The Next Iron Pony

by Vis-a-Viscera

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Drama, Spike, Fluttershy, Random
Length: 1702

An Element makes her own strides-in both speed record and self-discovery - training for the Running of the Leaves.

Breathe. In. Out.

Never lose yourself in your yard-crossing yearnings. Always make sure the fire in your heart doesn't burn your lungs.

And most importantly... know that your hoof-falls are for more than just your benefit.

Contest entry for the Autumn Contest of the Quills and Sofas Speedwriting group. Thanks to LostInFandom, Snow Quill, Atom Smash, and Hat Man for pre-reading.

Published 2022-11-30 21:30:02 UTC
Last updated 2022-11-30 21:30:02 UTC

Kindling for the Kind

Author's Note

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Kindling for the Kind

After a while, the roaring of wind in her ears started to match the blood roaring just behind them.

It was a synchronic beat, one she was sure Twilight could write a five-pager about if the book-lover would ever venture to speak of it to her. As it was, her mind focused on the path before her, like a needle finding its perfect path through the edge of a quilt.

A rice-grain-tiny part of her—one made tiny by the same energy pumping her dainty hooves—piped up, saying she could be knitting right now instead of this hellacious hustle.

The other eighty percent of her said forget that.

And for some reason, the voice sounded a lot like her own. Just with more pep. Even now, it felt quite alien. But it was only fair; the last time a race like this had commenced, the pony it had really belonged to—all riotous rainbowed mane and daring grins—was one of the two standouts.

Unlike her.

She was a bystander then. Last Running of the Leaves, she was just sitting and watching her friends push further and further past their limits. Do more awesome and astounding things. Chase that frightening horizon, that ragged edge of danger and disaster that she once thought was impossible to do, despite all that she was.

She could not retreat to the pony she once was.

Not now.

Not ever.

She had to do this, for their sakes.

They deserved a friend that was willing to match their forward momentum.

And so she took that turn despite how her dirtied hooves screamed in protest.

She almost wanted to apologize to them—for the pain or the sod caked all around them, she didn’t know.

Again, she tried to remember just what her training buddy told her, strange as it was coming from them. Pace yourself. Don’t go until your lungs burn, go at your own pace.

She wondered just what wild misadventure had spawned those unorthodox words.

She wondered if it was one of hers, and she just didn’t know.

Regardless, she heeded the words, slowly herself until she was at a leisurely trot.

The blur—the blaze—of the leaves around her faded.

And suddenly, she felt so tiny.

Was she actually hoping that even one of those pointed, rust-orange leaves would fall in her wake?

Let alone that she could do that and also win this race?

The voices of her friends, which were once soothing and supportive, turned to a raging boil of doubt and disdain. She rocked and swayed in their wake, damning her mind for making those mental barbs feel all so migraine-startingly real. Blasting her for her eagerness to please, her ability to be goaded into the undesirable, her fragility in the face of the unfathomable.

Her eyes squeezed shut, but the sting between her eyelids remained until they broke the dam.

Fat tears stained her cheeks as fast as the dust from the clearing had stained her hooves.

She almost came to a stop right then.

Almost let the taunting echoes pack her into a sobbing, furry ball.

But then, in her darkest recess, came blazing emerald light.

And the short, spunky soul that had pulled her into this very run.

And most important of all—don’t stop moving. Even if it’s a walk, even if it’s a dead run, you’re not alone here! Just like you weren’t when you faced down Discord, Nightmare Moon, or even Chrysalis!

And that stray thread, that line of hope that had started her on this pace through this hoofprint-choked road, was what she clung to as her hooves picked up the pace.

Scenery flashed past her, the sunlight making them look like jasmine candle flames.

Like the ones she often had near her bed-stand as she readied herself for sleep every night.

And despite the claws of fatigue-driven black creeping at the edges of her vision, she wrestled from their grip to move on.

Past her fears.

Past her limit.

Past the expectations of her—especially those expectations that she had settled for, once upon a time.

She had agreed to be a part of this Running of the Leaves for a reason.

The inferno flicking above the trees she sped past was no longer a ward, they were her fuel.

In.

Out.

The sandpapery itch building in her chest no longer sheared at her very self, but sharpened the diamond she would become after all was said and run.

In.

Out.

And no matter how many ponies would be before her, none would outpace the rocketing tempo of her rebel heart.

In. Out. In. Out.

As she turned the final bend, she could feel that barrier between fantasy and reality burn away too, the gale and rustling underbrush giving way to much more. Cheers, a thousand strong. Claps, coming down at light speed. And here she was at the center of this storm of adoration, chatting her course perfectly even if it wasn’t the fastest.

It was a self-generous gesture. And indulgence.

But yet, with Spike’s voice buoying her own, she embraced it all the same as she did every grateful swell of oxygen in her lungs.

Just as valuable.

Just as craved.

Inoutinoutinoutinout—

“—whoa, Fluttershy, slow down! You’re gonna crash into the stands!”

And so Fluttershy did stop, her timid demeanor taking over as she clambered to a thoroughly ungraceful halt. Regardless, no such admonishment of her slip-up came from Spike’s lips, she was immediately more grateful for his presence. Blinking, she slowly took in her surroundings.

No, the stands did not hold a single soul, besides the dragon perched at its edge like an eagle about to take off.

No, the only sound occupying this endpoint was the soft murmur of wind.

No, despite how the trees were as silently pensive as her, she was not one of them.

She was, once again, Fluttershy.

But now she was no longer just Fluttershy.

And if her training here held out, she would never be just Fluttershy again.

“Spike…” she asked, and her raw heart leaped again at how not a single stutter infected her voice. “... how did I do?”

Spike was all too fast to give her the rundown. “Well, You said you wanted to do better than Applejack and Dash did, and right now… there’s a minute separating those times now.”

Now Fluttershy’s heart was in her hooves, though she didn’t waver in her stance. “I see.”

“Hold on now.” And suddenly, Spike was sporting that mischievous yet reassuring grin. “Who said it was a minute behind theirs?”

It was a good thing Fluttershy’s wings were tightly folded at her sides; one feather from them could knock her over now. “Wait, really?” she gasped, a grin breaking out on her face.

Spike only jabbed a talon at the hourglass next to him. Indeed, a pearl-sized lump of sand still sat in its bend, trickling slowly down to join the rest. “You’ve done great so far, Fluttershy. I just know you’ll blow the others away when the Running of the Leaves happens in two days.”

“I hope so.” Goodness, how long had it been since a single waver had interrupted Fluttershy’s words? “I think…” And there it was, though it was more due to exhaustion than anything else. “I think I have enough in me for one more lap.”

“Happy to hear that.” Without a second to spare, Flutteryshyy soon twitching in a giggling fit as Spike patted her down with a dowel. The feeling was so ticklish, but the way it took away the dirt and sweat was heavenly in a way she didn’t think was possible without Aloe and Lotus next to her. “I’ll just fire up the hot air balloon again. Give me ten minutes, then start your way back.”

Only a nod came from Fluttershy as she was once again ready. Slowly, she made her way back to the finish line - now again her starting line, as it had been a half-hour ago. The deja vu of it all made her anxieties bristle at the back of her mind, but she easily fought it down this time. She’d had too many lectures from Spike, too many slips and falls, too much effort to listen to them.

At least, for now.

“Now, see if you can get your time past Twilight’s. Only a half-minute separates you from that.”

Fluttershy smiled. Another milestone, and this time, one that her fellow introverted friend had set? She marveled at how far she’d come. And a tiny—though growing—part of her pined for how much further she could go. “I’m ready, Spike.”

“It’s nice to see that, Fluttershy.”

For once, Fluttershy knew that Spike wasn’t just commending her eagerness in her next trial run. So much had progressed through these bits of training so far, a far cry from the quivering, shivering mess when she’d first accosted the dragon for a timekeeping partner in this.

Then her eyes swung down to another surprise, one that made her eyes bug out.

Right there, at her hoof’s end, was a single golden-brown maple leaf.

“Spike?” she asked, voice hovering between jubilation and worry. “Did you leave this leaf here?”

“Nah. You came in with it,” Spike said, misinterpreting why Fluttershy’s jaw dropped in response. “Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty left for the others! Now, let’s get cracking!”

And with that, the fire under the balloon's cradle ignited, a jade-green flicker that soon rose up and away from Fluttershy. Slowly, Fluttershy closed her eyes, and let the echoing image of that fire help pass the time away.

When ten of those silent minutes passed, she dashed forward again, eyes snapping open to take in the panorama of golds and reds flooding her vision. Especially now, the beauty of this forest was breathtaking. And it seemed that the blustery air was picking up again too as if Celestia herself was trying to cool her down in this latest hot streak she was on.

After a while, the roaring of wind in her ears started to match the blood roaring just behind them.