Despite being a small country town, one could find just about anything they could need in Ponyville. Blossomforth always found that interesting. There were restaurants, libraries, grocery stores, and alchemists' shops - though everypony in town knew Zecora was the best - quills and sofas, a large, open, and bustling market, and then but one single bakery. With Pinkie Pie and the Cakes around, however, there was no real need for others.
That afternoon, Blossomforth searched a quaint little shop selling eyewear. The building was old, the interior older with creaky, grayish wood all around, but also immaculate. Whoever was the proprietor obviously took good care of the place. As she perused aimlessly, a voice broke the silence.
"May I help you, ma'am?"
The voice's owner belonged to an elderly earth stallion. He wore thick-set spectacles and portrayed colors well-suited for his surroundings - tawny coat, gray mane, misty eyes, and a rumpled green cap atop his head.
She smiled, answering, "Hi! Yes, you may. I'm looking for a pair of flight goggles."
For emphasis, she beat her wing against her side.
He crouched beside her and, squinting, peered at the display. Not finding what he was looking for, he stood with a crackling of his knobby bones.
"'Fraid t'it seems I ain't got any. But if ya'd like, I can get your measurements, order a pair outta town."
"Works for me."
Nodding, he left to retrieve his tools. His cap promptly disappeared behind the counter, and she, for several long moments, heard the rustling of objects and the old man's grumbling. After some ado, he popped back up, setting down a notepad, pencil, and measuring tape.
With the tape between his teeth, he wrapped it around her head and had her hold it in place while he took numbers. When he was done, he trotted behind the counter and put the tools away.
"Right-o, miss. Are you a miss or misses? Ah, doesn't matter." He waved a hoof. "Come back in a few days, and I should have the goggles for ya. Don't be expectin' anythin' fancy like that Miss Rarity, though. Everything here is practical and functional, nothin' more, nothin' less."
"That's all I can ask for. Thank you, and have a good afternoon!"
"Same to you, young lady. And be careful out there, thunderstorm's been scheduled for today."
By the time he finished speaking, she was already out the door. She took flight, realized she hadn't asked for a price estimate, but shook the concern.
Up in the air, everything felt right. Worries fell to the ground like old, loose feathers, something vestigial that should have been left behind long ago. Her weight unburdened, she was free to live and go how she pleased.
The weather did put an admitted damper on the feeling. Wintertime in Ponyville was rarely a time for pleasant weather. Horizons were either gray and dreary such as today, or biting with frost and snow. Clear sunny skies were rare on the pegasi's docket during these months, and when they did happen, it was still too chilly a temperature for her liking. Without question, Blossomforth was a mare for spring, not winter.
Which was the reason she had done research on the Spring and Pollination Teams. Their job was, among carrying out scheduled weather, assisting the bees. They could, with the help of magic, adhere pollen to their wings and fly for great distances, spreading it to the lands below.
It was perfect; she loved flowers. Banish the thought of her dull work at the Cloudsdale factory when she could make flora bloom from here to Trotland, Neighpan, and beyond. She just needed the goggles, and she could begin tryouts in a month.
In the distance, she heard thunder.
She thought that was odd. She shouldn't have been able to hear it so close already.
But she could. She looked left, and there, looming menacingly, was a roiling mass of nearly black clouds. Through them, she saw occasional bursts of blinding white light.
The pegasi rarely called for events of such strength, and when they did, stay-at-home orders were issued days beforehoof. That left two possibilities. Something had gone very, very wrong at the factory, or a storm had escaped the Everfree. Given the stark magical differences between it and mainland Equestria, the things which brewed in that dark place almost never crossed the boundary.
Almost.
The wall of shadow moved quickly, too quickly to be pegasi-made. She jerked right and dove down, but not fast enough. The light from the sky above was blotted out, and a terrible fury struck her from the heavens.
She fell, flickering in and out of consciousness. At first there was searing pain, but it didn't last. Then, she thought she felt something solid beneath her. Her vision was too blurred and awareness too unreliable to assess her surroundings, and her body didn't - couldn't - move.
Somewhere in the haze, she heard voices. She was unable to understand full sentences, but she could pick out the occasional word, along with a bloodcurdling scream.
Was it her own?
'Oh, stars.'
'Is that...?'
'Help!'
"Somepony.'
'Get her.'
'Hospital.'
'Now!'
And then, nothing.
The sound of raging thunder pounded the building. The lights flickered, and momentarily, Redheart worried they would go out.
"Must be an awful storm out there," the mother commented.
"Must be," echoed Redheart.
Stethoscope in hoof, she gathered the data she needed from her patient, a colt of about twelve. She marked it down and turned to his mother. Where he had a brown pelt and mussy, orange-toned mane, she possessed a sleek creamy pelt, and medium-tone brown hair pulled into a braid.
"How long did you say this has been going on for again?"
"About four days. We came in a bit ago and got his ears cleaned, but the problem just got worse. I keep telling him to give his headphones a break, but he just won't listen."
She shook her head disapprovingly, as if this were a topic of discussion she had grown weary of. In response, the boy whined, although his voice was quiet and warbly with discomfort.
"The headphones have nothing to do with it!"
Redheart saw his mother about to reply and interjected before the conversation could be derailed.
"Alright," she said and paid mind to the boy. "On a scale of one to ten, how much would you say it hurts?"
"Eight," he squeaked miserably. His forelimbs were wrapped tightly around his midsection as though the conflicting sensation might distract from his pain. He kept a brave face and posture, but she could hear his whimpering and see the tears on his cheeks. She wished she could give him a hug.
"Poor sweetie. The doctor will be in here soon, okay? He'll get this all sorted out."
She tried to reassure him with a smile, but his expression remained unchanged. Looking around, she spotted the container of lollipops and made her way over.
"Do you have a favorite fruit, honey?"
"Cherry."
"Mhm," she hummed, and brought over candy of the corresponding flavor. "Technically, I'm not allowed to give you one this early, but that can remain between us."
She winked and hoofed him the lollipop. That appeared to be the trick, and a smile waveringly graced his lips. She returned it, and bid them farewell.
Back in her space, Redheart sorted through the accumulated papers on her desk. Periodically more thunder would shake the building's foundations, but so long as it didn't knock the power out it had no bearing on her work.
Inwardly, she hoped it might. Today was a slow day. She didn't exactly mind slow days, though. Being a nurse often meant a hectic flitting about to and fro, inside the hospital and away to out-patients without much chance to breathe. But having nothing to do wasn't her idea of fun either.
Being a nurse also meant she didn't receive the same respect, pay, or accreditation as doctors. This despite working just as hard if not harder and having to go through a nearly identical, if less specialized level of education.
Sue her, she thought. So she was a little bitter. Any medical practitioner worth their salt usually was to some extent or another. Besides, doctors were rarely on the front lines like nurses. Nor did they have to deal with the crazies who thought vaccines were a way of the Princesses injecting mind control spells into their blood, or hypochondriacs who swore they had bone cancer because their scalp itched.
But, at the end of the day, she wouldn't give up her job for the world. Caring for others was her highest passion. She could deal with an infinite amount of whackjobs or morons if she could help a single pony return to a happy, healthy life.
Her pager beeped. Alert, she pressed her hoof to the receiver.
"Hello? Redheart speaking."
"It's an emergency. Get to room 12A, A.S.A.P."
"Got it," she answered and shoved off from her desk. There wasn't a second of hesitation.
On the way over, Redheart wondered what the emergency could be. Situations like these were uncommon in a town like Ponyville. Most often, they were because of allergies or Everfree-related. Then there was the one time a sleep-deprived Applejack had baked a batch of muffins with Pinkie so vile they'd had to pump the stomachs of half the town.
At the memory, Redheart shuddered.
The patient was already inside when she arrived. The others present parted to let her pass, and she got a look at the mare on the stretcher.
"Oh dear Princess. What happened?"
A paramedic answered. "Storm from the Everfree. Zapped her right out of the sky."
The assigned doctor spoke next. "Third-degree burns on her back, broken wings, broken limbs, ribs, and a mild concussion. She's lucky her spine is intact."
Redheart shook her head. It wasn't the worst case she'd seen, but not by much. Worse, she recognized the mare who lay on that bed in such a sad, crumpled heap. They attended high school together, and she was positive they'd at some point shared biology class.
She did everything she could to help. The doctor and medics had done their part, so it was her duty to get the patient ready for her stay, however long that would be. She wished there was more for her to do, but beyond monitoring vitals and her other duties as the patient's assigned nurse there was nothing.
She was the last pony to leave the room. With a leaden sigh, she turned away from the bedridden mare, casting her one final, uneasy glance, and turned out the lights.
For an unknown time, Blossomforth felt her consciousness wax and wane, dipping in and out with no rhyme nor reason. She'd awake briefly to an electronic beep, sometimes voices unfamiliar, but always the beeping. Then, just as quickly and before she was awake for long enough to form a coherent thought, she'd be submerged yet again to inky unbeing.
When she did at last take breath into the waking world it was with an unsteady mind. The back of her skull ached. In fact, every bone in her body ached. She couldn't tell if that was because of her long unprompted sleep, or something worse.
She got her answer when she tried sitting up.
There was no response, no cooperation. Vaguely she could feel her limbs and torso move, but they were constrained by hard, scratchy walls. She could, at least, move her neck, so her spine wasn't broken.
Next, she tried moving her wings and regretted it instantly. A molten, lance-like pain shot through the bones and traveled up her spine. She cried out with a wheezing croak. Several moments passed of cringing, recollecting herself before she could think. Her heart rate, which had risen to a crescendo, gradually returned to normal, along with her breathing.
She decided instead to assess her whereabouts. The room was blank and sterile. To the right was a door, and to the left were cabinets above and below a counter where a sink lay in the middle. Looking down at herself, white linens covered her and prevented her from figuring out the state of her injuries. They radiated warmth, so they must have been changed recently. To her immediate left were machines of various kinds, right an IV drip, and all hooked up to her.
"Hello?" she called out, and was met with the pathetic state of her voice, hoarse and crackling. She received no reply, but she also doubted she was loud enough for anypony to hear her.
Eventually, she heard the echo of hoofsteps approach her room. The door swung open and in stepped Nurse Redheart. She had mild bags under her eyes and her pink bun was loose, but she had a small smile on her face.
Breathing an immense sigh of relief she said, "Thank goodness. It's good to see you're awake. How do you feel? Is there anything you need?"
"Hungry," croaked Blossomforth. "Thirsty, too."
Redheart nodded and excused herself momentarily, then returned with a pack of wheat crackers and a cup of water.
"I'm sorry. I know it's not much. Dinner should be approaching soon, and you'll be able to order a hot meal then."
"It's fine, thank you."
Redheart held out the water for Blossomforth to sip from or the crackers to munch on as she requested. She was thankful for the mare's help, but also mortified she couldn't eat or drink on her own. Once satisfied, she laid back and closed her eyes, breathing softly.
"Is there anything else I can get for you?" Redheart asked, and Blossomforth shook her head.
"No, I'm good, thanks. How did you know I was awake, though? Or did you just happen to hear me?"
"The monitors," Redheart explained. She knocked her head in the direction of the machine tracking Blossomforth's heart rate. "It spiked when you woke up, so I came to check on you."
"Oh," Blossomforth said, sounding as though she couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it. "That makes sense. And how long was I out? What happened? I don't remember anything except a storm."
"Three days, and it was a natural storm, ugly one at that. You were struck by lightning on your back, between the wings. Luckily there were still ponies on the street when you fell, and they were able to get help and bring you here. You... took a pretty heavy beating."
Blossomforth didn't follow up immediately. There was a question rattling around in her head, but she was afraid to ask. She remembered, even through the morphine, how much it hurt when she tried her wings.
"How bad?" she managed, barely a whisper.
Redheart listed, one after another, Blossomforth's myriad injuries. When she finished, there was a long, stunned silence. Then, Blossomforth asked the question she was most afraid of.
"And my wings?"
Now it was Redheart's turn for silence. Blossomforth watched her carefully, the sudden change in her demeanor. Where before she held her gaze, now she avoided it. The fear in Blossomforth's gut became a tight knot of dread.
Inhaling deeply, Redheart re-established eye contact with apprehension.
"It's not a guarantee. You might recover. There's always a chance, but," she paused. "You likely won't ever fly again."
Blossomforth said nothing. She thought nothing either, as the words struck her. There was a brief, precious moment of stunned tranquility, where the forces of her brain prevented the information from being processed.
"If you need a moment," said Redheart, but she sounded miles away. Unconsciously, Blossomforth's breath hitched, and tears welled in her vision.
she began to cry.
Blossomforth hated life in the hospital. She couldn't read, couldn't walk, couldn't do anything on her own. She was entirely dependent on others now, and she failed to imagine a fate more degrading.
That aside, there was a general lack of anything to do. Thus she found much of her time spent asleep, choosing to shun the cruel world around her for the fleeting one in her dreams, a world with few worries and no consequences. But she'd always wake up eventually, and after a while, she could no longer force herself into the state of slumber.
The pattern she created for herself was a miserable one, but she didn't know what else she could do. Her nurse and the doctors informed her she'd be in their care for at least a month until her bones healed. Even then, she would need physical therapy to ensure there weren't other issues or long-lasting effects.
Then there were her wings. As they were now, they might as well not be there at all. One was completely non-functional, the other not a whole lot better. They would heal, eventually, and they would look normal, but as Redheart said, she would probably never fly again. Those words repeated on loop in her brain like a mantra. She hadn't just lost her ability to fly, but her identity as a pegasus, the plans she'd made for her future.
Most of the time, she could ignore it, find some errant thing to distract herself with. But, inevitably, it would come back to her. The dark thoughts would knock endlessly at her door, and she could only pretend not to listen for so long.
When she inevitably surrendered, she would cry. She cried a lot these days. Sometimes, it would be in that harsh, ugly way where her chest hurt and eyes stung. Then, to make matters worse, somepony else would need to clean up her tear-streaked and snot-crusted face. It felt like a violation of her privacy, her emotions, but what else could she do when she wasn't mobile of her own accord?
There was, however, a single, solitary light that made her awful days marginally less awful: Nurse Redheart.
She was the one who took care of her, and tried to keep her company whenever she was able. The Ponyville Hospital didn't see many patients, given the town's smaller population, so when she came in she almost always had time to spare. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, changing of the IVs, monitoring of her vitals, routine checkups on how she was doing, she took each as an opportunity to be there for her.
Blossomforth appreciated it more than she could put into words. Where the walls around her felt cold and uncaring, Redheart was warmth and companionship.
Her ears perked at a knock at the door. She yelled out, "Come in!" and the very mare she'd been thinking of appeared.
"Good afternoon, Miss Blossomforth. I have your lunch for you," she said, and placed down the tray on the table next to her. On it was a bowl of southwest hay chili with corn, soup crackers, and a side of pitiful-looking french fries. The chili didn't look much better, but it held more promise than most other meals Blossomforth had 'enjoyed' during her stay. She was resolute in the conviction that, if she was going to be in this sun-forsaken place for a month, she'd try everything they had on offer until she found something with passable flavor.
"You don't always have to be so formal with me you know. It's been, what, nine days now?" Blossomforth said, and cracked a tired grin.
Redheart chuckled lightly. She said, "I just try to be professional, is all. But if you want me to come barging in whenever, let me know."
"That's cool with me. It's not like you're gonna catch me doing anything if you do," Blossomforth joked, and tossed the mare a wink. Another quiet laughter was shared between them. Blossomforth noticed the subtle tinge on Redheart's cheeks.
"Since we finished up the other book this morning," Redheart said, and spooned some chili into the pegasus' mouth. "I spent my downtime figuring out what else we could read together, and I think you'll like this one."
"Mh?" asked Blossomforth around the spoonful of chili, chewing, then swallowing. "Yeah? What's this one about."
"A favorite of mine from my personal collection. It's a gothic murder mystery with a four-way romantic drama."
"Oooh, a love rectangle. Innovative!"
"Hey, you don't see me judging you for your preferences," shot Redheart, but she didn't seem particularly offended.
Blossomforth stuck out her tongue. "I'm bedridden in the hospital. I think I've got room for exceptions."
"Can't argue with that," said Redheart, who brought another mouthful of chili to the mare's lips.
After finishing her meal, the two continued their conversation. Redheart had brought a mobile pager with her, so unless interruptions came, she could spend the minutes on Blossomforth. She was read to, gave her commentary, and they exchanged plenty of banter where the opportunity presented itself.
Blossomforth smiled. She only could these days when Redheart was around, or when she thought about her. But, like all good things, their time together came to an end. Redheart's pager alerted her to another patient in need of assistance, but before she left she pulled a metal tin from her coat pocket.
"I brought you some chocolates from outside. We're not supposed to, but I figured you could use something sweet. Don't tell anypony."
"Not sure why I need something sweet with you around, but don't worry. I won't tell a soul."
Redheart, pointedly avoiding eye contact, slipped the container under her pillow. They said their goodbyes, and Blossomforth was left in silence.
Things went on like so for the next couple of weeks. Redheart came in for the three meals of the day, more often if she was able. But Blossomforth refused to look inward, or outwards to the future when she'd be released from the hospital. Because when she looked to her future, it was grim. The life of a pegasus without flight was to her no life at all.
The plans she'd made, like water, had fallen through her hooves. The life she wanted to forge for herself seemed as far away as it had ever been. She didn't know how to get it back; she didn't know if she actually could. She wondered what the point even was in dreaming if she could wake so suddenly to a nightmare without purpose nor reason, only the seeming cruelty of the universe.
So she simply tried not acknowledging it, and it worked for a while.
On the fourth Monday, as she ate breakfast, she received an unexpected visit from nurse and doctor both. Her doctor rarely came in except for weekly scheduled checkups, so her unprompted presence was perplexing. More, it was worrying.
But neither pony gave off the impression of foreboding. On the contrary, the doctor smiled as she spoke.
"So I have good news. It appears you're recovering faster than we thought. In fact, we should be able to remove your cast today, and we'll see about beginning your physical therapy early."
"Oh," said Blossomforth. "That's great! But..."
Her enthusiasm, like the sun being smothered by clouds, vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
"My wings?"
The doctor's expression faded. "I'm afraid we still don't know. I've had patients worse off than you regain full functionality, and others better off never recover."
Blossomforth breathed in long, heavy, and then emptied her lungs. She nodded in acknowledgment and gave a cursory, "Alright," of reply without anything more.
"I am truly sorry. I wish I could give you a definitive answer. But look at it this way, you'll be walking before the day's out."
Blossomforth didn't answer beyond a hum of affirmation. That was when Redheart stepped in, giving her best attempt at a warming smile.
"I'll be your physical therapist in the meanwhile, so we'll get more chance to spend together."
The effort did work to raise her spirits, although slight. She allowed a reluctant happiness to show on her face, which Redheart mirrored with her own.
Hours later, after lunchtime, her cast was removed. She dared not move a muscle before she was instructed, but the feeling of cool air on her matted fur for the first time in weeks was exquisite.
However, it also brought to the forefront how filthy she felt. She needed a shower, desperately, and she would get one the soonest she was able.
"Alright, honey," Redheart cooed. She slipped a forehoof under Blossomforth's back, and braced her tummy with the other. "I'm just gonna have you sit up. Slowly, slowly now."
And slowly, she did ease her into a sitting position. Her back was now to the pillow, and her flanks pressed against the sheets. No doubt they needed to be washed as much as she.
"Are you comfortable there?"
"Mhm," she said, and she spoke the truth. Yet, simultaneously, she fought the urge to reach her hooves above her head and stretch.
"Good. Stay in that position right now, but see how much control you have over your forelegs."
Cautious, Blossomforth picked up her left forelimb. Her motions were gentle, careful, and if Redheart worried she was going too fast she would interrupt her.
"Remember, if it starts hurting, stop. You won't be back to normal right away. It's going to take time."
Blossomforth rolled her eyes, but she was grinning. "You've told me that like five times now. Relax, I'll be fine."
"I know. I just don't want to see you hurt again."
Blossomforth nodded in understanding and continued. Both legs operated fine, aside from an overall stiffness and ache she wasn't accustomed to. She had been told that was expected, however, and would go away gradually.
"Now, your hindlegs."
The position she had to get into was awkward. She had her barrel and front propped up by the bed, but her bottom half stuck out and her back hooves were planted on the ground. She performed similar motions, experimenting as well as following Redheart's orders. She flexed, rolled, and rotated. All seemed well, minus one already odd position that made the ache worsen, but it wasn't as though she'd be putting her leg in that arrangement in any other context.
She took her time adjusting, but was soon on all fours.
Walking felt strange, but she couldn't quite explain how. It was like her limbs didn't quite respond as they should, either too fast or too slow. But, with Redheart by her side, she made her stumbling way to the shower. Outside, she waited as Blossomforth got down to business.
It was the best shower she'd ever taken in her life - the heat, the steam, the water, the soap. Peals of glad laughter leapt from her throat unbidden as her hooves ran through her wet mane, sudsying up her fur with its fragrant aroma. She doubted she'd take one anywhere near as incredible again. That was except for circumstances that put her in an even worse accident, and that she certainly did not desire.
When she decided to leave, it wasn't until the water ran ice cold. She toweled off, shook her mane and tail out, and stepped from the balmy jungle atmosphere into her room, a rejuvenated mare.
"Feel better?"
Blossomforth sighed happily. "Much better. So what now?"
"Now, you get to walk outside. Like we did with your legs, you'll test your boundaries, see what feels right, and hopefully you'll get more freedom of movement with time."
"Dang, this day just gets better and better. First, I get that itchy thing off, then I get to shower. Now fresh air? Mon dieu, I didn't know I was staying at a five-shoe hotel," she said, and waved her hoof as though to fan herself. She winced, hissing through her teeth.
"Careful," Redheart scolded, and swooped in beside her. She cradled the sore leg and brought it down to the floor. "Remember what I said about fast movement?"
"I knooow. I won't do it again."
Definitely not after that, she thought.
The trip to the outdoor section was slow, but Blossomforth was simply happy for the fact of being free of her room. Those same monitors, the beeping, the drawers and cabinets with those same plain sterile walls had begun driving her slightly mad. While the appearance of the rest of the hospital wasn't any different, it was a change in environment enough to satisfy her itch for freedom.
Then she reached the outside, and fresh air had never smelt better. She breathed it in by the lungful, letting it all out, and doing it all over again and again. Just the act of breathing outside was a blessing she didn't know she needed.
The grass and paths, although manicured, were pleasant beneath her hooves. She enjoyed the tickling of bush leaves against her side, and she stopped intermittently to, quite literally, smell the roses.
But it wasn't long before she noticed the open space above her. The sky was clear, crystal blue, and the pale winter sun beamed gleamingly down upon her. It was the perfect weather, with a cool temperature and a slight breeze.
It was the kind of day she would have loved to fly in.
Instantaneously, all the hope and cheer which had prior filled the mare's spirits drained away. A deep frown etched itself onto her face, and she suddenly wanted back inside the comfortable confinement of her hospital bed.
"Oh."
Blossomforth heard Redheart's voice. She didn't turn to look at her. She just kept staring at the sky.
"I'm so sorry. I should have realized."
Blossomforth wanted to tell her it was okay, that it wasn't her fault.
She never got the chance.
Instead, eyes fixed upon an open blue that looked impossibly far away, she felt the warmth of another press against her, and a pair of forelegs wrapped around her front. Tears sprang into existence and ran down in streams, staining her fur.
Blossomforth turned away, and buried herself into Redheart's neck. There she sobbed while Redheart held her close, cooing and stroking her mane.
"So I guess this is it, huh?"
Blossomforth stood on the precipice between the hospital and Ponyville. The weather had once more turned sour, and a steady rain rendered the ground sodden and surfaces reflective. Out there, somewhere amidst the thatched roofs, was an empty home waiting for its owner to return.
"That depends on what you mean by 'it,'" Redheart replied.
Blossomforth stepped away from the stairs and turned to face her. "This whole thing. The hospital, the bed," then, reluctantly, "You."
Blossomforth didn't fail to note the pink that showed on Redheart's white cheeks. She looked away, as though embarrassed, and Blossomforth inwardly snickered.
"Not entirely," said Redheart. "I'm still assigned to be your physical therapist for another month or so. And, of course, if any changes happen that concern you, you should come in and have them looked at immediately."
"But after that?"
"Then I suppose it truly would be goodbye."
"Does it have to be, though?"
"I don't understand what you mean. Unless you're implying, you somehow were to get injured again, which I hope wouldn't-"
Blossomforth moved and kissed her cheek.
Whatever Redheart was going to say caught in her throat. Errant, meaningless syllables tumbled out a working jaw before she stopped trying altogether. Her eyes were wide with surprise and pupils large, but she didn't protest, and the soft pink on her fur darkened to a lovely scarlet.
"I mean," Blossomforth said. "Does it have to be goodbye for us? Or, put more succinctly..."
She mulled over her options, then threw subtlety aside. She'd already taken the biggest risk she possibly could. What harm was there in asking plainly?
"Would you like to go on a date?"
The answer she received was a kiss on the lips. She could smell, beyond the rain, the ozone, the scent of Redheart's essence. She smelled like strawberries, and mint, and everything wonderful in the world. Now, it was Blossomforth's turn to go a shade of red.
"Yes," Redheart whispered. The breath against her lips was so warm, so inviting. On instinct, Blossomforth kissed her back, then nuzzled up against the mare's side.
After a small, glowing eternity, they parted. Both grinned dumbly from ear to ear.
"Guess I'll see you then."
Redheart, batting her lashes, winked. "Guess you will," she said and, turning to the hospital, flicked her tail Blossomforth's way. "I'll pick the place."
And then she was gone. For minutes after her departure, Blossomforth continued to stand, even as the rain soaked her fur and mane. Never once did the smile leave her face.
In the distance, she heard thunder.
Author's Note
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