outer ears was just one more thing which made it hard to read her expressions.

"Recent arrival," she finally summarized. "About sixteen, seventeen moons. A veterinary student who's getting practical experience with live-in classes." Paused. "And there was something about monsters where nopony's got the full details, but most of the town thinks she was going out with your sister before that."

"I don't know what she did to my sister," Zephyr tightly said.

The unicorn laughed at me.

Because since when was his sister interested in -- well, anypony? She was too frightened to be in a relationship. Frightened of -- everything.

...well, everything important.

Not that Zephyr had anypony at the moment. But he could always get somepony for a night, if he really wanted to. (Anypony who refused hadn't been wanted enough.) And when it came to the long-haul flight, you needed to find the right mare. The one who could pull the air carriage with you in it. And if that wasn't going to be romantic, then --

"-- veterinary student," the griffon pondered, and there was something questioning in the tone. "That -- feels like it's... a little off to the side. But -- maybe..."

"So anyway," Zephyr began, "if there's nothing else --"

The wings briefly spread, and feathers went through an irritated rustle. "I heard a couple of things myself."

"Like what?"

"For starters? She's supposedly from -- Drayton."

The griffon now seemed to be waiting for something.

"Drayton," she irritably repeated. "Dray-ton. And you're just going to stand there with that 'Huh?' look, like you're just waiting for someone to answer the question you didn't ask. Does anything about that name sound familiar, colt? And if it doesn't, would you just go and say that? Or do you really want me to try spelling it first? Because I can speak and read Equestrian, but your spelling is weird."

If you went around looking like you wanted a question answered, then you usually didn't have to ask one. Some ponies would just try to help. Being helped was not only like being given stuff for free, but could quickly (and deservedly) escalate to Actual Freebies.

Zephyr was completely familiar with both that philosophy and the more positive side of its results. And it proved he wasn't stupid, because it was amazing how many ponies lacked the intellect to reach the utterly sensible conclusion.

"It's a place, right?" he technically tried, and watched her face for signs of confirmation. It didn't help. He couldn't read that either. "In -- Equestria?"

She snorted. The rigid nostrils gave the sound an odd touch of reverb.

The followup of "Oh, talons and claws," was just barely audible. "At least the other one's a good listener..."

"Huh?" Zephyr expertly reasoned.

He felt he knew the next look. It was almost the degree of beak parting which represented a smile.
Almost.

"We're both looking for information," she said. "I've picked up my own source. It might be useful later. Especially if she wants it back."

"Huh?" was practically guaranteed to get a response the second time around --

"I'll tell you," she abruptly snapped as the tufted tail lashed, "once you need to know. Which isn't just yet. Drayton. Ever heard of it?"

"I'm really sure it's in Equestria," Zephyr proposed.

(He wasn't. He'd never heard of it. But where else was a unicorn going to come from? Prance?)

"...perfect," the tiercel muttered. "So now I've got to find out if it's the dual paperwork..."

"Huh?" Third time paid for all, or so a lot of ponies said. And why would they keep saying that if it wasn't true?

She ignored him.
He hated it when anypony ignored him.
'Anyone' wasn't an improvement.

"It doesn't matter just yet," she half-snapped, and the bloodied beak clacked. "I'll let you know when it does," The huge eyes narrowed, just a little. "Or maybe you'll let me know. Because it's time to try something."

"Like what?" He was sure he had a few ideas. He just needed the time in which to express them. Preceding that with the chance to think would also help --

"You've been at this for a little while," the griffon almost casually noted. "Good, newly hardworking member of whatever this stupid society is supposed to be. Showing you can fit in. And it would be nice if we could give you some more time to sell that, but -- there's a chance you'll change bosses soon, right?" Even under Moon, the golden eyes briefly seemed to brighten. "So we've got to start now, in case there's a new one who decides to switch up some of the more recent hires."

"Start what?" had been meant to sound exactly that frustrated. Because it felt so much as if she was treating him as somepony who was stupid...

"You're pretending to change," the tiercel said, "because you want in. You want a way into that cottage, and back to your sister. You do still want in, right? And to never be closed out again?"

She needs me.
She needs me.
I need...

Perhaps the tiny dip of his ears had been enough of a response for her. He hated that. And he'd just felt his mane shift.

"You need access to the cottage," his supposed partner stated. "And we both need more information. You're the one who can get it directly from the source. So you're going to have a talk with Fleur."

The Dread Rises With Celestia

You had to do a lot for the mares in your life. Caramel had recognized that fairly early on, and then added an additional crucial deduction: 'Especially if you want to keep them in your life.' Which meant that retaining company for a lifetime was clearly just a matter of doing enough.

He was still trying to work out exactly what 'enough' was, especially when every mare in the world seemed to be operating on a personal definition. One which they seldom wished to share, because apparently working it out for himself was part of how he did 'enough'. And that very much included those who regarded a stallion offering the loan of a winter garment on a cold night as a fatal threat to their personal independence.

For example, take -- Bon-Bon, because she was certainly a mare in Caramel's life. The one who issued his pay vouchers, and also the reason he was currently out of bed well before dawn, puttering about his small kitchen while moving with a lighter hoofstep than he'd experienced in weeks. And that was after his employer had yelled at him.

A lot.

...although to be fair about it, at least half of the shouting had probably been working with a side goal of keeping him awake.

Bon-Bon hadn't been happy. Just about her default state, unless Lyra or the foal were involved. And it was still 'the foal'. It wasn't always easy to settle on a newborn's name, and both parents had been stuck for weeks. The Herdbook Registry, which went through the problem on a national scale, would accept a placeholder -- but the entry had to be finalized within the first nine moons. Both mares were still trying to talk it out. Finding something which spoke to both of them.

That was presumably some of what Bon-Bon had talked about when she'd taken some private time with Lyra. At least some of the rest had been about how to deal with somepony who had recently attempted productive labor from the midst of a low-level mobile coma, and Bon-Bon had probably seen her final answer as being appropriately sardonic: if Caramel was going to be awake before dawn, then he could get paid for it.

A proper candy shop had the same prep hours as a bakery. Bon-Bon, who trusted in her skills and mark, arrived early and applied herself to any task which could be aided by either one. But there were still little details like 'Haul in three more bags of sugar' or 'walk around that pot with the bent-grip ladle in your mouth until the stiffening mix freezes both it and you in place'. Things which could be done by anypony capable of following instruction and who wanted to, as she'd rather directly pointed out, continue collecting a pay voucher.

...not that he'd really been on the verge of getting fired. Caramel did his best to understand the mares in his life, and so he knew Bon-Bon tended to dole out the little punishments as a way of resisting the temptation to go for big ones. But she still liked to collect a measure of revenge and in this case, payment was due at about 4 a.m.

So he was awake, and -- he really didn't mind. Because one of the other things he'd learned about Bon-Bon was that she balanced things out. Sweet with sour, or an experiment with savory being dusted with a touch of salt. And if Caramel was going to come in four hours early on one side of the clock...

He would be leaving work early. And when it came to... call it 'getting some extra time to consider the possibilities'...

It was just a fact. Any reasonable stallion who wanted to keep up any kind of relationship with a mare needed to put in the work.

Extending that out to 'with females' tended to make matters a little more complicated.

Especially when one of them was from a completely different species --

-- tiny claws scrambled up his back left leg: digging in enough for purchase, but -- not to truly hurt him, or so he told himself. Realistically, he'd probably just gotten used to it. Anyway, it wasn't as if she weighed very much, and it was just some minor scratches --

-- the movement reached his spine, then quickly leveled out and went for the head. The wriggling bundle of warm love went up his neck, and then tiny teeth nipped down on the tip of his left ear.

There was no chewing. No attempt to draw blood. Just a single tug, followed by a brief pause and, when his hooves didn't begin to shift immediately, a second pull. This was accompanied by the sensation of paws digging into his fur for better purchase.

The stallion smiled.

"But what if I don't want to come and see?"

Shimmy, who didn't care as much about having found her pony up at an odd hour as she did about getting the chance to show off whatever her curiosity had freshly uncovered under Moon, tugged again.

-- all right. When it came to dealing with women of a different species... two of them.

(He never wanted to see the number drop below one.)

Caramel wanted to have a mare in his life, permanently -- or rather, he'd been once been entirely certain that he'd wanted a mare, because -- what were the other options? (He'd thought about stallions to no avail, and considering a life of solitude mostly left his stomach dedicatedly trying to knot itself.) But when it came to winning the love of a good female... he'd had that for years. It was just that she happened to be a ferret, which led to a certain degree of difficulty for Shimmy in keeping up her end of the conversation.

But he loved her. True, she wasn't any good with suggesting ideas, and long-term planning was completely out of her range. For that matter, Shimmy had yet to realize that if a ferret managed to pull a pony anywhere, then the pony was probably doing all of the work. But when it come to emotional support...

Basically: it was certainly possible to feel downcast before seeing a ferret burrow-playing in a box filled with cotton balls, and a few particularly bad breakups had seen the emotion return after -- but maintaining a dark mood during the experience required something very close to deliberate effort.

(She understood when he was feeling down. Shimmy had a finely-tuned sense for breakups -- it had certainly gone through enough practice sessions -- and played all the more, or slept that much closer.)

She was a sable ferret, with a pattern of alternating brown and white rings starting at the tip of her nose. Her eyes were light green: fairly rare for the species. The body was long, sleek, and frequently put observers in mind of a fuzzy earthworm with a sense of humor. She liked to go everywhere, got into everything, wanted to be whenever he was going and if she'd seen something first, she wanted to show him.

Shimmy was fully litter-trained. You could do that with a ferret, but it took patience added to careful, gentle discipline. It also helped to have a few books on the process, two of which had done Caramel the favor of teaching him how to monitor her droppings. There were certain parts of her diet which could render them green, and that was generally okay as long as the consistency was normal. He had to keep more of a watch on texture and smell.

...there had been a stink one day. A truly horrible one, even worse than what a poorly-fed, ungroomed ferret could produce. Both texture and hue had suggested a recent death, added to two days of decomposition.

He'd wound up at Sweetbark's place.
The now-departed vet had pushed him off on the cottage.
That was where he'd learned that the most constant love of his life was a week away from death.
Forever.

A disease which had been carried in her blood since birth, which had simply taken a few years to manifest. No cure. But there was a palliative. Hard to mix, difficult to store, and he would need to pick up a fresh supply four times per moon for the rest of Shimmy's life if she was going to live at all -- but she would live.

She... didn't like the medicine. Nothing Fluttershy could do seemed to help with the taste, and -- there was a certain amount of inherent humor in watching a ferret pull a YUCK! face, but when he was trying to give Shimmy the liquid which kept her alive...

She hated the taste. But she always took it. Because she understood that there would be something nicer coming right behind it (especially as eating right after helped), and -- she trusted him.

Shimmy treated any hollow tube as something to crawl through. (Caramel had gone through some problems with coil-shaped light fixtures.) She was also known to experience The Zoomies, which basically broke down to 'There is a happy furry twisting tube racing around my apartment and she doesn't know why everypony isn't breaking into a gallop to join her'.

Her walking cycle centered on the crepuscular model: most active around dawn and dusk. That wasn't easy to deal with when he was trying to get ready for work, or coming home after a long day of it.

The ferret's scent was mild, pleasant. It took a lot of grooming to keep it that way, along with some very specific attention paid of what she was eating.

She tried to get into everything. She wanted to see what he was looking at and then she wanted to see it from a lot closer up. A closed door was an offense. A shut drawer just needed some work. Also, the first moons of companionship had quickly taught him that if Shimmy was missing, the first place to start looking was wherever he'd most recently put something away.

...she loved him.
He loved her.

Most of the breakups with mares were initiated by whoever he'd been dating at the time. The surest way to get Caramel into the role of launching party was for the mare to say she couldn't live with a ferret. And he was allowing himself to be guided, letting the little tugs show where she wanted him to go...

Shimmy raced down from his back, scrambled until she was standing over her find, and proudly looked up at him.

"Very nice," he decided. "Soft, right? Prime nesting material."

Perfectly natural. Ponies shed hairs all the time, including a few of the longer mane and tail ones. They grew back. So for a griffon to shed...

He looked at the brown hue. Wondered about touching it, or looking for anything else which might have dropped away --

-- no. That was Shimmy's find and besides, allowing her to freely collect nesting material protected most of his winter garments from being 'collected'. (All things considered, the talon-scratched couch cushions were probably missing some padding now. Shimmy probably hadn't been able to do much with claw-created microsplinters.) Besides, he'd be seeing the tiercel later. Maybe there would be contact.

...maybe...

...he... was still trying to work out how he felt about the -- possibilities. A different species. He didn't even know what was possible, or if it was -- well, advisable. But Caramel was aware that pony/griffon couples existed. It was possible to catch a rare glimpse, if you went into the capital and moved around the proper neighborhood for a rather long while. There were even supposed to be a few marriages. And that was just in Equestria. Weren't there supposed to be a good number of ponies in the griffon homeland? So if it was considered to be more -- natural there...

...something was possible. That was basic common sense. The couples were together: therefore, some form of sexual activity was taking place --

-- too early, and he knew it. They were still coming to know each other, and -- maybe she was just joking about all of this being a sort of date. Caramel was still trying to work out some of her humor. She just didn't see things the same way as most mares --

-- she wasn't a mare.
She was... a person.

He didn't want to think about having sex with her. Not yet. He wanted to know her. To... find out if all feathers were the same.

Feathers and -- souls.

But he would have to see how she did with Shimmy, and the ferret... had been hiding from the tiercel.

It's probably the natural odor. Big predator. She's afraid...

Which was why Caramel was thinking about getting the griffon a gift.

He felt Fleur would approve -- when it came to both his spending level and the practicality of the item. There was a chance that the unicorn would still say he was moving too fast, but... it was something small. He just wasn't sure whether the tiercel would like it, and that was why he hadn't committed yet. Because with any female -- at least, for the sapient ones -- you had to know somepo -- someone pretty well if you were going to risk giving them cosmetics. For a few, it could come across as trying to override a choice which they'd spent years in making.

And to gift the tiercel soap...

Fleur and Fluttershy had actually been the inspiration there. They both used a concoction which kept the odors of veterinary work off their bodies. So if the griffon used it, and some of the lingering predator odors were wiped away... then maybe Shimmy would come out.

And he would need to phrase it in exactly that way, because to offer someone soap as an unexplained gift was to potentially make a few unfortunate implications about their hygiene.

I could tell her it might help during a hunt. Hide her natural scent.

If he phrased it as not scaring off prey...

A different species.

This... was going to be... hard. If he was really going to try, to take it all completely seriously and see where it went... then it was going to be effort. Possibly the greatest effort of his life. He'd never been able to make things last with a mare for more than a few moons, and -- this was a griffon.

Where was he even supposed to start?

This is a griffon.

...by changing the statement.

This is a person.

Twilight had said something once, after one of those Minor Bearer Incidents: the one which had ended with the giant mauve mound of swaying, shimmering dessert where the swimming hole had once been. She'd said -- that easy could be a mistake. Sometimes ponies did things they knew were wrong because the imperfect solution was easy and surely adding in the cleanup effort afterwards would still total out to less work than coming up with an Actual Solution.

Even when his luck was horrible with ponies, trying to go forward with another mare would be -- easy.

The tiercel was effort. He had to put in work.

He... wanted to try doing some more of that work. After the paying shift wrapped up.

He fed Shimmy. The medicine was apportioned out and delivered. (One week. Forever one week away and trying to gain one more.) There was a little time for play, and so he used it on the most important female in his life. And then, because a few minutes remained before he would find himself galloping all the way to the shop, Caramel headed for his bathroom mirror.

Find the high-arch brush. Mount it in the holder, walk under it at the right angle...

He had a... date. With Gilda.

A tiercel and a stallion, out for a walk together...

It wouldn't hurt to work on his mane.

She was now actively considering the possibility that the cottage was alive.

Fleur was fully aware that under normal circumstances (currently being defined as 'just about anything which could ever happen, as long as it takes place away from the grounds'), simply entertaining that thought would have been a reason to question her own sanity. Openly expressing it to another would accomplish a rather rare feat for the listening party: allowing them to both ask and answer their own query in the exact same instant, possibly because it didn't exactly take a lot of time to get through a good strong internal NO. But there were some concepts which didn't start to make sense until the party considering them had been through a certain amount of -- exposure. You had to go through moons of living through what the building seemed to be capable of before the idea stopped feeling like pure lunacy and simply became a potential means to... identify part of the problem.

Twilight had said something during the second of the shared missions, about every theory deserving the same treatment. Not identical amounts of immediate respect, because some ideas would always initially come across as stupid. But if there was a theory -- if you were just about out of options and the lunacy felt like the only option left -- then you had to test it. Prove its idiocy. And if it survived the trials, came that much closer to solidifying into proof...

Also, Fleur was currently awake at some point well before Sun-raising, alone in an empty nest within the bedroom's less than perfectly silent darkness. (The animals had been told to leave the mares alone at night, but -- there were always newborns who hadn't learned the rules, and Fleur could hear a few not-very-distant mews.) And quite frankly, if she was going to spend the last moments before she got up in detailed mental review, then the other option for consideration was the increasingly-modified nightmare she'd just finished having. Compared to that, a dedicated attempt to figure out whether the cottage qualified as a living being was actually the sane option.

She twitched slightly within the billows. Raised a foreleg, noted how the moisture of night sweats had already soaked into her coat. A little bit of Moon's light glinted off titanium.

If I tried asking...

...no. That thought could wait. The cottage...

How could you tell if something was alive?

'Made of cells' didn't really help. It was a world of magic. According to Rainbow, anypony who hadn't found themselves in a position to be assaulted by an aggressive construct made from bloodstained crystal and bad intentions simply hadn't traveled enough and, if they ever happened to find themselves in the Empire, probably shouldn't open that one door. Or rather, they could, because the ?living? trap which had awaited activation was now cleaned out, along with all of the resulting shards. But if they happened to see any other door which looked exactly like that one, then maybe consider getting some reinforcements before checking it out.

'Sapience' wasn't a baseline requirement. You didn't have to be capable of true thought in order to be alive. Fleur saw that proof every day. Fluttershy treated most of it, while Fleur had taken over dealing with the portion whose inability to consider future consequences very much included 'Why do I have to pay for this?' For that matter, thought was hardly necessary to get through society. Some ponies had employees to think on their behalf, while others managed to power through their own lives on pure malice.

Multiple systems united in function...

Which also didn't give her much to work with. It was effectively impossible to identify muscles on something which didn't move. What was the circulatory system? Because the honeycomb network of tunnels within the walls didn't seem to qualify. And when it came to what was supposed to be moving through it --

-- actually, when it came to the substances which passed through a living body, the cottage was overqualified. Blood. Urine. Feces. All available in quantity and if bile was required, then all Fleur presumably had to do was check on Bertha and take another close look at the stitching.

Conglomerate symbiont?

A life (and mind?) made up of everything within it.

There was actually a fringe theory along those lines, one which apparently hadn't encountered enough testing to keep it from getting the occasional sidebar in Fleur's veterinary textbooks. It proposed that organs had basically evolved independently, and then had found a way of linking together within living creatures in order to provide mutual benefit. Fleur didn't believe a word of it. Because, just for example, let's say you have a fully-autonomous stomach. It is somehow living in its own, with no support from anything else. Of course, it can digest food -- well, no. It can't. It breaks down food. The small intestine is going to do the actual distribution job. A stomach on its own is going to non-ironically starve to death. Also, it's blind, deaf, and completely immobile. Let's not think about where it's getting a blood supply from. But on the bright side, if it did somehow have a way of detecting a predator, then there's at least a theoretical chance to spray acid at it.

Fleur was not willing to entertain the concept of hearts, kidneys, and spleens trying to get through the world on their own. She was, however, willing to grant that the theory did seem to cover anuses. In Fleur's experience, fully-autonomous trotting sphincters were everywhere.

A conglomerate symbiont...

...or maybe it's more what I read in the Equestrian psychology books. And giving those hardbound jokes any degree of credence told Fleur how much true rest the steadily-warping nightmare had cost her -- but she seemed to have reached the point where just about any idea had to be briefly considered. About the way some psychiatrists view the herd.

A massmind.

Somepony spots something which scares them. The scent of fear rises from their skin. The next pony, who really isn't paying attention, breathes that in. And they didn't see the triggering source, maybe they don't even know it exists -- but if they aren't focused, if they're the kind of pony whose willpower tops out at having that next sweet before they reach the corner because they've been so good... they won't just start to feel that fear. They'll begin to generate scents of their own, without questioning why they're afraid at all. Because if one is afraid, then clearly there must be something to run from.

Two ponies are now generating reaction scents. The pheromones spread.

If there's anypony else within breathing range, the next flare could go up.
A dozen.
A hundred.
And once it spreads far enough -- you have the herd.

A life made of lives. It moved as one. For the limited amount of sapience it could entertain, it generally thought as one. And because the true herd was typically created through instinct, most of what it thought about was survival. 'Where do we run?' could be nearly all of it. 'What did I just trample?' seldom got involved, and became all the worse when a once-again rational mind began to wonder if it had actually been a 'who' --

-- a very small warm spot was nuzzling the base of Fleur's mane.

"...I'm up," she wearily told Katherine, and felt the shrew's tiny claws carefully shifting through Fleur's fur. "Give me a minute..."

...awake. Did the need for rest qualify as a requirement for life? She didn't think so. There were probably a few plants which just kept going. For ponies, sleep was supposed to be a restorative and like the near-bulk of restoratives sold in the Tangle, that was at least an intermittent lie. She felt very safe in presuming that plants didn't sleep.

Which meant they never dreamed.

Lucky plants.

You couldn't have a nightmare if you never --

-- it didn't matter.

She'd had a bad night and because she'd woken up before Moon had been lowered, she was still having one. There were probably more to come. But it didn't matter, because she was awake. And she had to get up, because that was what the cottage demanded.

Stupid cottage

If it was a life made up of other lives... and Fleur existed within it...

Intruder.
Infection.
Under constant attack by the true blood.
Being pushed...

The tall body reluctantly shifted, moving carefully so as not to dislodge the shrew. Fleur got up.

Her first priority was to find Fluttershy, which meant the first thing Fleur actually did was check for a note. The pegasus slept considerably less than the unicorn: it was hardly uncommon for Fleur to wake up without pony company. And there was always something to do on the grounds, regardless of hour. But missions didn't care about when they arrived

she would have woken me up for that

and neither did veterinary emergencies

maybe not for every last one of those

and that meant it was Fleur's job to make sure that the pegasus was actually on the grounds.

It didn't take long. There was no note in the usual place, and a quick glance out a window found the radiance from a jaw-held lantern moving around the general area of the coops. Checking on the chickens: it was a little too early for collecting eggs. There was enough light to make out her love's features --

-- she looks -- tired. Her head is too far down.
Didn't she say it was an easy one last night?
And she didn't really groom herself after she got up. Her fur needs more brushing. Tail didn't even get the basics. Left side of the mane is all the way forward...

Typical. There were so many times when Fluttershy thought to take care of herself last. That had been slowly improving over the last year-plus, but at this hour...

There was no point in going out there to remind her. It was an old argument, and... it had been one of the few Fleur felt she'd been winning, if only through sheer persistence. But there were going to be times when the pegasus backslid. And it wasn't as if anypony was likely to turn up on the grounds at this hour. Not unless something went majorly wrong, or the cottage summoned --

-- stop it.

Entertain the theory, if only for a dark laugh. (Although she couldn't seem to see it as being the least bit funny.) Argue it with myself, because maybe I'll find the debate point which makes it go away.

But don't give it credit for magic without some really significant proof

I sure can't give it credit for sleep, if that's actually a proof for life. The place never truly stops...

Then again, how could it? A life made up of other lives. Some animals were nocturnal, others had a diurnal cycle, and a bear who entered hibernation was capable of waking up just long enough to give birth and make sure the cubs were nursing properly. The cottage would never sleep because at least one of the occupying components would always be fully awake.

...which would then mean the cottage was always completely alert. There was no slow rising through the stages of darkness towards something resembling consciousness: it would just know what was going on. Fleur was technically (and annoyingly) a member of a prey species, and she couldn't wake up all at once -- something which, from the viewpoint of a quadruped which might have to break into a full gallop at any moment, didn't make any sense. No matter how great the sensory jolt which brought her out of the nightscape, there would always be at least one moment of scrambling to reorient into the waking world.

This was, among other things, extremely annoying.

But it made sense for the cottage to be awake all the time. It was the animal-created equivalent of a flower clock. Except that instead of mirabilis jalapa opening its petals around four in the morning, chipmunks heard hooves moving across the floorboards and opened their mouths. Fleur already had a significant crowd trailing in her wake, most of which continued to dream of the day when she would finally forget to check on whether Fluttershy had already fed them.

Things to do...

She wanted to think about Caramel. Zephyr. Gilda.

The cottage wanted her to check on Bertha.

The unicorn made the rounds and in doing so, mostly discovered that Fluttershy had been awake long enough to make them before her. Fresh observation notes were scribbled next to patient cages. Several medicines had already been dispensed.

She does perfectly well on her own.
She always has.

Bertha was -- snoring. Mastiffs snored on occasion, because the nose was on the snub side. The puppies, already demonstrating one of the skills which would help them get through life, were steadily sleeping through it.

The vulval stitch was holding. The flesh behind it was starting to look normal, and none of the horrible colors of discharge were present. It all helped keep the nausea down to a low internal boil.

We need more soap.
Or I need to look at the Doctor Groomer's label.
...three hours. It shouldn't take longer than that to find where they printed the ingredients. And then I can compare that to an older bottle, because they must have changed something and the new mix has to be losing effectiveness.

The room wasn't supposed to smell like blood.

She went past the heavily-stamped letter. Looked at the distinctive stamps, thought about when the sending had arrived, the fact that it was just resting there and she hadn't opened it, every day she waited was one more day before she could send anything back and --

-- what could I even tell them?
They think we're...

...it could wait.

There was no point in going back to the book hidden under the cloud mattress, not when Fluttershy was in the area and could trot in on Fleur reading it. Besides, it still wasn't as if the unicorn was likely to forget her place.

Moon's light managed to render one window into a crude mirror. Fleur looked at her reflection, then went directly for the main bathroom.

The animals cleared out. Even Katherine gave Fleur some space. Fluttershy had gotten that much across to the majority, and for those who didn't...

Fleur... wasn't sure how much to elevate herself. Fluttershy hadn't really completed the basics for the day, and Fleur didn't want to be too far above her guardian.

No stick. Fluttershy, fresh off a triumph, had wanted to, but -- no stick.

no point

(There were newborns who didn't know what the rules were yet. But it didn't take them very long to figure out what an angry pony looked like, and nothing in the cottage wanted to be in a bathroom with Fleur when the unicorn was taking a turn with the sticks.)

Fleur's horn ignited. Grooming supplies began to arrange themselves. None of them felt like raw meat. Yet.

She looked at the mirror. The calendar caught her attention. Zipporwhill was due in that afternoon. Afterschool work time. Learning the absolute no-blood basics of veterinary service, as a means of -- well, Fluttershy saw it as recovering from the trauma of having once hauled a dying animal in a tiny blood-soaked cart, while Fleur looked at the process as forging pain into something useful. Actual recovery was the sort of thing Dr. Lorem liked to talk about, and that was all the more reason for the other Protoceran to treat the concept as a particularly dark joke.

Fleur was willing to darkly consider that the cottage, taken as a whole, might be sophisticated and advanced enough to count for some form of life. The Square was a dark splotch of mouthwritten ink across a small subsection of paper. In terms of qualifying for any forms of more advanced existence, this struck Fleur as being decidedly short.

And it wasn't if The Square could be said to ever truly move. Even if the strength of the temporal anchor was decidedly uncertain, it was still pinned to the calendar.

But it did move.

It kept getting closer...

Maybe something will happen.

...no: that was completely selfish. Expressing that sentiment as a wish meant Fleur was actively asking the planet to deliver horror onto innocents in order to save her from a bad day -- or, far more likely, temporarily postpone it. But it was possible for something to occur on its own. Say, a -- false alarm. Someone completely misread the signs, made exactly the wrong call, and everypony gets a few days of surprise vacation. The sun-drenched variety. And Fleur knew a little about meteorology. Simply being able to read a forecast put her well ahead of the average Equestrian -- although her finishing place in the competition had largely been determined just from knowing what 'forecast' meant. If she just had something she could consult...

...a global weather forecast. Something which didn't exist, because magic and technology weren't there yet, much of the planet was unexplored, and the majority of the civilized portions were still trying to figure out why Equestrians insisted on having a weather schedule.

Maybe it doesn't matter.

The Square had felt like a deadline. Now it just felt like the date for a wake. Pretend to celebrate a life, while fully ignoring the fact that something had already died.

She began to groom herself. Face first, because that was a good way to decide just how good she was going to look on any given day. Poor-quality sleep was carefully masked under multiple layers of fine powders.

Mane. Tail. Body, starting at the sternum and working backwards. Forelegs...

The area near the titanium circlet seldom needed more than basic attention. The part she couldn't reach technically needed none. Celestia had been known to pay the occasional touch of attention to small details and a number of minor enchantments kept the covered skin and fur healthy, while preventing fungal infections.

Fleur looked at the metal.

She wore the same thing every day. Nopony ever questioned it. When a mare with Fleur's looks committed to an accessory, ponies either accepted it, openly ignored it while muttering under their breath about taste, or tried to join what they were hoping would be the fashion trend.

Not that they would be able to tap the remaining supply.

"Fashionable, isn't it? We have so few practical uses for titanium that it was pleasant to learn about this new working, and how it operated best with this particular metal. That circlet will look lovely as jewelry, or go with just about any dress you might don."

Not that any sane pony would desire to. Not even as a gift. Because Celestia occasionally paid attention to the small details.

"And as an incidental extra, it also tells the palace where you are, at all times."

Especially when royalty was nosing over a prison sentence.

"Did I mention it doesn't come off?"

Except that it could.

She'd thought about the possibility, starting from the beginning of her sentence. Even on her first day in Ponyville, there had been at least three ways to do it.

There were now four.

Fleur looked at the weather schedule again. Ponyville. Just Ponyville. It was fairly easy to get one for Canterlot: ponies visiting the capital usually wanted a preview of what they'd been dealing with. There was a copy of the national schedule posted at the train station, and another in Rainbow's office.

But that just covered Equestria.

What's the weather like back home?

She could guess. The unicorn had grown up in Protocera: she certainly knew how the seasonal trends played out. But when it came to anything specific...

...I don't know.

It can take a moon or more for anything to reach the newspapers here and when it comes to coverage, international news can feel about as accurate as International Studies. You mostly just get the big stuff. Scandals. Governmental ones, since nopony can be bothered to learn who our celebrities are.

Disasters usually make the front page.

Total fatality counts.

But not names. Because nopony here would know the victims.

Nopony.

Not no one.

I was out of contact with them for --

-- I had to be --

-- if anything had happened, anything else --

-- they never would have mourned.
If I'd died, they wouldn't have known. And if they somehow had... they never should have mourned.
But that much changed.
(For now?)
And now, if something happened...
...they could have died and I never would have known.
I didn't think about that.
...I'm...
...I'm not a good per --

Shortly before dawn, she tried to clean the graves. They were behind the main bulk of the cottage and Fluttershy wouldn't see the unicorn doing it. And Fleur wanted to check the general area, because... she was tired of putting fragments of failed sticks into the trash. Burial, even in a hoof-scraped trench, felt somewhat more fitting.

Disposing of a dead fu --

Except that there was nothing left to do.

Trimmed blades swayed slightly in a light spring breeze. The stones themselves were entirely clean and even for spring, what little vegetation remained was oddly damp. Just standing among the markers was getting Fleur's pasterns wet.

The little lies of a relationship: she could ask Fluttershy what had happened and if she pushed too hard, she might wind up being told something about how the grazing in this area was just perfect for at least three species. It was slightly more believable than self-cleaning chicken coops.

For that matter, the pegasus could always try to sell the idea of -- carnivorous grass? Or rather, vegetarian, because there were multiple plants which ate meat. At least one kind of grass seed sprouted best on corpses, and did its best to arrange a personal supply. So... why not grass which ate other grass? Get enough types together, arrange for mutual attack patterns, and you'd effectively have a self-trimming lawn...

...she felt as if she was taking over for her love.

Nopony can substitute for her.
When it comes to level of skill, I can't do any of --

Now Fleur wasn't funny either.

The moisture felt like it was wicking up her fur. Heading for the circlet...

...there used to be at least three ways to remove the titanium, and two of them might be connected. Celestia could negate the enchantments at any time. Fleur used to have the impression that the thing would just drop away at the moment Fluttershy's first foal was born, but -- that might not be how the spells operate. It probably would have been a trip to the palace afterwards.

Still -- call that two. Negation at royal whim, or after the central requirement was fulfilled.

The third option was amputation. Fleur had gone through some very frustrating nights of entertaining that option, mostly because graveyard humor could also be a self-check for sanity and she hadn't exactly been ready to go that far. Plus if the goal had been to run, then doing it on three legs and a stump too fresh to manage a prosthetic wasn't exactly a good idea.

Option #4 was currently known as 'Twilight Sparkle'.

It didn't have to be. In the most absolute terms, all Fleur had originally needed was a unicorn who understood spellwork and enchantments on a level which surpassed Celestia. There might have been a few in the world. Narrowing that down to the one who wasn't guaranteed to immediately tell the palace about what had just happened would have counted for an additional problem.

But Twilight was right there. And when it came to any chance of having the librarian remove the circlet...

...the relationship between oldest and youngest alicorns could be -- uncertain. Twilight generally trusted Celestia, but not as an absolute. Some of the librarian's complaints suggested that she was still trying to reach some level of accommodation with somepony whom she still couldn't see as an equal -- but Twilight wanted her opinions to have a little more weight. To be taken seriously.

Still, if Fleur just asked Twilight to remove the circlet... it wouldn't have happened. The Bearers now knew a lot more about why the former escort had been given her original assignment. A simple request to have the titanium taken off -- that would have drawn questions. And possibly led to the sending of several flame-carried scrolls.

Except that it didn't have to be a simple request. It just had to be a timely one.

Because Fleur had gone on missions.

It didn't happen often. (The Protoceran wished she'd accompanied Fluttershy more than she had.) But given the right circumstances...

"Twilight, I'm wearing a tracker. I don't know how the palace taps into it to learn my location. I also don't know if that channel is permanently closed to everypony else. If somepony spots the spellwork, and tries to key into it, then they are going to be following us...

A perfectly logical argument. Today's problem can use magic: therefore, it might be able to track by magic. So in the same of keeping everypony safe? Remove what's being tracked. Maybe field-sling it onto a passing train and let the enemy follow that.

And once the opportunity arises, the former escort slips onto a train going in the opposite direction.

Nopony needs her.
Nopony's life is better with her in it.
Everypony would say so.
Especially after she was gone.

Sun was just starting to touch the horizon, and a familiar shade of soft coral began to suffuse the sky. And the Protoceran was outside the cottage, but standing among the dead meant she was still very much on the grounds and...

...what was the truest definition of life? Fleur was sure that any number of textbooks would be willing to provide suggestions, along with being absolutely certain that all totals higher than 'one' would see the answers contradicting each other. But she felt that being alive meant both acquiring resources in order to stay that way. Life didn't maintain itself.

Acquiring resources and... using them up. Because most living things survived by consuming other living things.

So if the cottage was alive... then what did it eat?

We -- went too fast.

Time.

Just about anypony would say that.

Thought.

Technically, we barely dated.

Sanity.

We didn't really know each other.
She was vulnerable and she'd never let herself want anypony before and I was right there.
In the wrong place.
...it would be the right thing to do.
The best thing for her, after everything else is resolved. A clean start. No more Zephyr to worry about, Gilda dealt with, and -- the last problem takes care of itself.
And Fluttershy would recover.
The tears might last for a few days, but...
...she's so strong...
She loses incurables all the time.
I'm... not good enough for --

Dreams.

It's More Like Happy Ending Interruptus

There were ponies in the settled zone who openly considered Fleur to be an exceptionally lucky mare and she, with typical and well-hidden irritation, would immediately decide they weren't in possession of all the facts.

...to be fair, when it came to the exact details of how the relationship had truly started, taking custody of all the facts probably required the palace to run a background check before issuing the security clearance. But when considering what was publicly available...

They would take note of her beauty, because just about everypony did: when it came to the refinement of appearance, Fleur existed on the level where even those who had no direct interest in her type or species would almost always understand why the rest of the herd was not only following her, but tended to bump into things unawares along the way. (Something which rarely happened these days -- at least in the settled zone, as the vast majority of Ponyville understood she was taken.) And to have Fluttershy as her partner --

-- well, yes, on the practical level, that triggered a few immediate and potentially permanent side effects: qualities which, when combined with the cottage owner's near-terminal shyness, had prevented the majority of ponies from truly seeking the pegasus' favor for a very long time. Because when you were in love with somepony, and they somehow felt the same way about you --

-- there were still days when she still didn't completely understand how Fluttershy had come to that decision. The same days which found her not quite able to believe it, as she waited for everything to inevitably fall apart. But there were fewer of them now --

-- in love, each partner effectively inherited certain aspects of the other's life. An emotional, social, and occasionally physical dowry. And if you were going to be in love with Fluttershy, then you were also going to take custody of several dozen animals, an endless succession of feedings, numerous chicken coops which always needed cleaning, and a not-so-occasional bear. Oh, and there was also a draconequus to consider, although... that wasn't as much of a factor right now.

Ponyville collectively acknowledged that nearly all of that presented a certain degree of difficulty for the average relationship, although most of the residents tended to rank the chicken coops a little closer to the top of the scale: after all, the bear could theoretically be asked to leave. But for Fleur, as a known vet-in-training -- wasn't that all the more opportunity to practice? It was the perfect environment for her! And she'd found exactly the right partner --

-- somehow...
...the settled zone was a little scant on the actual details and when it came to questioning those who had been at the heart of it, one of them didn't talk very much and the other had a way of politely smiling which suggested that you were just about to stop. The only things just about anypony truly knew was there had been something involving an evacuation and a number of giant monsters, but every one of those had just vanished and then...

...the point was that the mares were obviously meant to be together. They were a beautiful couple: perhaps the most attractive pairing in Ponyville. It was so clear that their filly would be --

-- they were meant to be together, and they'd found each other. Didn't that make Fleur into one of the luckiest mares in the world?

No.

At best, Fleur considered herself to potentially be making up for a previous extended streak of misfortune, and was reluctant to declare that the books had been balanced. Doing so might mean the world somehow noticed what had been going on, and when that happened...

She always did her best to plan. To control, because you couldn't leave matters up to luck. Yes, there were times when that could work out in your favor. The feelings produced by those moments of fortune, when it seemed as if the very world had declared how much it cared about you -- it was possible to chase those for a lifetime, and ponies who left everything up to luck would often find that the chase was rather short.

Because luck would turn on you.

If it felt as if fortune favored you? That was a delusion. Luck was capricious. Cruel. It didn't care.

Luck could be its very own monster.

And still, the majority of Ponyville considered Fleur to be an exceptionally fortunate pony: one who had been blessed with love, beauty, and a place in the world. Because the winding paths of her life had brought her to the cottage. The place where she belonged.

Currently, Fleur considered herself to have been brought to a place where, at least twice per week, she went to war against a chemically-treated stick. And lost.

It hadn't started with the sticks. Fleur occasionally had to force herself into remembering that, mostly while trying to think of a reason why she shouldn't just turn the entire supply into kindling.

They'd begun with an assortment of single-charge devices, and those had turned out to be the simplest, weakest enchantments available. The simple act of removing one from the packaging meant the barely-held thaums worked themselves out on whoever had done it. And since this was the cottage, two very surprised raccoons had been briefly surrounded by glow. The shifting ripples of the edges indicated that the spell had no idea what to do with that, while a fast-racing patter of claws suggested the raccoons were even less certain about the results.

The rest of the supply had been secured. They'd gone through a few different types. And what Fleur had learned (after eventually working her way down to the fine print, which had required borrowing a specialized magnifying glass from Twlight) was that the charge was even weaker than suspected, some disruption to the spells could occur from subjecting the devices to minor changes in condition -- like, just by way of example, opening a package -- and no matter what the working actually said, you were supposed to follow up with a professional afterwards because the spells had an accuracy rating of under one hundred percent. It was also under ninety percent. Fleur had spent some time in trying to track the exact number, only giving up when the first hints of the minus sign began to appear on the mathematical horizon.

On the whole, the one-shots had been utterly useless. (Fleur had sent a well-earned letter to the creator, suggesting that they add a new label to the packaging: For Entertainment Only. There had also been a few sarcastic details regarding how they could improve the resulting discharge lightshow, in the hopes that any degree of entertainment could be had.) And after a while...

...a few moons...
...they'd been trying for...

...Fleur had switched to the sticks.

The sticks were relatively new. They still weren't fully reliable, in part because it was so easy to misuse them -- but if they were deployed properly, their accuracy rating was well over ninety percent. And in theory, she only needed to do two things for the chemically-based color change to take place. One of them was waiting.

The other was urination.

The urination was where the issues began to crop up.

She had to relieve herself directly onto the stick. Well... how? Because using her field was right out.

Moving the stick was simple enough. Fleur was capable of levitating her own body mass: measuring out the degree of strength required for the stick necessitated a few decimal places and a couple of zeros. But it was hard for unicorns to move anything they couldn't directly see. Some degree of control was always forfeited at the moment any surrounded object was blocked from view (and the former escort had decent flexibility, but there were limits), the wobbling kicked in immediately, and even if she managed to line herself up with a mirror and kept everything steady -- the stick was still surrounded by a field. Liquids responded to fields through getting tangled up in the borders: little rivers and tributaries flowing around the outer edges.

Of course, letting her horn go dark resolved that. The urine would immediately fall. So would the stick. They generally didn't interact on the way down. And it was supposed to be clean urine -- which, for purposes of the current definition, meant liquid which had touched nothing except air and stick. Or the test didn't work.

...well, it could touch the mounting. There was the option to use a mounting. The base rested against her back, just over the hips. The arc of curving wood didn't seem to know what to do with her tail. There were hinges to make the whole thing more or less adjustable, and none of them had accounted for a mare of Fleur's sheer height. The best she'd been able to do was hit the edge. Of the mounting. Which had been followed by cleaning the bathroom.

There was also the option to work with a partner. A very long-handled pair of jaw-gripped tweezers was presumed to be involved. However, Fleur refused to involve Fluttershy in the process, and when it came to anypony else -- she was perfectly aware that there were ponies who would have happily volunteered, her talent told her who all of the local ones were, and she avoided them accordingly.

And you could always just place the stick in the toilet trench. The instructions said that was perfectly suitable, just as long as the user made sure there was no chance of having the results become contaminated -- which was the exact moment when Fleur had decided that possession of a mark for chemistry had to make the pony completely useless in every other aspect of life, because there was a toilet trench involved. Did they have any idea what normal trenches were like? And this was the cottage. It wasn't just two mares going through the bathroom: it was an endless assortment of animals. Some of them were permanent residents, others were only going to be there for a little while and seldom stayed long enough to learn all of the rules, and more than a few just looked at the continual flow of hopefully-clean water and decided that was where they were supposed to drink. Or, for the ones who both found a hidden way to watch the pony residents and decided there was something interesting about that technique, do something other than drink.

Also, it was a continual-flow trench. There was an entrance and an exit. There was also a current, and the stick didn't weigh very much.

It was a warm spring morning, Fleur was doing the same thing she did at least twice per week, always in complete privacy. Block off both ends of the trench. Clean it, followed by scrubbing the bathroom in an expanding oval from the trench out: contaminants moved. (This could take a while, because she had to get rid of every last trace of fur and given the cottage, very little of it would be pony.) Clean the trench again, because the act of cleaning everything else disturbed the environment and something could have drifted back.

Urinate. It was the only part of the process which made her feel as if she'd accomplished something.

Recover the stick. Place it in the secondary holder, which was kept on the counter by the sink. And... watch.

It changed color.

It always changed to a different color, and it was always the same one.

She was cleaning the counter. It was something to do.

We've both been tested.
Maybe the tests were wrong.
Maybe there's something wrong with --

Maybe the world just didn't want it to happen.

It was a warm spring morning, and that meant several things for the cottage and its residents. Fleur, who was facing the mirror while doing her best not to look in it, had the option to check on a few of them just by glancing to the sides.

The rough majority of pony homes kept the Bureau's weather schedule in the bathroom: Fluttershy typically hung theirs along the left edge of the silvered glass. The schedule said it was going to be warm, clear, and slightly on the humid side because some of the younger plants needed the extra moisture. It didn't make any claims about having all of it show up on time, but it was generally acknowledged that including any Rainbow-based disclaimers would wind up having text overflow the schedule.

They were a single moon into spring, which had the beneficial side effect of putting them that much further away from Winter Wrap-Up. Fleur had finished her second, and hated all of it just as much on the repeat. Why was any part of the labor necessary? Because in Protocera, winter was perfectly capable of wrapping itself up. Griffons didn't worry about melting all of the snow in one day -- and exactly what was that doing to the local water tables, anyway? It was something which happened naturally and when it came to the change of seasons, it wasn't as if there was an alicorn responsible for tilting the planet...

-- Fluttershy had very softly pointed out (or 'argued', but Fleur didn't feel as if it had ever reached that level -- for the pegasus) that getting all the warmth shifted in within a single day was pleasant for the ponies. And there was nothing wrong with getting so many of the crops started at the same time. Also, it was... nice, just getting almost everypony working together for a little while --

-- volunteer work! An entire settled zone serving as unpaid labor! If this was necessary at all, then why not bring in professionals? Exactly what were their taxes paying for?

Fluttershy had said something about taxes potentially being higher without resident labor. Fleur, who still intended to get a copy of the town's budget and sit down with the math, had tried to let it go at that and done her best to stay at Fluttershy's side throughout the day. Again. Which had done nothing to dispel her belief that the majority of ponies were control freaks who refused to let a single leaf fall unless the vibration produced by hooves had shaken it loose. It wasn't so much subverting nature as refusing to let it get a word in, making the world feel that somepony was going to do most of the work on its behalf. And it was a codependent relationship, because the ponies got to bask within the warm delusion which said they were in charge.

It had been possible to stay with Fluttershy, because her mate had mostly just been checking on those of her charges who had been the most vulnerable during the cold. But some of the others...

There was a weather schedule in the bathroom and for an Equestrian home, that was normal. The right edge of the mirror hosted the calendar.

They'd had a very minor argument about the calendar. Fluttershy felt that major dates needed to be posted within ready view, possibly in order to watch their unstoppable approach and prepare all levels of dread accordingly. Fleur felt it was unnecessary --

-- well, yes, as an escort, she'd kept an appointment book. But that was just a formality. Fleur agreed that they needed a book in the working parts of the cottage, because that was how you tracked veterinary, grooming, and kennel service appointments. But when it came to the basic requirements of their lives, both of them were more than capable of keeping it all straight with memory alone --

-- and when the argument had ended, there had been a calendar in the bathroom. Fleur wasn't entirely sure how the pegasus had done that. Or how it kept happening.

The weather schedule contained the but-for-Rainbow guarantees. The calendar held the forecasts.

Oh, some of the things posted on it were going to happen: in particular, Fleur noted the looming presence of her next counseling session with some irritation. Also, there was going to be an Adopt-A-Pet event in a few weeks, because it was spring. There was a chance that the weather would put multiple ponies in the mood to seek animal companions, especially for those whose short-term memory had a few problems. After all, walking a puppy looked like wonderful exercise -- in the spring. Recognition of the fact that the canine still had to go outside during snow, chill, and ice usually didn't sink in until the winter solstice.

Ponyville was still expanding, because a near-continual parade of new ponies kept making the mistake of deciding that the settled zone which hosted the Bearers had to be an interesting place to live. (It was -- for a given value of 'interesting'. The mistake came from believing that none of the things which made it so 'interesting' could ever affect them.) Fluttershy believed that meant a fresh market was available, and a typical spring at the cottage made it feel as if the animals were trying to overwhelm it.

Or just show me up --

Another square showed a doctor's appointment. Dual, with Snowflake covering for their absence. Fleur was dearly hoping they didn't have to go, or would at least be going for a different reason.

Somewhat after that was a reminder to watch for the next wave of migration, because some of the birds traveled further out than the ponies who had gone to spread the word and lead the way. Fleur hadn't been able to find the words which described how idiotic that was -- which meant she'd effectively held her tongue right up until the moment Fluttershy had introduced her to the Green-Crested Warbler, and so learned that there was at least one type of bird which was too stupid to complete the process on its own. (The species also wasn't all that good at flying, and Fluttershy kept waiting for the day when they collectively forgot how to eat.)

It would be Fleur's second spring at the cottage. The second time around for everything associated with the season, and -- she was still trying to figure out how she felt about the migrations. They mostly seemed to be the process of having old problems come back to you for extended review, and the best of those wouldn't have you as their final destination. They just dropped by long enough to mooch a few meals and for anypony with the sometimes-dubious fortune to count Rainbow as a friend, the experience was at least roughly familiar.

And then there was That One Square.

It had been heavily marked. Numerous annotations had been made within the limited space as information had come in. The entire thing had a surrounding border of question marks: something which failed to serve as any level of temporal confinement, because That One Square was heavily subject to change. When it came to interference, wild weather would be the first and best suspect. This was followed with all of the problems associated with travel, because some of the interruptions could be international. The Square was a forecast, because there was no true way to schedule the event -- but it still had a near-blackened place on the white sheet. Something which loomed with the gravity of the inevitable.

Fleur tried not to look at the Square too much. Thinking about it was bad enough. And no matter what she did, it just kept getting closer and closer...

She finished cleaning the bathroom. Took the latest stick up in her field and, without ceremony, allowed sheer frustration to snap it in half.

Then she broke it again.
Again.
Strictly speaking, it wasn't the stick's fault. But there was a second local target for the emotions, and going after that was going to have a few consequences...

...the remnants were placed within the refuse bin. After a few seconds, the unicorn shifted a few concealing layers over them.

She made herself look into the mirror. The light from her ignited horn reflected around the bathroom, glimmered on the surface of the little renewed river within the trench, and reflected off the titanium circlet on her right foreleg. Two field bubbles projected towards a rack of tins, chose a pair of the fine powders.

Light makeup today. When it came to Fluttershy's preferences, the pegasus liked to see Fleur with none -- but it was a working day. We've probably got the morning for basic chores. First appointment isn't until ten-thirty, and it's only six now. The 'probably' had been birthed from experience: a veterinary emergency could arrive at any hour and if one of those didn't come calling, there was always the chance of a mission.

There hasn't been a mission for nearly a moon.
It can't last --
-- go down, help her with the feedings, have breakfast...

Another morning.
Another stick.
...they had a failure rate. The manufacturer had been very detailed about that. It was low, but... it was present.

Maybe it's the stick.
Maybe it's not me.
Please don't let it be --

She could try another stick in the afternoon.

There was a shrew waiting outside the bathroom door. The tiny black beads which served for eyes stared up at what had to be a virtual mountain of pony, somehow found a way to judge the mare's expression, and then the little mammal scurried around to Fleur's left hind leg. The unicorn held still as miniature claws scrabbled, and then Katherine climbed up to Fleur's back, found the usual hollow, and began to fall asleep.

It had taken Fleur less than three minutes to put on makeup. Most of the trot down the ramp was required before she found a way to make herself look happy: the final key came from remembering that she actually was. Quite a bit of the time.

She picked up a small procession of followers as her hooves picked out the path, streaming out of doorways and cubbyholes. The season meant that some of them were just about newborns, who'd barely been in the world long enough to figure out much of anything beyond 'this pony is safe': the absence of other information meant they tended to trail along in the hopes of learning or pouncing something. The older residents were perfectly aware that hour and direction meant Fleur was most likely heading for the kitchen, there was always a chance for ponies to drop food, and hope sprang eternal.

A few were just about waddling along. Fleur made sure her hooves didn't go anywhere near those residents, and managed the feat while doing her best to not directly look at them.

The unicorn's guardian and love was exactly where Fleur had expected her to be: in the kitchen's pantry, which served as food supply for animals more than it did ponies. Gentle teeth were carefully gripping the top of a feed bag, pulling it off the central pile in preparation for the trip over to the dispensing area. It was a task which was being done with practice, precision, care, and the unstoppable knowledge --

"Did you eat anything yet?"

-- that she was doing all of it instead of taking care of herself.

The pegasus, whose mouth was occupied, silently backed up. Used the drag over to the fourth set of bowls as a way of buying time, which did nothing to stop the rising blush from underlighting her fur. Something which the pulled-back mane rendered that much more visible, and that was also set off nicely by the three other sources of light in the room: the first hints of rising Sun touching the window, some device-provided illumination from overhead, and the pinkish glow of the glass dome which covered the fast-cooker. The last had finally been enchanted to ensure that Fleur was the only pony who could casually remove it, because that was the only way to stay safe.

Fluttershy didn't always have both sides of her face exposed, even now. But it happened more often than it once had, especially when Fleur considered that 'once had' usually meant it hadn't happened at all. And even so...

The pegasus released the bag. Looked up at Fleur, as small animals began to cluster around yellow hooves.

"...no," Fluttershy softly admitted. "I didn't."

Fleur, with practiced ease, held back the sigh.

"We've talked about this."

"...I know."

"Take a break," the unicorn didn't quite suggest. "Have breakfast. Then finish."

A quiet aqua gaze looked down and regarded the growing crowd which just about surrounded the smaller mare's legs. Something which had just picked up a small white rabbit, who then moved into a position where he could guard the incredible tail.

"...they're waiting for me. And I just get into a rhythm with the feedings," the stronger mare said. "...it's easier to not stop."

On the rather dubious bright side, it was a fresh excuse.

"This bag for them," Fleur attempted to compromise. "Then something for you."

Fluttershy smiled.

"...something for us," she corrected. And Fleur smiled back.

Breakfast wasn't anything special. There had been enough time since the Wrap-Up for some of the fastest-growing plants to see their first harvests. The couple mostly indulged in sunflower shoots, and added the year's initial serving of greenhouse-free lettuce. Iceberg, as that was the single best way to keep Angel's twitching nose out of anything: he made sure to glare at them accordingly.

The meal wasn't anything special. But they were having it together.

The mares took a few seconds for nuzzling, then broke it up when they realized it had gone over a minute. The appointment book was brought out, opened on the kitchen's central table, and they reviewed. It was looking to be a fairly light day, if the capriciousness of luck allowed it to remain so. There were three grooming appointments, two checkups, a pair of clients were coming by to pick up medicine refills...

"...we should have some time tonight," Fluttershy noted with a smile. "For lessons. And review, because I want you to be a little better on cats before I have to give the test."

Fleur nodded.

"And after..." Both eyes briefly seemed to sparkle under tripled light. "...if you do really well..."

'After' would lead to another stick.

They typically talked about a lot of things, in the morning hours before the cottage officially opened for business. Fluttershy would review appointments. Check the stock on herbs. They had been considering a new range of grooming brushes, and there had been some discussion of a muzzle because Thistle Burr was probably going to bring his dog in again. Fleur, who knew the cottage could afford to lose a client, had taken it as a challenge to see just what it would take to make him leave -- but Ponyville's most notorious contrarian had responded to being nudged away through digging in all four hooves and effectively daring her to be more direct. The former escort felt up to the challenge.

They talked about everything which took place in and around the cottage. Egg deliveries to the Cakes. Cleaning the chicken coops. Checking on the stream. Preparing for Zipporwhill to take on more work hours in the summer. But Fluttershy never brought up the sticks.

"...so where are you starting today?" the pegasus asked.

"I thought I'd clean up the reception area." Also known as 'the sitting room', because it was still doing double-duty. "There's a lot of shed fur in there."

"...spring," Fluttershy quietly observed. "Winter coats dropping away." Followed by a small, rather pretty wince. "...and that one fight which started while we were both looking at the macaw."

Fleur nodded. "And you?" It was generally best to have some rough idea of Fluttershy's location, because the unicorn was still a veterinary student and an early-morning crisis might mean calling for help.

The yellow head dipped, and eye contact was broken. "...out back."

Which meant she would be cleaning up the graves.

It had been a long winter. And one of the darkest truths of veterinary work was that no matter what anypony did, there would always be more graves.

"I can --" Fleur started to offer, hoping to take the burden because it just wasn't as personal for her --

"-- no."

And that was it.

She'll be down for a few hours. A little moody for the rest of the day. She always is.
I'll have to cheer her up.
That's probably why she wants to try --

Another stick.

"Let's finish the feedings," Fleur temporarily conceded. (She could always make another attempt at the next grass clearing.) "And then we'll both get started."

There were multiple ways to measure the practice's success. Having extra fur to sweep up was among the most annoying.

Fleur was trying out a new kind of pushbroom: wide and low to the ground, with a pair of indentations for forehooves. In theory, it allowed her to guide the bristles through simply shuffling along. In reality, just about everypony in the world moved one side of their body before the other, and the broom curved accordingly. Four-legged mini-hops didn't seem to be much of an option.

She was thinking about the Square. The stick. Maybe the stick would resolve itself before the Square turned into an extremely local reality. If they were just that lucky --
-- if there was nothing wrong --
-- if luck wasn't waiting for its chance to turn away --

-- and she heard the outside birds sing.

It was a somewhat familiar series of notes. A song which had once played for her, over and over, until they'd all gotten used to her comings and goings at the cottage. After that, there had been a new melody. And on the day she'd officially moved in, the music had shifted once more.

But this almost sounded like the original. A warning to their mistress, who was still potentially somewhere within hearing range.

'There's a stranger on the road.'

Fleur sighed to herself. Disengaged from the broom, began the trot towards the door because of course it just couldn't be a quiet morning -- but there was still a good chance that this latest arrival had a problem which the unicorn could handle alone.

Actually, if it's an easy one, I should call her in. A reminder that it can go well. Remove the splinter, trim the claws, get the porcupine quills out of the snout. She'll feel better --

-- the former escort was halfway to the lever when the song went off again.

Both songs.

She stopped. Listened...

...two. One hiding inside the other, and for a mare who'd been living at the cottage for more than a year, it was now possible to sort out the choirs. The primary came from what she was sure were the younger birds, who simply knew there was a stranger on the road and had sounded the warning accordingly.

And then you had the older avians. There were less of them, but -- birdsong often became louder with age. It allowed them to push their bars through.

There were ways in which Fleur would never fully understand their message, not on the same level at which Fluttershy could comprehend every note. It wasn't the unicorn's talent, and it never would be. But the half-buried song was blatant enough to understand. The message was practically universal.

'Stranger/not a stranger, we don't like this, we don't --'

You didn't need a mark for communication to understand a cry of alarm.

'-- intruder --'

-- and Fleur could hear the hoofsteps coming up the last part of the approach path now, they were within fifteen body lengths of the cottage, she accelerated and her horn ignited, the field projection moved ahead of her, opened the locks and pushed on both halves of the door --

-- it flew open, with the outwards-swinging wood still ten body lengths away from impacting the approaching party's face. (It would take very little time before Fleur would begin to perceive that as having been the first of several missed opportunities.) She reached the frame, stood within it as her gaze searched the curving path, looked past the transplanted date palm --

-- they saw each other.

She knew him.

She'd never met him. There had been a single glimpse on an exceptionally quiet night, gained from an old image contained within a picture frame: something which hadn't known the light of Sun or Moon for years. It was kept hidden away, only brought out when there was no other choice. Or when secrets were being shared, because love meant trust.

She knew exactly who he was, and it meant that the first of her fully-concealed reactions was anger. She knew him, and that meant she wanted him gone. Sent over the bridge and out of sight forever, well before he had the chance to ruin everything.

But the tall green pegasus stallion with the overworked mane didn't know her.

He stared up the path towards the unicorn, and did so with momentary, fully-open confusion. His expression put Fleur in mind of a pony who had spent moons in preparing for a public speaking engagement, trotted into the proper auditorium at exactly the right time, and found himself facing the wrong audience. There was a certain visible question as to whether any of the words still fit and as far as she was concerned, the expression which summed it all up came with a light coating of slime.

She wasn't what he had been expecting. But she was also all he had to work with, and she watched the two-toned jaw work a few times. Preparing the first sentences for launch.

He smiled, and she longed to put a hoof through his teeth. Then he spoke, and Fleur changed her mind. A horn poke in the throat was much more suitable.

She knew where he'd been born. Stratuston. A pegasus settled zone, one which was known for a number of traits -- and for anypony with working ears, the most common was possessing the ugliest accent in Equestria. Fluttershy, whose typical speaking volume had once lingered at a level of 'I'm almost sure she's talking,' had seen just about all of hers obliterated by time spent in Ponyville -- added to a years-long reluctance to communicate at all. Every so often, her 'the' would lose the 'h', and -- that was it.

The stallion's solution had been to borrow a page from Rarity's book or, in the unlikely event that they'd actually met, outright stealing it. He'd decided how ponies would want him to sound. And then he'd invented a voice to match. One more layer between the pegasus and who he really was.

She knew him, and she wanted him gone. At a minimum, and possibly just for starters.

But he didn't know her. And so he spoke.

"Hull-o!" he declared, and Fleur imagined what it would feel like to nail him to one. "Is my sister in?"

Their Birthdays Are Scheduled As Celebrate, Celebrate, Celebrate, GALLOP FOR YOUR LIVES

Wild weather, when compared to that which was often scheduled moons in advance, still retained something in common: they both usually wound up being cooperative by sheer coincidence. In this case, the couple had been scheduled to set out for the train station well before Sun was raised, and the slightly less vindictive sheet of paper posted near the bathroom mirror said that the overnight arrangements were going to have more than a touch of chill. It meant getting Fluttershy into a dress was mostly a matter of mentioning the need for a little extra insulation, followed by going into the trot-in closet with her and picking out a look.

The hat was a little harder, especially since there was no real need to shade one's eyes from Moon. But if you knew Rarity, you tended to wind up with a few accessories, all of which went with the dresses. And Fleur had taught her love a few additional things about clothing -- including the fact that to see somepony who was covering some part of their form was often to wonder what the reveal would look like. A pony who was systematically adding layers of concealment in view of spectators (while kicking in some carefully-timed hip wiggles) had the potential to create swooning spells, and that was why the profession of erotic dresser existed.

Fleur had taught Fluttershy a few things about both sexuality and enticement: enough for some part of the pegasus to likely conclude that the unicorn mostly wanted to see her in the outfit for the purpose of eventually getting her out of it. And given where they were going...

Of course, it would have looked somewhat unnatural if Fleur had been asking her mate to consider the temperature while not doing so on her own behalf, especially since pegasus fur seemed to be slightly more insulative than the standard: the unicorn blamed high-altitude conditions. So she sorted through a few things and picked out something with a good drape over the hips.

(It wasn't fear: it was indulging a friend. Ponies did that for each other.)

Then they waited for Snowflake.

He was right on time. (It still took five extra minutes to pry Fluttershy away from the early feedings.)

Fleur packed up the pieces which had been designated for return, then counted them three times because the numbers had to be exact and it was best to be fully certain about the quantity before leaving the cottage. A small, much-loathed book was recovered from its near-burial in a drawer near the bed and unceremoniously shoved deep into a saddlebag.

They turned over the cottage to the ministrations of its temporary supervisor. And then the couple set out under Moon's silvery light because it was a mutual appointment, and they always had to go together. Trotting in close proximity. Sharing time, guarding each other.

Heading towards another reminder of Fleur's failures.

Her loathing of the fertility doctor's waiting room had initially required something of a learning process and for this category of study, the full diploma had been earned after a mere three moons.

For starters, pushing the door open meant you were trotting -- or, from the fourth visit on, dragging hooves -- into a half-truth. You were certainly going to be waiting and to Fleur, who had once been nearly obsessed with time, the sheer duration associated with their visits had quickly become offensive. She worked with her love in the examination room and surgery, understood that any appointment written into the cottage's schedule book was mostly there as a rough suggestion for when the temporal distortions would begin. Animals didn't perceive time in the same way as sapients and even with the most innocent of visits...

Fluttershy could usually talk a canine into not wriggling. Making it truly understand that it had to stop because the grooming should have started ten minutes ago was effectively impossible. And when it came to the doctor's office, schedule overruns were inevitable -- for the physician. The mares had to be in the office at a given hour or risk being marked absent, and then they had to sit while their appointed hour passed. Rather frequently, the hour would become bored with the prospect of passing all by itself and invite along some company. Visit the fertility doctor and sapience mostly became good for letting the mind provide itself with creative personal falsehoods, because Fleur was becoming convinced the dingy clock had it in for her.

You would certainly be waiting. But you wouldn't be doing so within any real amount of room. As far as Fleur could determine, the place where time went to die had been carved out of a repurposed hallway. It was too short from end to end, far too narrow for any real degree of comfort, and also had an odd inwards bowing at one section. She had no idea what was producing the restrictive curve, but moons of seeing how it wasn't getting any worse did suggest that at the very least, the main office wasn't pregnant.

And then you had the decor or rather, you didn't. There were six colors associated with newborn foals because when it came to hanging announcement buntings outside the homes of new parents, the combinations available from races and genders allowed gift stores to carry a wider selection. The waiting room used none of those hues. The space was brown. It was overwhelmingly, oppressively brown. The walls were a deep brown, the furniture only shaded towards black from the weight of pony shadows and if Fleur stayed in the area too long, she started to feel as if her fur was darkening.

There were no real personal touches in the office. Rectangles of slightly-altered hues suggested there might have once been a few paintings hung on the walls, but Fleur suspected they'd either been taken down or had the weight of expectations press them under the surface of the dull wood. A number of magazines were strewn across a table and because the wood stain had apparently been something less than perfect, most of the covers were browning. Bench cushioning was fully inadequate, while the benches themselves were arranged in pairs and managed to be both too close together and too far apart at the same time: Fleur had no idea how that worked, but the proof was right there.

One section of wall hosted a sliding window. Most of the world's colors were isolated on the other side, along with a receptionist who was always both fully understanding and sympathetic regarding how long they'd been waiting, how long they had yet to wait, was always sorry that she couldn't tell them how much longer that other factor was going to continue, and could do absolutely nothing about any of it. She was mostly good for writing down future appointments, because Fleur's ongoing failure meant there was going to be another appointment.

(The window's edges, and the frame which hosted it, weren't quite square. Fleur's suspicion was that the wall in that section had once been fully intact. And then somepony had wound up waiting just a little too long.)

Fleur always tried to get the first booking of the day and because the office hated her (not the physician: just the office), she usually failed. If she was alone in the waiting area with Fluttershy and her own failure, then the space was already far too crowded. Turning up at an hour which found couples sharing the durance turned it into an overfilled prison cell where everypony being held had committed the same crime.

She could make a rough guess at how long each couple had been coming to the office. The newest entered with eyes bright, believing that there would be but one visit and it would be followed by the rest of their lives. Some of the longest-serving prisoners could just barely make themselves shuffle across the threshold, moving as if every joint was being locked down by the air pressure at the instant of crossing. Worry increased with every visit. For some, it had turned into resignation. They came because they had been coming for moons and if they stopped, then... that was it.

You could trot out of the cell at any time. You never had to come back. The sentence was entirely voluntarily, and that was why they all kept returning to their once-per-moon incarceration. To continue the wait, until the day when another arrived to free them.

Fleur could always identify those who were about to trot out for the last time, because they would be wriggling on their benches. Hooves kept reaching out to touch their partner's bodies: nearly any part they could reach, because there would be a newborn caution about going near the abdomen.

Those couples were waiting to see the doctor. To report and verify. And it could be said that when they left, they did so with company. It would just take up to eleven and a half moons before a name was officially written on the guest list.

The purpose of the waiting room was to make sure no one who entered would desire to be there for any longer than was strictly necessary. You had to want to go. Sometimes, those who had escaped would make the decision to come back, because they'd succeeded once and if life was so much better with extra company, then it was time to imagine how that company would feel about a sibling.

But most of the couples within the space were still trying for that first moment of triumph. And after every moon of failures, both mares would have to return. Report, renew, and arrange for the next meeting. The one which would surely have them reporting that it had all worked out.

Or not.

She had entered the room for the first time because of hope. Hope and love.
And when Fleur kept finding herself there... when nothing she tried seemed to be working and it had to be her, it had to be, just about every other couple succeeded eventually and they'd been trying for moons, so it had to be her...

...the office was a prison.
The office was Tartarus.
And hope had become torment.

Dr. Mester tended to regard things by looking at them over the top of her spectacles. It had taken a rather irritated Fleur a mere three moons to wonder why the lenses were even there at all. Deciding that it was in the name of a Look had required about two additional seconds. Some physicians felt they just had to appear somewhat scholarly, and this particular style of glasses also had a way of artificially aging the features behind them. With a doctor who was already in the final years of her career, it provided the appearance of a mare who had gained a first-name basis with Celestia through having been the one to write it into the Herdbook Registry.

She peered over the frames far more than she ever looked through them, and she was using that misdirected scrutiny to regard the multiple fabric-wrapped packets which had spread across the office's table. The corona flare created by Fleur's frustration had led to a significant degree of scatter.

Dr. Mester was looking at the packets, with special attention being paid to the fully-sealed specimens. Fleur was glaring at them. Fluttershy, who tended to be quiet during their appointments -- even more so than usual -- had picked out a defensible position near the back wall. After more than a year spent in Fleur's company, it was more social reticence than the pegasus typically displayed in public, but... it was the office.

"I have the records with me," Fleur tightly stated. "It's the right count. Exactly right."

Each of the packets would be unwrapped before the mares would be allowed to leave the office: a simple part of the basic procedure, and Fleur still felt she'd made the right decision in concluding that she needed to be taking it personally. The exposed contents would appear as small squares of doubly-mirrored glass, each about a hoofwidth across. With the unused ones, any reflection caught on the surface would tend to shimmer slightly, and often wound up overlapping with whatever image had been captured on the other side.

They had twisting spirals of silver wire serving as frames, and a small eyelet indicated the top edge. The squares were meant to be hung from the ceiling. They had been intended to dangle over the cloud nest, and each would have only done so once.

The unicorn was glaring at the packets because none of the rewrapped ones had worked. The doctor's expression was somewhat different.

"So many," she quietly said. "Why so many?"

Because Fleur had just turned over custody of multiple unused miracles.

Officially, the working was known as Mytilene's Truest Love -- but just about everypony who had ever dreamed of using it simply called it the Most Special Spell, and perhaps its creator would not have minded. Fleur had seen three paintings of Mytilene, and the long-dead unicorn always looked as if happiness was her default state. It was something which only increased in the very last portrait, because that was the oil rendering which featured a quartet.

Mytilene had been a thaumatologist, the finest spell researcher of her generation. And she'd had a dream: simple enough in concept, but almost impossible in execution. Mytilene had longed to bear a child, to bring the offspring of her union into the world. A foal born of their blood.

She had also loved a mare.

And she had found a way.

It had taken several years for the resulting protests to fully vanish.

In the modern day, the Most Special Spell was part of the background. Something accepted, and often falsely seen as rather simple. Fleur had no idea how difficult the actual casting was, but had quickly decided that the regulations involved had overcomplicated everything.

The Spell's purpose was easy enough to describe. Any two mares under its influence would be capable of having their own foal: always a filly, and one who would truly be of their blood.

Sex was required for the conception, because Mytilene had preferred it that way. But there were no anatomical changes involved. The spell also didn't guarantee pregnancy: a mare subject to its influence (and when cast from a single-use device, the slightly-glossier side of the glass indicated the potential carrier) had the same chance to become gravid as she usually would at that point in her cycle. It also only lasted for one night. And any pregnancy which did result was fully normal -- which included the possibility of multiple births and, agonizingly, the chance of miscarriage.

It was one of the very few castings which could only be learned through government classes, because the first years of the Spell had gone through some problems. There had been protestors, because there would always be ponies for whom any change represented the end of the world -- but for the most part, the Spell had caught on early. Multiple hidden mare-mare couples had stepped out under Sun for the first time, believing that the ability to bear their own children would fully legitimize them in a world where such unions had merely been legal and protected -- and, in terms of societal acceptance, had found that with so many of those who'd previously harbored doubts and prejudices, they were right.

Hundreds of mares had tried to gain access to the Spell, in an era where only one understood how to reliably cast it. There had been a gap, and it wound up being filled in by con artists. The majority charged thousands of bits for a single casting, created glow, and left. Others stuck around long enough to watch the conception attempt.

It had taken moons to train those few casters who could learn the working. Mytilene had added a device-maker to what was suddenly a government-funded team, and it had still taken years of fresh research to find a way of making the Spell cast itself through the inanimate. And even after that, there had been liars and thieves, because there were always desperate mares and the waiting list was going to take some time to clear...

But in the modern day, there was an official procedure. For starters, the Spell was only available through the government. The palace trained the casters, operated the device enchantment facility, and issued the resulting supply to licensed physicians.

Every couple who wished to use the Spell had to pass a health screening: not just checking for fertility, but searching for those faults of the blood which were more likely to turn up in females, or those scant few diseases which were exclusive to mares. The foal would always be a filly, and if two adults with the same condition attempted to mix their blood...

The devices were counted. Expended and unused. They were issued by the moon, with the prescription renewed the same way. Mares always had to come to the appointment, and everything was tracked because there was still something of a black market surrounding the spell. Some couples didn't want to risk the screening. A few apparently possessed phobias regarding paperwork. Others were young, hadn't fully committed to each other yet, and had allowed their mutual stupidity to decide that having a foal would be fun.

There was also a persistent rumor that having sex while under the Spell was better than doing so without. It wasn't. But when it came to sex, rumors were effectively immortal.

Being cleared for the Spell came with multiple responsibilities. Fleur had to track their sexual activity in a journal. Every one of the single-use devices had to be accounted for. And if one or more wasn't utilized during a given moon, then it was brought back into the office.

There was usually a simple reason for returning the excess. When the Spell worked... when you were lucky...

Maybe it's me.

...the resulting pregnancy was fully normal. And if you wanted to become pregnant again, you had to wait until after the birth.

But Fleur wasn't gravid.
Still.

"We haven't been having as much sex lately," announced a number of syllables which had been edged with excessively polite razorwire. "So we didn't use the normal supply. The total count is right. It's all in the journal --"

Dr. Mester peered over the top of her glasses at Fleur. Switched regard to Fluttershy.

"You two," inquired the tones of disbelief, "haven't been having sex?"

Fluttershy's defensible position threatened to take on the red highlights of a fast-rising blush.

"There's been a lot of things happening," Fleur stated.

"Such as?" the physician rather unwisely asked. Focused on Fleur, and awaited the answer.

The unicorn weighed multiple options.

"Her brother's in town." And felt her partner cringe.

Dr. Mester simply nodded.

"Family can disrupt a schedule," she acknowledged. "I can issue less for this moon, if you feel things won't be getting back to normal immediately." The supplies were based on normal activity. Fleur and Fluttershy were typically -- well, cottage-created exhaustion was its own hazard, but 'active' was still fair.

"No," Fleur softly offered. "Standard amount. Please. I don't think he's staying long."

"You'll have to track them --"

I know --

She stopped the words before they reached her tongue. Turned them over in the speeding tumbler of her mind, and waited until the movement pretended to sand the edges off.

"I know," Fleur quietly said. "The standard amount. Please."

And after eighteen eternal seconds, the physician nodded.

That should have been the end of it. Fleur wasn't pregnant. They were still trying. The issuing of a fresh supply would have been followed by a rapid departure. They wouldn't have spent much time in Canterlot after temporarily escaping the office. Back to the train, because the cottage was always waiting.

"So let's review your activity for the month," the doctor said. "What there was of it. Which positions have you been trying? Because there is a higher chance of pregnancy with some than others. And while the Spell is in effect, as opposed to sex for pure recreation, you have to consider every move you make." Neutrally, "Take out the journal. We'll start with the night after your previous appointment."

Fluttershy's blush threatened to reflect from the office walls. The former escort's jaw merely tightened.

Returning to Ponyville had several benefits, and having escaped the office for a whole moon was not the least of them. There was also a certain detriment, and it came from listening to children play.

It shouldn't have bothered Fleur. She kept telling herself that it didn't. But the children were having a merry, tumbling, raucous time with no squawks (or neighing yips) of true pain involved. It was mostly giggles. She was listening to them play, and... she'd just come away from her most recent failure. A negative verified, with the renewal issued so that she might fail again.

It wasn't a good time to be listening to children at play. But it was the price she paid for getting to speak with Pinkie.

Fleur had asked Fluttershy if they could stop at the bakery before returning to the cottage, and her love had readily agreed. The pegasus had an ongoing business deal with the Cakes, because there were chicken coops on the grounds and a bakery always needed eggs. Stopping at Sugarcube Corner offered a chance to review the books, quietly speak with the bakers, and check in with Pinkie after. It was always good to have a chance at seeing a friend.

Except that Fleur had told Fluttershy that she needed to speak with Pinkie first. And her love had simply nodded, without inquiring as to the why. Because they trusted each other.

There were still times when Fleur wondered if the pegasus was making a mistake --

-- they were behind the bakery, because they'd arrived at a time when it was possible for one pony to leave without disrupting production. The earth pony was resting quietly, belly and barrel resting against the ground while her flanks were tickled by new grass. Fleur had matched her, only while facing the other way. (Rarity's creations tended to be somewhat stain-resistant, but the dress would still need cleaning.) Looking at each other under Sun's light, with about half a body length between them.

And, just a short distance away, the twins were playing. Or at least, it could be described as playing. Whoever was creating that description was advised to squint during the visual inspection. It helped somewhat more to let your eyes go out of focus, looking at something else entirely created a further improvement, and flattening ears against the skull would have gone a long way towards blocking out the yelling.

Pumpkin and Pound were fraternal twins. They liked to play together. And the form of play they liked best was fighting.

When Pinkie was supervising, this generally got confined to the back of the bakery. If the family was going around town, then the twins were generally spotted as a doubled rolling ground tumble: the dust cloud was optional, with radius based on how recently the streets had been cleaned. Each constantly took the other on: verbally, socially, and it took very little for the perpetual battle to reach into the physical. The twins could always find something to fight about, because it was something they did together. Testing each other, right up until another child of the same age would make the mistake of trying to interrupt. And then they teamed up.

It was a low-altitude traveling brawl, and it was expected to remain so for several years. Fleur had heard the stories: both twins had been at the center of multiple, powerful Surges: newborn magic channeled through infants who didn't understand how to control it. Pound had been getting storm clouds together as a foal, with Pumpkin demonstrating the potential for phase-shifting and all the wall-penetrating chaos which came with it --

-- but Surges faded out. The last one was always well before the second birthday, and the twins would soon be four. They had language, mobility, and a shared talent for getting in each other's way -- but the settled zone would be safe from their magic until puberty unleashed it again. The worst-case scenario had them both starting into it at the same time.

Former menaces, who might one day return to that status while bearing a little less innocence regarding the results. But for today, they were simply children. And they tumbled across the grass behind the bakery, laughing and shouting as they constantly tested each other, because that was what siblings did -- but all it took for the perpetual battle to go into truce was a few soft words from their supervisor.

The twins listened to their big sister. The other option was for bedtime stories to be considerably less fun.

There was a huge age gap between the siblings, because that was how it could happen when the first arrival was adopted. Newcomers to the settled zone sometimes thought Pinkie was their mother...

The tumble was getting a little rough. Pinkie said something soft, and the battle immediately took a break.

She'll be a good mother.

Fleur didn't know if she could say the same about herself.

The Cakes hadn't minded letting Pinkie go outside for a while, because the twins needed supervised playtime and it was best to keep the little war away from the display cases. And they never minded having Fleur around when the children were playing. Because the whole of what had happened on the night before the monsters came wasn't known, but Ponyville had been told enough. Everypony in the settled zone trusted Fleur with their children. Implicitly.

She... tried to be worthy of it.

(There were occasional tours at the cottage now. Youths being introduced to those animals who didn't mind an inexpert nuzzle. Fleur's central job during such group visits was to keep Angel away from all of it.)

"Gilda," Pinkie quietly said, and it was so rare to hear notes of regret lurking within the merry voice. "I can talk about Gilda, Fleur. About what happened, for as much as I know about what happened. Everything which happened when I was there. It's... not a problem."

She usually speaks so quickly...

The baker's head tilted slightly to the right. Blue eyes quietly roamed over Fleur's features. Evaluating.

"What are you thinking about?" Pinkie asked.

Fleur's lips quirked. "That it's rare," she offered. "To ask a Bearer about something which happened before I came here, and get a whole story." Or at least one complete side for same. "Most of the answers about anything from the seven of you default to 'it's classified'."

Which made Pinkie smile. "Yeah. But it isn't something I'm not allowed to talk about, Fleur. It's..."

Her head dipped. Several curls seemed to sag under their own weight, and the shadows cast by the bakery darkened her mane.

"...something I don't like to think about. Because I think I made some mistakes. Maybe a lot of them. And when the mistakes were over..." A fast-flattening tail slowly swayed across the grass. "...Rainbow didn't have a friend any more."

Pinkie and Fleur weren't friends. There were bonds between them: both had been adopted, they had Fluttershy in common, there had been a pair of shared missions -- but they weren't friends. Reaching across the little gap towards the baker -- Fleur didn't know how Pinkie would take that. The earth pony was comfortable with physical contact, could often be found near the center of any Bearer ponypile -- but she and Fleur weren't friends...

"And I don't know how much of that is my fault," Pinkie quietly said. "Maybe that's why Gilda came back. To try and be friends again. And if that's why she's here -- then maybe I need to stay out of it this time. Maybe I should have stayed out of it from the start..."

She was quiet for a few seconds. One twin told the other a fart joke, and both laughed. They were going on four. There was nothing funnier.

"You know a little about the Elements now," the baker finally said. "That Harmony is -- about us. All of us, together. And I can't talk about that first night very much, even now. But I can say this, Fleur. We were all friends with Twilight --" and paused. "-- no. That's not fair. We all liked her. Friendship, real friendship... that can take a while. You have to understand somepony a little better, to be their friend. With Twilight, we all liked her enough that we wanted to help her, and... that's why it worked. But we didn't understand her yet. That took time. We all liked Twilight..."

Her eyes briefly closed, opened again. The blue deepened.

"...but we didn't all like each other. Applejack and Rainbow had arguments going back years. I'd known Fluttershy for a while, but -- I was too loud the first time I went to the cottage. I startled her. Rarity and Rainbow or Applejack, or... just about anypony, really, on a bad day..." She sighed. "We all have reasons to argue. To fight. I think you've seen some of that now."

Fleur quietly nodded.

Close up.
It would have been major news for the gossip circuits.
I could have turned 'some of this is classified, but' into a three-moon tour.

"With Rainbow... I was out of town with the Cakes when she moved here. So I missed seeing her come in, and I wasn't as good at setting up parties then. Hers was a little late. And mostly under her house. What was left of it --" which was when she spotted Fleur's expression. "She sort of tried to make her own fire safety system. Because she was almost out of bits and couldn't pay for one, to make her house clear inspection because food and furniture and ponies can burn. Clouds just evaporate. And she needed all the money she had left until her first pay voucher for food. Maybe if I'd been home, she wouldn't have been so hungry. But she didn't really like the party. I was still getting better at parties, and she didn't want to be under her house, not when so much of her living room floor had been turned into water and that was what ponies were thinking about. So we didn't have a good start. And after that, she... mostly just saw me as annoying."

It was an exceptionally quiet giggle.

"She sort of had a point," Pinkie admitted. "Sometimes I'm too loud. Or talk too fast, or the words in my head make sense to me, but they get all mixed up when I try to send them out of my mouth. But we all liked Twilight. And I thought... we were all going to be spending more time together. Being around Twilight, or... maybe the palace would ask us to do something. That didn't take long to happen. But before that, we would see each other just from being near Twilight. So I felt like it was important, that we should all be friends. So we didn't fight around her, or at all." The smile briefly brightened. "We never quite figured out that last part. And we all have things in common, Fleur. We're all a little like each other, sometimes in the silliest ways."

Something Fluttershy had mentioned.
Partial mirrors. Distorted reflections.

"And with Rainbow... it was about the way Twilight and I are the same."

The unicorn tried to picture it. Then she tried to think of anything which might apply, and all it did was add to the failure count for the day.

Reluctantly, "I don't see it."

The curly tail swayed a little more. "We both live in our heads. We have trouble getting out. We see the world as we think it should be, not always as it is. I was still learning when to... tone it down, here and there. I didn't always see when I was annoying ponies. I'd be laughing at a joke which was in my head, and Twilight would just nose over to the next page in her book. And I annoyed Rainbow a lot. I didn't always see that either. But I wanted her to be my friend. I thought she would be really fun as a friend, and... I knew she pranked ponies. I'd seen some of them go off. So I thought of a prank she could be a part of. And then..."

It was also a very quick laugh.

"She kept flying away from me. Because I was being annoying. It took a while before I realized that. Longer before I started figuring out how not to annoy her. Sometimes. But I followed her, and -- she didn't take it well. Especially not when I surprised her by catching up." Pinkie sighed. "Following ponies can be exhausting.. Especially Rainbow. Just trying to keep up, even with all the shortcuts... I was really really tired after. And she didn't really want to talk to me. Not as much as she thought that if she just let me have what I wanted, it would stop. I... didn't figure that out for a while, either."

Another, deeper sigh.

And then Pinkie truly smiled.

"But what I wanted was help with the prank. And then we started to have fun. Because you know Rainbow, Fleur. You know she can be really creative. It goes into her pranks, too." The expression brightened. "She doesn't always think about consequences, though. Ask her about Rarity and the water balloons! If you can get a good head start. But that was way after. On that day, we were being creative together. It was more fun with two! And we even pranked each other a little, and nopony got hurt. It was... something we had in common. And it felt like we had a chance to be friends. I... didn't always have a lot of friends..."

The earth pony turned. Checked on the twins, watched them for a while. Looked back towards Fleur.

"I had a day off right after that. I went straight to her house! Well, under it. I called out to her. And Gilda looked down from the forward edge."

It was a special sort of snicker. The laughter which came when the joke had been on the mare.

"I didn't even know what a griffon was! Because I didn't get to be in a real school for a long time. I barely knew other ponies existed! And when I did get to be in classes, International Studies was mostly finished, so I didn't know what I'd missed either! It was sort of embarrassing, when I finally realized what I was missing. And then we had a minotaur visit Ponyville and half the town didn't remember what he was, when they'd all taken the classes. That should have been more embarrassing for them. So most of mine went away, and I've been playing catch-up since. But she was my first griffon. And... I don't know if you can understand what it's like, when it's a first time as an adult. Not when you grew up with them."

Fleur shook her head.

"I never knew anything else," the unicorn admitted. "They were always there. It was natural."

Their bodies matched their hearts.
They were so lucky...

"It was... weird, seeing her eyes staring down at me," Pinkie said. "I could see that she was thinking. But it's not like a bird, where just about all they can do is stare. It was... that she didn't have to stare, and she still wanted to."

Fleur nodded. Sizing you up. Trying to figure out what your place was in the local chain. Instinctive evaluation.

"I wanted to play around with Rainbow some more," the baker continued. "Because we finally had something in common. Maybe we could be friends. But Gilda was there. And..." Her volume dropped. "...I didn't always know when I was being annoying. Or getting in the way. But Gilda had come a long way to visit Rainbow. I didn't know how far she'd come. Not then. But I should have thought about it. A species I'd never seen or heard of had to be from a long way off, right? And I still kept trying to get involved. They were playing with each other. Races, mostly. And I..."

The swaying tail was starting to slow down.

"I interrupted. A lot. Which was hard, because they were in the air most of the time. So I had to get up there. The trampoline helped a little. Balloons were better. Lots of little ones. And I've got a pedal screw. I don't know if you've seen it."

Fleur shook her head. She was familiar with the design: a rotating blade powered by gears and hoof power, capable of getting in the air and moving under the owner's control -- very slowly. Some Protoceran ponies favored them, because it allowed just about anyone to fly for a little while. But they were slower than a zeppelin, and almost infinitely more exhausting to use. Even earth pony endurance wouldn't have permitted staying aloft for very long.

'Pedal screw' was also the name of a rather complicated sexual position, but she was completely sure Pinkie knew that. Dr. Mester probably didn't.

"I got it from a stable sale," Pinkie admitted. "Because pedal screws are the sort of thing ponies like to own for about a week. Which is two days longer than it takes for their legs to stop hurting."

"I'd like to see you using it sometime."

"Maybe some day," the baker offered. "I don't take it out very much. It needs a lot of maintenance, and I can't do most of it on my own. Ratchette looks after it now. But we didn't have anypony in town who could go over it for a long time." Another giggle. "But I tried out for the Wonderbolts with it. Spitfire said I might have found a niche' act! Or something."

She tried out for...
...of course she did.

"But Gilda didn't want me to be there," the earth pony quietly continued. "She flew higher than I could bounce. Then she popped some of my balloons. Just enough that I would sort of sink. I know that's all she did with them, because I've always understood balloons. But I didn't know when I was being annoying, so I got the pedal screw out. And with that..."

Stopped. Looked down, stared at her forehooves.

"I didn't know how to take 'get lost' for an answer," Pinkie said. "I thought... Rainbow liked to prank, and Gilda said she liked a good prank... I thought -- there was enough room for me. But Gilda went after the rotor. The balloons was just sending me down. The pedal screw crashed. I didn't get hurt, because -- when you watch Rainbow for a while, you learn about how to crash. And I'm an earth pony, so I'm a little tougher anyway. But I had to get it fixed from pieces."

A smart griffon, looking at the balloons as they're popped, watching for that first moment of sinking... that's dismissal.
Going after a rotor is dangerous.
And Pinkie crashed.

"She was doing anything to get rid of me," the baker went on. "Anything. And Twilight..." Another, faster giggle. "That was not a good time for going to Twilight, not if you wanted friendship advice! Not when she was only a few scrolls in! But Twilight sort of said it might have been me, and... I didn't want Gilda to be mean, because she was Rainbow's friend. I wanted everypony's friends to be friends. If Gilda was Rainbow's friend, then there had to be something about her which was worth being friends with. I wanted to find it. But she stayed away from me. She kept Rainbow away from me."

Because Rainbow was hers.

The signs had started out as bad. They were now rapidly becoming worse.

"I was making excuses for Gilda in my head," Pinkie quietly admitted, and then checked on the twins again. "I didn't want Rainbow to be friends with someone who was mean, because maybe then my pranks were mean. So I just watched Gilda for a while. Trying to see what was so special about her. And she was away from Rainbow for a few minutes, near the town market. Rainbow had to do some weather coordinator stuff. Gilda had time to herself, and -- she pranked Granny Smith. With her tail, making it move like something scary. Then she stole fruit. She ate that."

She what?

"But I was still making excuses," the earth pony continued. "Maybe the prank was funny. Maybe she would give the fruit back --"

"-- give it back?"

With a slightly lesser level of distraction, She ate it. In public view?
Maybe she decided that with no griffons around, it was safe. No being labeled as prey.

"Some birds regurgitate food for other birds," Pinkie calmly said. "I read that once."

Don't facehoof.

It didn't matter. The statute of limitations was very much up on the shoplifting. Fleur had a few more doubts regarding the pedal screw sabotage, but Pinkie hadn't exactly filed charges.

Possible dominance displays. Kicking Pinkie onto a lower link is one thing, but this was keeping her out of the chain entirely. Shoplifting is more basic. But going after the elderly...

"And maybe she was just hungry," the baker added. "I mean, you know Rainbow. Good luck getting anything to eat at her house. At least, anything that isn't moving. And she's a griffon, but hunting old vegetables probably isn't as much fun -- see?" She spread her forehooves away from each other. "Still making excuses! Or least remembering what they were, which might be a little better. I wanted her to be better. And then --"

She stopped. Looked up, directly at Fleur.

"You're about to be mad," Pinkie predicted. "Really mad. You're not good at being mad. It goes to some strange places. I need you to be mad right here."

The twins were laughing. Children were playing, and Sun had gone cold.

"Fluttershy." It wasn't a guess. "Gilda did something to Fluttershy."

"She'd... found a duck. And ducklings. Little ones. Lost. Sort of." Pinkie failed to shrug. "I think sometimes ducks just go wherever they want. And ducklings follow. But Fluttershy thought they might get hurt by all the hooves, so she was guiding them out of the market. Trotting backwards. She bumped into Gilda, and -- Gilda yelled at her. Then she roared. Fluttershy got scared. Really scared. She ran out of the market. Then she flew away..."

You're right. I'm mad.
I am going to be mad right here.
For now.

"You did really well," Pinkie told her. "You almost stayed in the grass."

Fleur carefully lay back down.

"What happened after that?"

"Everypony who saw it was getting angry. Because you don't go after Fluttershy, the same way Rainbow and I didn't prank her. She was... more afraid, years ago. She had more trouble just being in town. Ponies were starting to hate Gilda. I..." Her eyes squeezed shut, stayed that way for a few seconds. "...I was almost there with them. But I thought about how far she was from home, because I'd at least looked at that in the library. For a few seconds, since I was there. That she might not understand what she'd done. She sure didn't know who she'd done it to."

The curly tail had stopped moving entirely.

"Why didn't you just talk to Rainbow?" It felt like a reasonable question. Many things felt reasonable when Fleur was furious.

"There wasn't any chance! Gilda was always there! And... I didn't want Rainbow to feel bad about her friend. But ponies were getting angry. It was going to be harder for Gilda, the whole time she stayed. The story would get around. I thought... maybe if they had a chance to meet her, under controlled conditions... they might like her. Maybe if I had a better chance, I could see what Rainbow liked about her. If she felt welcome, she wouldn't be so angry. And maybe if..."

Another stop, and a very small smile.

"I'm still growing up," Pinkie said. "It's like school. Behind, except for all the ways I'm even or ahead. I had to grow up a lot to think about this part, where my brain was willing to admit the words were there. That if Gilda had more friends in Ponyville, Rainbow would have time for me. So I arranged a party for Gilda. Not a surprise party, because a startled griffon in a room which used to be dark felt like a really bad idea. She knew about it. And she came, because... I guess because it was a party. And maybe because she was hungry. Staying at Rainbow's house probably does that. I thought she might be less grumpy if she ate more."

The next question, even when viewed from the heart of rage, felt exceptionally awkward.

'How did the party go?"

The answer was even more so.

"It was what made her leave. And... that wasn't what I wanted."

Fleur waited. The twins tumbled. Pinkie sighed.

"I was in my own head. Not in the world. I invited Fluttershy."

"You --"

"So she could see Gilda when it wasn't scary. Controlled conditions, with us there for support. And I still don't know why she showed up," Pinkie admitted. "I tried to tell her I knew better than she did. I don't think she believed me. And then she spent the whole party directing a bird chorus. She didn't go near Gilda once. Why a bird chorus? I had a gramophone."

"Oh, that's easy," said a year-plus of advanced live-in Fluttershy studies.

"...really?"

"It gives her something to do the whole time where she doesn't have to speak with anypony. And if Gilda started coming up behind her, she was right next to a personal alarm system."

"Oh," Pinkie quietly said. "Um. Anyway, the party got going. And Gilda was... having fun at first, I think. Even after I pranked her when she came in. Hoof buzzer. Or talon, when it's against her." With open shame, "Maybe that was a little personal."

And she would have seen it as a counter. You trying to stop her. Standing against her link.

"And I made vanilla-lemon drops. Because I don't like vanilla very much. But she did. She went right for them. She was starting to look happy. Or just hungry. Except..."

Fleur waited for it.

"...the drops were rigged. Pepper extract."

The unicorn blinked.

"Two pranks?" The griffon sense of smell was, with a few narrow exceptions, rubbish. But the tongue...

"Not me," Pinkie sadly said. "Rainbow."

"Rainbow --" was as far as Fleur's stun got.

"I thought it might have been her," Pinkie confessed. "But I didn't want to say anything, because I wasn't sure. I also didn't want to start a fight. And Gilda made a lot of ponies mad, so it could have been anypony at the party. That would have been a big fight. But things kept happening, Fleur. Dribble glasses. Relighting candles. Gilda said she had her eye on me."

And that was a threat. You just didn't know it at the time. She was that angry. Because unless she's exceptionally strong, her magic requires eye contact. But she couldn't use it in front of the crowd, not with Rainbow there to spot it.

"She kept getting madder," the earth pony continued. "With the candles on the cake -- you have to stay here, Fleur -- she shoved Spike out of the way to reach them. I know he can take a shove, but -- Fleur, lie down -- !"

The unicorn slowly, carefully forced her legs to refold.

Dominating adults is one thing. Your own age group. Fluttershy was an easy target. And there's probably a few who would consider dominating even a small dragon to be impressive.
It doesn't matter.
She. Hit. A. Child.

"The candles made her really angry."

"Did you catch her staring at you?"

"A few times. I thought she was trying to spot me planting pranks."

Thinking about going for it.

"What finally made her leave?"

"Pin The Tail On The Pony -- oh. You're all confused. I guess they don't play that in Protocera. There's a poster of a pony with no tail. And fake tails with pins in them. You have to put the second on the first, in the right place. It's just a game."

Fleur tried to picture it.

"What's the challenge? Everyone was drunk by then?"

"I didn't want to chance that. Especially when I didn't know what a drunk griffon was like. So there wasn't any alcohol at the party. I just blindfolded her --"

oh no

"-- Pinkie."

"-- and then you get spun around --"

"Pinkie."

"-- because once you're dizzy --"

"Pinkie!"

The baker stopped.

"In my head," she quietly told Fleur. "Still. Sometimes. Fleur, what did I do?"

"Griffon magic," the Protoceran slowly said, "is focused through the eyes. Did you tell her that it was going to be a blindfold, before you put it on? Did you ask?"

"...no."

"Then it's like slamming a horn restraint on somepony's head," Fleur told her. "Or binding wings. Give her the option, make it into a challenge of courage, or just let her close her eyes and trust that she'll play fair... that's one thing. You made her feel helpless. Against her will."

Pinkie's eyes had closed. It took a moment before the first tears squeezed past the lids.

The twins had stopped playing.

"I didn't know..."

"No," Fleur heavily agreed. "You didn't."

Talons and claws.
The worst possible move. By accident.

"She slipped on some cake," Pinkie half-whispered. "It... went really bad after that. She lost it. And she said I'd done everything, all of the pranks. That's when Rainbow said it had been her. She'd planted everything, and it was just bad dumb luck that they all hit Gilda. They had a fight, a big one, the last one. But she still tried to -- take Rainbow. Said they were both leaving. And Rainbow... stayed. Gilda left. And she never came back."

The children were slowly coming closer.

"Rainbow told me... she didn't know how rude Gilda was..."

...really?
Rainbow never saw Gilda build a chain? Never push or test to find her place, especially if they got together at any point when they were both adolescents? Unless that wasn't her usual tactic...
Or it's Rainbow. She could have lied.

"Rainbow apologized."

...and now I know something is off.
If Gilda never pushed in Rainbow's presence... then who was in charge?

"She said it wasn't my fault. But I feel like some of it was. Because I was in my head, not the world. Then they weren't friends any more, and... I wanted Rainbow to be my friend, but not if she had to lose hers. And I've met griffons since then. I know they're not all that mean and grumpy." The false lift only manifested in the next words: she didn't quite look up. "I'm not sure you count. And even for the parts which weren't me, I gave it a place to happen. That's part of why I just have parties for the ones who are going to live here now. Maybe it's why I didn't know Gilda was back. And I hope they can be friends again. But I don't know if that's just because I don't want to feel bad about it any more. And... I'm afraid that she's just here to be mean to Rainbow. Or to the whole town. And if that's because of me..."

Two small forms pressed against her: one on her right flank, the other against the left.

Pinkie stopped. Sighed softly, and the twins snuggled closer. They would always find a reason to fight, because it was fun. But there was one thing which was guaranteed to make them stop.

Fleur simply watched. Held her tongue and position alike, because it was their moment: something which had nothing to do with her.

She understood a little more about what happened now. But there was at least one more account to gather. Ideally, up to three -- although she now understood that Fluttershy would have very little to contribute.

And once she had it all...

Where do I go from there?

She didn't know.

Nopony Ever Asks How The Perfect Fulcrum Feels About It

Rainbow's been thinking about griffons a lot.

(One griffon.)

Over and over.

The thoughts are bad enough. Not being able to turn any of them into effective action is... pretty close to the same level of horror, but she's having some trouble pinning the level down as being consistently above or below. And the worst part (which never should even been in the race, but allow a surprise contender to weave their name into the entries on a card and just see how the whole bucking string starts to fray) is that none of her attempts to use words have been working.

Or maybe it's just that she can't find the ones which would do the job.

Which would... fix everything.
Make Gilda better.
Get her friend back.
Rewind time.

And not just for thirty stupid seconds where you can only watch and not truly do anything.

(Rainbow hasn't used her one shot at Twilight's version of the spell. Given her rather irritating (but unfortunately verified) total inability to actually affect events, she's been trying to figure out two things: exactly which thirty seconds of uninterrupted observational heroine study would be enough to help her bring back the lost pegasus technique of the shadowfount and given a rather finicky requirement for precise temporal aim, exactly when those particular thirty seconds took place. It's slow going. Also, Twilight keeps Rainbow's pin-down attempts as excuses to teach the weather coordinator the boring fundamentals of 'proper research' and as soon as Rainbow finishes unearthing the last dusty pieces of that one ancient prank from the Canterlot Archives, there's gonna be payback.)

Change the past. Truly change it, in the name of saving someone in the present. Someone who's... hurting.

And Rainbow can't do anything.
Not with actions.
And the words won't come.

'Ream'. That's a word you use when buying paper, to signify the total amount. It means you're getting five hundred sheets or, if you're Rainbow, five hundred little graves because Twilight said the writing process -- even for non-fiction, even with something as basic as a letter -- is about bringing your thoughts into the world. And to look at the abandoned remains of false starts which have been strewn, kicked, and spat all over Rainbow's barely-occupied bedroom is to witness the saliva-soggy graveyard for a lot of literary stillbirths.

There is a mare in Ponyville who's on the verge of producing a one-party paper shortage, and it's not Twilight. On multiple levels, this seems rather unfair.

'Ream'. If you're using it as a word to describe the original count of now-discarded sheets, it comes across as stupid -- especially because something about the sound seems to suggest a certain amount of violence. Accordingly, Rainbow feels it's a much better word for describing the actual act of trying to write. The process of ripping your own heart apart to see if the blood sprays can be diagrammed as a sentence.

...she hates this. Every foal has to learn how to talk: that's expected. And sure, it can take a few more years to get the right vocabulary together, or even to understand what you've been trying to work with: Sun knows Twilight still can't spot the fine usage differences between 'cool', 'radical', and 'awesome' more than one time in three. But once you have the words, they should just -- come.

And they won't. Not words which are good enough to heal, to fix, to -- make it all not have happened.

Rainbow shouldn't be surprised. They didn't show up the first time, either. And yet, here she is, losing hours and ink bottles and what's probably most of a small forest to... failing.

Over and over.

...well, that's a stunt, isn't it? You fail until you see exactly how each failure occurs. Record the issues. Correct for each. This means you've closed off all possible failure points. So now you do it one more time and once you've landed? You didn't fail.

Every Bearer has something in common with every other. Twilight and Rainbow are the scientists. The latter simply has some rather aggressive means of testing her theories.

...she could just ask Twilight for help. Editing. Moon's witnessed the librarian volunteering those services a few (dozen) times, because Rainbow apparently has a weapons-grade vocabulary and Twilight keeps saying she's just trying to keep ponies from getting hurt. And when it comes to stuff like making sure there's an accurate record of their adventures, Rainbow's willing to do that. Besides, according to the group agreement, none of it's going to be published until three hundred years after the last of them dies. By that point, Rainbow's pretty sure her advance request can get the Edited By cover credit to be any font size she likes.

But...
...this is about Gilda.

Twilight doesn't know Gilda.

(Did Rainbow really...?)

Twilight was certainly never Gilda's friend.

(Was Rainbow...?)

The sleek form, which is mostly in contact with the bed, shifts position again. Wings twitch, and the resulting wind guest relocates a few rejected drafts all over the house. Drafts riding drafts. There's probably some kind of workable image in there, but Rainbow can't use it.

It used to be so easy. She'd tell her father what she wanted her friend to read, he'd write it down, and then they'd go to the post office together to pick out the stamps. It took a lot of stamps to get words all the way to Protocera and it was crucial that Rainbow pick out the right ones. Nothing boring. It was important to make Equestria seem cool, especially when her own homeland was already working with a distinct deficit in the monster ranch department.

(Fleur was her friend now, and -- they'd talked about some stuff. Ranches didn't feel quite as cool any more.)

But she was trying to write for hours.

Couldn't sleep. Couldn't rest. Couldn't stop. All she could do was try to write, and she failed. Nothing she can trust. No sentences blazing from within -- no. Better. She doesn't need fire: she needs a more gentle heat. Words softly aglow with the warmth of caring and... the fading embers of what had once been a friendship. There had to be a little heat there left, if only from the warmth of old memories.

(Gilda had always been warm.)

Rainbow... hadn't had a lot of regular company, when she'd been growing up. There had been casual acquaintances, and ponies she liked to hang around with -- but most of the connections hadn't been too deep. How could they be? She was going to move away. Leave Cloudsdale, travel with the Wonderbolts. Going around the world with the squad and --

-- her best friend.

The one she's trying to save.
And the words won't come.
(Again.)

Maybe... they're a little like Rainbooms. She got that back because there was no other way to save Rarity's life, and -- everything just returned to her, in a single instant. It had taken weeks of post-stunt analysis before Rainbow had figured out the details of what she'd done, plus a couple of moons before she could manage to reproduce it more or less reliably -- but that didn't change the fact that when the designer had been plummeting to her death, with multiple Wonderbolts set to impact the split-second after the unicorn did and nothing else was left for Rainbow to try -- the Rainboom had been there. So maybe if Gilda was right there and Rainbow just tried to talk...

(They made out once. That means Rainbow is clearly justified in blaming herself for everything, because she's obviously just that sexy and anyone who went through the experience would be ruined for all other reeves, tiercels, and mares. Forever. Also, if it's her fault, then it's one less internal problem for Gilda to be dealing with and if she can just find the words to explain that...)

The wings twitch again. The tail flicks. Half of the discards are now heading for the bathroom. Others are migrating under the bed and whatever awaits them there is a fate Rainbow doesn't care to investigate. There's two purposes for the underside of a bed. You stick stuff there when you don't want to see it any more and if you're really lucky, something invisible moves in and treats all your debris as its snack. A roommate whose only purpose is to clean up after your mess is obviously the ideal, although she wouldn't mind if it also started doing some cooking. A mare does like to come home to a hot meal at the end of a long day, especially if she didn't have to prepare any of it.

Another wing twitch. The sleek form relocates itself to the right edge of the mattress. Left. Hovering over the sheets is tested for what turns out to be the hundredth (uncounted) time in the mare's life and once again, she reluctantly concludes that she won't be able to maintain altitude in her sleep.

Assuming sleep ever comes.

Loyalty does not deal well with bodily betrayal and seriously, what else would you call insomnia? Rainbow sees herself as a priestess of sleep and right now, she's clearly being punished for her lack of sins.

(...Gilda...)

She was trying to write for hours. To find the words. And maybe they'll come in the moment, but there's no guarantees of getting a moment. Plus words which might save a life don't do any good if you don't say them in time, she needs the words now and 'now' is stretching out to the point where she feels as if sh -- it might break...

...so many kinds of exhaustion. Emotional. Creative. Eventually, it all catches up. Her body mostly stills. The wind stops whipping around the bedroom. Magenta eyes gradually close. And her body passes the duty of betrayal to another party.

Fleur would understand. When something's been on your mind all day, the constant focus of your thoughts -- and a venue exists where full replay is possible, where you won't have any knowledge that you are but reliving what had already taken place and no change can ever occur...

There's a plummet which nopony can escape forever.
Rainbow drops into the nightscape.
Some kinds of pain await the day.
The truest torment of memory only returns under Moon.

It shouldn't be a sunny day.

The Rainbow of memory, who's just left a decidedly ill-fated party -- the main stage for what turned out to be a Cavalcade Of Pranks with a lead across who'd completely lost her sense of humor --

-- what had gone so wrong? The tiercel had never liked being shown up, because -- well, because Gilda -- but she'd always recognized when a prank war was in progress and usually just started planning how to get the other party back. Was it because Pinkie had been seen as the primary suspect? Gilda barely knew Pinkie --

-- Rainbow barely knew Pinkie.

And yet, when it had felt as if she was being asked to make a choice...

I thought I knew Gilda.

Why is it a sunny day? The pegasus, who's just barely above the street in a low, half-drifting sort of mostly-aimless hover, occasionally scraping a forehoof against cobblestone -- she knows the answer to that one, because she's responsible for enforcing it. The Sphere issued the weather schedule for this settled zone, and the schedule says it's supposed to be a sunny day. So that's what got set up.

Even when Rainbow feels like it should be raining right now.

Not even rain. One of those really annoying mists that's like having fog condensing in your feathers.

...or it could be night. It's getting pretty late in the afternoon, but having the world reflect the way Rainbow feels right now really requires Moon and in order to make the setting exactly right, Sun won't be able to come back in for a while.

Rainbow's not sure about the exact duration of absence. Basically, whatever it takes for all life to go extinct, minus all of the time before the first part actually dies.

That ought to do it.

...ponies who don't know anything real about her have been known to say Rainbow is selfish, and that's a lie. She doesn't want the entire world to end because she feels bad. She just feels it would be a sign of both cosmic understanding and empathy if the planet would just... play along for a while.

There aren't many ponies over (or on) the street today. Feels like it's just about her, actually.

Good. She doesn't want anypony to see her like this. She managed to keep her ears up and her tail held high until she was fully out of the -- party -- but...

...maybe it was the baker. Maybe the earth pony did something which Rainbow missed and once Gilda explains what it was, they'll both go back and it'll be just like their first real teamup back at flight camp, except that Rainbow originally had to walk the little tiercel through the first-time prankster's guide course and now that they've both got some experience, revenge on the baker is gonna be --

-- it wasn't Pinkie.

My friend.
She's my friend.
I just watched my friend leave.
Over somepony I barely know.

Except... it had felt like Gilda was the one whom Rainbow barely knew. Lashing out --

-- there's a planter pot in the road. That dangling left foreleg just went into it. Stung a little, but... it's not as if Rainbow's making any real speed. Just a nudge with a little extra force. She looks down...

...huh.

She... knows this terracotta menace, because she's come close to a few while deliberately skimming this fence on the way home and really, what kind of pony puts planter pots on top of fence posts as regular decoration? Also, how did it get this close to the center of the road? Rainbow knows from experience that if you come just a little too close to one, it's going to land more towards the base of the slats. This kind of distance would require somepony to take a swat --

-- another fence up ahead, still familiar: she's been drifting along the southeast access path for her own residence. She knows everything about that fence, including what it's like to just barely miss it. The anger-placed talon swipe gouges in the wood are new.

...Gilda?

This is a path which leads to Rainbow's house. And Rainbow knows something about her friend.

(Her -- friend.)

A griffon's body might potentially display any combination of great cat and hunting bird: this applies regardless of parentage, although some combinations are more prone to emerge from a given bloodline. But when it comes to how they respond to matters emotionally... it's mostly going to lean towards the cat. A griffon who's completely failed at something, doing so in a way where their link might be called into question... a few might pretend nothing had happened, and that never works. But others would stalk off. Taking a few swipes along the way, but -- find a place to calm down, reevaluate the situation. And, once they'd had their chance to reason everything out --

-- they would come back.

That's a possible answer, and it's the one which has hope surging through Rainbow's heart with a force which gets her wings to accelerate and finally gives her some actual clearance above the road. A subset is currently reminding the weather coordinator that she's the one who taught the tiercel to get back at people through pranks, the property damage she's already spotted more than suggests that Gilda was trying to work through some things while heading toward Rainbow's house and incidentally, all of the fountains are outside.

She picks up speed. Sights on the billows of her own residence, aims up --

-- a near-curl of brown and white is parked at the base of a fully-intact prismatic fountain. Golden eyes, weary and with a slight hint of moisture, look up.

And Rainbow's heart sings.

"Hey," says the too-tired voice of her oldest friend.

"Hey," Rainbow replies, because there's no need to improve on that level of eloquence.

"I didn't..."

The tiercel stops. The tail sways a little, and the tuft lightly brushes against the base of the fountain. The pegsaus watches and waits.

"I didn't -- want that to be how it ended," Gilda finally says. "Not with a fight in front of stupid ponies."

Rainbow blinks. Feels her mouth start to open, with no idea of what might emerge --

"Stupid ponies who don't even really know me," the Protoceran's exhaustion continues. "Who don't know us. That's the stupid part."

Her left foreleg comes up. Talons curl inwards, and knuckles rub at where a blindfold had been.

"...they don't know anything," the griffon decides. "Nothing real. No one does. It's the same thing everywhere. They know what they've told themselves to know. And if you ever try to tell them something different, even once..."

She stops again. The tail goes limp, and the tuft sags against vapor. Against, not into. A very few griffons are capable of basic molding -- but any member of that species can perch on a cloud.

It... makes things easier. Gilda can visit Rainbow. Truly visit. Most of the ponies in town just stand by the ground-based mailbox and yell up. They don't understand what it feels like to walk across vapor. Gilda does.

Gilda understands about dreams and determination and drive. The things they share.

Gilda's been Rainbow's friend for...

"You're not drunk, right?" It emerges as a tease, and that's normal. The sound of her own voice has just made Rainbow smile, because there's a chance, they have a chance...

The tiercel's little snort is fully familiar, right down to the odd bit of reverb which comes from being forced through the rigid gaps in the beak. "Not unless you played a prank which I missed. And didn't taste." A little more quickly, "Did you?"

Rainbow shakes her head. The griffon shrugs.

"Good," may be a little too casual.

"We're both old enough now," Rainbow points out. "Unlike last time." Because she's really hoping to get Gilda talking about old times -- but she was also sort of hoping for a yes back there. Being drunk would have been an understandable excuse. Something Rainbow could work with, explain to those she barely knows...

"Last thing I needed," Gilda states. "Alcohol can do weird things with dominari. It's why some reeves call it Liquid Courage. It's hard to ask someone if they're predator or prey when you're not sure where you stand any more. And you don't know how you'll react until you actually try it. No matter which end you're on..."

Another stop. And then those huge golden irises look up at Rainbow again.

"I didn't want it to end like that," her oldest friend plainly states. "So I was waiting for you."

"I wanted to see you," Rainbow immediately admits.

It gets her a tiny sigh. "Rainbow... can we talk? Where it's just you and me, and the stupid p -- world doesn't get in the way? Like we used to? Just -- talk it out?"

They're friends.
They've been friends for years. It's hardly their first fight.
(Rainbow's not entirely sure what this fight is even about.)
The last words don't have to be the last words.

She loves her friend.
She can't lose her.

"Yeah."

Rainbow lands.

They talk it out.

Or rather, Gilda is talking it out.

On a more exacting level, the griffon is mostly trying to talk Rainbow out of town.

A dreaming pegasus brings back all of it for full replay in the nightscape, changes none. But she can only bring back what was actually said and even then, Gilda was... twisting the subject. Or rather, keeping an endless spiral of topics rotating around a central core. Something meant to spin through Ponyville and uproot Rainbow's life.

It starts by going back to the beginning, and Rainbow hardly minds that. Talking about how they'd met. Memories invoke the sort of warmth which Sun can only approximate. But it quickly turns into a sort of review, and then a revue. Their mutual All-Time Greatest Hits. Remember all the fun we had together?

We should go do some more of that.

Away from here.

That's the theme. All of the dreams we had. Over and over: we. Regardless of whose dream it may have been originally, who talked the other into coming along, not so much following as a youthful commitment to a lifelong partnership -- there's nothing for Rainbow in this town, or so Gilda insists. The Wonderbolts are out there. So are the practical exam trials: Gilda has a schedule, and can show Rainbow every testing site where they can directly try for Academy acceptance over the next fifteen moons. And does.

The weather coordinator... wants to go. The Wonderbolts are an old dream. Arguably the oldest one she can remember. And this is her friend. They were supposed to do it all together...

....she... met some ponies, very recently. And 'met' is -- kind of on the technical side, because only the one is really new in town. She'd known of several before everything happened, the earth pony should really just be leaving out free samples for the weather team already, and one of them went all the way back to flight camp --

-- we can talk about flight camp some more! Remember that one counselor who took the picture --

-- this is... sort of important, Gilda. It was this year. First day of summer. Um. First night. Maybe you remember when Sun sort of didn't -- show up for a whole. Kinda of a big deal. Rainbow was going to write a letter about it, but she wasn't sure how much of it might be -- classified? Is that the word? The palace is sort of weird about that kind of thing. But this is really important, so maybe she can at least explain the basics. The thing is that there's these five other mares --

-- oh, says Gilda, and the darkness in the sudden tone drop doesn't fully register until it impacts the nightscape several years after the fact. Mares. So which one are you seeing? Is it the baker?

No! It's not like that! We did something -- look, just give me a minute, it's almost so awesome that I might have to make up some new words just to make it all fit right -- and... I've just had this weird feeling ever since. On and off. Like we might wind up doing some more things.

We did a lot of stuff, Gilda points out. You and me. The best stuff of our lives. And there's more things we wanted to do. Together. That's still ahead. Rainbow, how are you supposed to get in Wonderbolts shape when you're living here? If you came with me, we could just train full-time --

-- being a weather coordinator is paid training! I'm doing nearly all of the same things I'd do in the squad! I just -- stunt them up a little. Gilda... look, I haven't been in charge of the weather team for very long. I don't know if I've got the authority to bring in a new hire, and...

...and they wouldn't take a griffon?

It's the magic --

-- yeah. Right. It's also Equestria. Keep talking.

...I do know a lot of ponies around town. And I kinda met one who -- lives in the capital. Two. Look, I promise, this is an awesome story. I just have to figure out how to tell it. The point is that I'm pretty sure I could find you a job somewhere. You could live here! And then we'd train together whenever we got the chance, I could introduce you around to the others for real and we could sort of -- tell them about griffons in new places. Plus I just got this invitation to a really big party in a few moons and I bet if we just ask the right way, you could come with --

-- you... want me -- to live with you.

Same town, yeah! It'll be great! And we can totally sort out everything which happened back there! It's like explaining stuff to our parents, right? We were always okay if we went into together --

-- Rainbow? You usually don't stop talking like that. Half the challenge is getting you to shut up on cue --

-- Gilda?

Right here. Always right here.

...is everything okay with your folks? I mean, you had to tell them you were coming all this way, right? I know we're both adults, but going all the way to Equestria -- if they didn't know --

-- you care about my parents, and you care about me. Enough that you want me living here.

You're my friend --

-- do you love me?

There's nothing particularly unusual about the tiercel's tone. Normal words. A standard question. But for a split-second, the upper half of the griffon's expression displays an irreconcilable amount of utter, self-directed shock --

-- gone.

...we've been friends since we were kids. Of course I lov --

-- then come with me.

...I... can't. The last weather coordinator this place had before me -- you remember that, right? I don't know if I put enough stuff into that letter. Passing Shower -- he sort of...

...you just said you loved me.

I do --

-- then come with me. Live on the road with me. Ditch this place. What does it have which we can't give each other?

Gilda --

-- if you loved me, you'd come with me.

It gets worse from there.

She relives all of it, through the nightscape, and does so without knowing that it is but a replay. That nothing can change. But she is resurrecting a tornado -- or perhaps a hurricane. Forever spinning around a center which is never truly touched. So much was said or, in time, shouted -- but Gilda never contacted the core of it. And Rainbow, who didn't spot it the first time, is... watching her past self, without knowing she's doing so. The most she can contribute to what had once been are rippling echoes of timeslipped guilt.

But it's all right there, isn't it?

Come with me.
If you loved me...
If...

It starts as reminiscences and some degree of attempt at reconciliation.

It turns into a fight.

The last fight.

Perhaps the hurricane might be the more appropriate description. It doesn't take very long for the moisture to arrive. Hot, angry tears.

They've been yelling at each other for nearly an hour now. On and off. Most of the 'off' is Gilda.

She doesn't want them to fight. They've been friends for years. They love each other, right?

(Technically, there was a lot of talk about love that day. And on another level, there was none at all.)

And this fight is... bad. The worst one they've ever had. It's the sort of fight where you don't want to remember anything you said, just in case that word was the breaking one -- and then you carry every sentence with you for the rest of your life. Because sometimes you need a memory suitable for beating yourself to death and hey, that particular impact nearly took you out the first time.

So the tiercel has tried to change the subject several times or rather, put it back on the only thing she truly wants to discuss. Namely, that Rainbow needs to leave the settled zone. The stupid ponies are cramping her style. Gilda would know. She's seen how much Rainbow has changed, and the only way to get her friend back in every kind of shape is to take her away from the weakening influences. Once they're together again, truly together, so that nothing and no one and nopony can separate them, once they make it to the Wonderbolts together...

The Bearer of Loyalty, newly chosen, is -- trying to deal with it. Doing everything she can to balance it all off. Gilda won't let her talk long enough to explain what happened with the Nightmare and right now, that doesn't even feel important. What she wants to talk about is Gilda. What's going on there, if there was something at the party that she missed, she even tries to apologize for the pranks and that's hardly her usual style, but -- this is Gilda. If somepony else launched this flight path, then Rainbow has to get her friend out of it and then punish whoever set things up to go through the worst possible thermals. And if the tiercel is somehow just... spiraling...

...she's trying. Doing everything she can to figure out what's going on. But she's not the smartest mare, getting more information means asking questions and words aren't her skill, Gilda just keeps going back to the same subject and it's getting louder and louder as Sun begins to dip and Rainbow's heart sinks towards the cold ground.

She was chosen as Loyalty.

If anything is supposed to hold a newly-forged group of near-strangers together, it has to be loyalty --

If you loved me, you'd come with me.

-- and she's loyal to her nation, she feels like there's something necessary going on, but she's also loyal to her oldest friend and a pure dream and Rainbow feels like she's a hollow tube made of diamond with a thousand strings passing through the core, only they all enter and exit on different angles, pulling her in so many directions as the bob weight jerks up and down and the thing about diamond is that all you need is one flaw and one of those strings will start to slice inwards --

-- the fight gets louder.
Then it gets vicious.

Gilda is -- almost sobbing -- no, she is sobbing, the tiercel is crying and and none of the desperate heaves of soul-slicing pain touch the screams. It's time! It has to be now! Rainbow, if you ever cared about me, me instead of these stupid -- then we're leaving, we have to leave --

('We'. Over and over.)

-- you have to listen, this is important, I feel kind of like maybe all of us might be... Gilda, you can stay here, you can live with me for a while, I swear I'll find you something --

-- so that's the way you've got time for me? Splitting it with everyone else? I get what's left after you're done with your new 'friends'?

I'm doing everything I can to make sure we'll have some time --

(Up until this point, it was just a fight.)
(The worst fight of their lives, but -- they could have come back together. Rainbow knows it.)
(If it hadn't been for the next words...)

-- so if you had less friends, inquires the too-calm voice of a tiercel who has just found the place which lies directly underneath rage... less stupid ponies around, and you'd have more time for me? And if there were no ponies, nothing holding you back again, ever...

Rainbow's wings flare out. It takes her a moment to recognize they're in the challenge position.

Shut up.

Just making a point. Less demands on your time, more time.

(Then why had it felt so much like a threat?)
(Like something in the griffon had just -- flickered.)

Auratui --

-- the tiercel winces.

Gilda. It's Gilda. You always call me Gilda. The first one who did it, remember? My parents didn't think anypony at camp could pronounce --

-- stay away from them. Permanently.

Another flicker of emotion, and Rainbow almost misses it. It's just barely there long enough to register: the half-recoil produced by a near-fatal mix of rejection and pain --

-- but then golden eyes unscrunch. Pupils turn talon inspection into a full show.

...make me, says the griffon.

Rainbow isn't on her hooves in an instant. Her wings are already flared. Going directly to airborne saves a step.

You know I will.

The tiercel looks at her...

...there's something strange about that gaze. Evaluating, on the most fundamental level --

-- in the pony's opinion, the griffon has just made her first attempt to study a pegasus as potential prey. Rainbow isn't happy about it.

Then let's play for it, the griffon darkly states. Any old game. Maybe a camp one, if you still care enough to remember any of them. And before we start on that... let's work out what we're playing for. Or -- who.

It feels like the last time they've ever going to talk. Maybe the last time they should.

(This is her friend...)

It's a familiar sort of discussion, at least. They've made wagers before. Each knows the other's weak points, especially in terms of what they're willing to attempt something stupid for. (The griffon is particularly vulnerable to any stakes which include fresh shark.) But after all of these years, they both know how to close off loopholes. Setting the rules of the final game.

It winds up as -- tag.

This isn't exactly Rainbow's preference, but -- you have to give a little to get a little, and the contest had to take place at the intersection of a final mutual agreement. But with tag...

First to a given number of touches. That's normal. Gilda, however, managed to restrict the size of the contest area. And as much as Rainbow hates to say it, speed isn't everything. Positioning counts for a lot and if she gets her velocity too high, she's going to have major problems with turning radius and naturally, Gilda also put in some rules for leaving the competition zone.

Equestria has been at war with Protocera before. Nothing in the last couple of centuries, but... the faceoff of griffon versus pegasus is an old problem. Maneuverability counts for so much, and surprise can mean everything.

They know each other.

Each is almost fully familiar with what the other might bring to an engagement.

It's a hunt, isn't it? Because Gilda put in her own terms. That's part of any game. Loser has to give up something to the winner. So in a way, Rainbow is being hunted. Get caught three times and her Ponyville life ends.

They talk about all the terms. Every condition.

They discuss everything, except for every topic which isn't voiced. All of which are just as bad as the ones which were.

The unspoken syllables burn.

It's over.

The pegasus and the griffon are still outside the vapor home. Moon is in the remembered sky now, and the light carries no warmth. The Protoceran is close to the fountains, while the Equestrian is just about on top of her own door. Several body lengths lie between them.

It's a relatively scant distance. There are virtually no forces in the world which could make Rainbow cross it.

"That's it," she says. "We're done."

The griffon's head tilts slightly to the right.

"I wasn't expecting you to start breaking up clouds," she almost randomly comments.

"No temperature differential to help you hide," the pegasus says.

"That's just not something you do --"

She'd randomly remembered something the librarian had said about taking out enemy resources --

-- enemy...

"-- I did it," the pegasus says. "I won, within the rules. Admit it."

Slowly, the griffon nods.

"The victory was fair," the tiercel slowly recites. "Acknowledged, with all agreements honored. Your... your link above mine."

(Perhaps that was for the last time.)

And then, "Rainbow?"

The voice had almost been -- normal. Tone, added to posture and the little dip of the eagle head. But the pegasus is still angry over what was said before. Still...

...afraid?

(This was my friend.)

A little too sharply, "What?"

"I..." The tiercel takes a deep breath. "I... left something out. I -- just thought of --"

"-- no reneges, no renegotiation, no way --

"-- my parents," Gilda softly finishes. "Don't tell them. Let them... think we're still together. We both owe them that much."

(It will be years before the tiercel's exact wording begins to haunt her.)

"Okay," Rainbow tells her friend.

They stand under moon. Four eyes bleed reflections of silvery light.

You dropped on top of me for that second touch.
Weight over edge. You like to get the pin, even when you can't keep it for more than a second.
It almost looked like your talons were coming in first...

"Your promise," the pegasus half-demands. "Now. You swear."

"You," the griffon shoots back, "list."

"Huh?"

"I'm not supposed to go near the weaklings?" is openly spat, and the fresh moisture sinks into the cloud. "Then I need all of their names. One chance. Name all of them. Right now. And then we both swear."

The pegasus nods, and then begins the list.

There were... all sorts of attempts at distractions, during the match. (Even her nightscape prefers to skip over the actual competition, for there was no true joy in that victory.) At one point, the tiercel was almost laughing. Something about how the pegasus should have saved that move for the practical exam, because the Wonderbolts might have never seen that before. But it would never be completely fresh again...

The griffon tries to shift closer as the names are read. The pegasus makes sure she can get through the door or, if necessary, go directly over the preda --

-- there's a little bloodscent in the air. She's not sure whose it is. They were... both really pushing on that last tag. She was waiting for the griffon's magic. To -- find out what it was going to feel like. They've... well, they've never. It was always described as something you didn't do to... a friend.

She had to keep watching for golden eyes, and then she kept wondering how long she could go before she would have to look away, just before it became a question of what could happen while she couldn't make herself look...

...but it never went that far.

(Or maybe the gold just never got a good angle to use.)

She can still smell blood. Could be anyone's, really. After a while, just about all blood starts to smell the same. An old lesson from the ranch.

She could touch the griffon, who's always warm. But the pegasus is shaken. She's just at the bare start of raw-feeling new friendships, and that's hard enough. Ending an old one...

...she doesn't even know what happened, what went so horribly wrong...

They can't touch. No reminders of what's just been lost.

They both speak. The names are listed, one at a time. And they swear, the Protoceran way. For the pegasus, she's invoking things she doesn't fully believe in, and it doesn't matter because Loyalty -- she wants to think of herself that way right now, because 'Rainbow' is the name of a mare who just failed -- is making a promise. And will keep it.

The griffon does believe. Fully. She swears, and will keep her word.

(For the last time?)

The names parade forth, and the griffon has small reactions to a few. Frustrations about the sheer numbers, perhaps, or making an effort to file them away for later. But the anger builds as the connection frays.

The pegasus names everypony she can, and adds in one dragon.

But she can't name somepony she has yet to meet.

And it would be the wrong name anyway.