A Kirin's Flame

by RDT

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life, Autumn Blaze, Kirins, Drama, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Romance
Length: 13672

Best to let sleeping kirin lie, lest you be drawn like a moth to their flame.

There was this old saying: Best to let sleeping kirin lie, lest you rekindle their flame.

The idiom does no justice to the kirin. From my experience, equating their heat to that of an old argument was like comparing Celestia's sun to a candle—absolutely inadequate. An argument was mundane, bitter, and lasted what felt like forever. A kirin was the exact opposite. 

And… well, in my mind, our story deserved to be immortalized. I wanted something to remember her by—even if it was, in all likelihood, a unnecessary endeavor. For how could I ever forget? 

Written for Bean’s Writing Group prompt #2, “You shouldn’t let kirins lie to you”.

With help from Bean, Techno Flare, Gay for Gadot, thesmokinguy, Scriblits Talo, Short Tale, Nighthawk, and Milk & Honey.

Published 2023-05-03 14:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2023-05-06 18:39:40 UTC

Chapter 1

Picking another fallen leaf out of my cup of coffee, I heard a familiar, if slightly out-of-breath, voice. “Hey, Track! Did you get the letter?”

“You’re late,” I grumbled. I tossed the leaf aside, then continued to stare into the depths of my cup even as my ears turned towards the source of his speech. “And how am I supposed to know? My house hasn’t burned down yet, so I still have a mailbox. Be more specific.”

Admittedly, most of the mail I’d been receiving were bills that I could still barely afford to pay.

“Fine, fine,” the voice replied. “You’re no fun.”

“I never aimed for ‘fun’, Crosstie,” I said. I finally took a sip, but found the coffee bitter and cold. I swallowed. “You wanted to say something?”

“Oh, yeah!” Crosstie said. “Here, I got the letter with me. Mailpony arrived when I was about to leave, and… well, you’ll see.”

I finally turned to face my companion. Crosstie was smiling, and held an already-torn envelope in his magical field. It had one of several letterheads which almost always signified good news.

“Let me take a look,” I said. “You’ve already had your moment.”

The letter floated towards me without another word even as Crosstie’s hoof was twitching with excitement. It undoubtedly took considerable restraint for him to not ramble—though he knew, after years of associating with me, to give me time to process these things. It was something for which I was eternally grateful.

I took the offered envelope and read the address label, a redundant task given that I was already sure of both the sender and receiver. Taking the letter out, I began to read.

Dear Crosstie,

Due to our long-time successful collaboration, I, representing Canterhorn Railworks, Inc., would like to offer you another opportunity as a railway engineer and builder. The project is of unusual importance, so we are only contacting our most skilled and consistent subcontractors. This will approximately be an eight-week assignment, although the timeline is still flexible.

Unfortunately, due to the delicate nature of this project, some details must be revealed in utmost confidentiality. I therefore invite you to Canterlot on the 21st–23rd of Manenmist to meet face-to-face. Specific responsibilities, payment, liabilities, and other information will be revealed over the course of several meetings. Your room and board is covered. Two tickets to and from Canterlot can be found in the envelope (though I hope you will only need one of them, for reasons discussed below).

Should you choose to accept, the construction crew will depart directly from Canterlot, so please bring along any personal belongings that you think you may need for the duration of the project. Some further details, including boarding locations, specific meeting times, and list of required legal documents, can be found in the rest of the letter.

If you are not interested in this opportunity, please send a letter in reply. If you are, we require only your attendance at the meetings.

Best Wishes,

Fine Line, Project Manager of Canterhorn Railworks, Inc.

Ignoring anything beyond the cover page, I looked back at Crosstie. “Canterhorn Railworks, huh? The client must really care about the quality of the project.”

Crosstie laughed. “At least we’re not stuck with Waytrans this time! That was the most boring job I’ve ever done.”

Waytrans, short for Wayward Transportation, had a… dubious reputation among anypony in the construction industry. They were punctual—and there ended the list of positive adjectives that could be used to describe them. And the job in question that we had done with them was for the rebuilding of Canterlot, and if I was to be honest, we had been far from qualified. “At least we had a job, then,” I said. “Even if it wasn’t our usual.”

“Pay was good, though.” Crosstie took a seat at the table across from me, and eyed the coffee. “What, got cold again?”

“What else?” I replied. I pushed the cup towards him. “Also, I suspect we were overpaid. Even if we had no idea what to do with road repair, at least we were construction workers. Remember Svengallop?”

Crosstie grimaced, and I shared the sentiment. “I’d rather not.”

He carefully levitated another few leaves out of the coffee. With a final glance at the cup, Crosstie lifted it to his muzzle before slamming it back. After a long moment of quiet gurgles from his throat, he set the cup back on the table.

“I never understand how you drink cold coffee, Crosstie.” I gestured towards the empty cup. “It’s been so long since the first time you did this, and yet each time I am still surprised.”

“Four years, Track. Four years since you brought me here. And it’s just like the normal stuff, but cold.” Crosstie shook his head. “Honestly, sometimes I just don’t get you earth ponies.”

“I guarantee you, disliking cold coffee is a universal trait among all ponykind,” I said. “Maybe even among the non-ponies.”

“If you say so.” He stayed still for a moment, eyes staring at nothing in particular. A leaf fluttered above his head, before finally settling on his mane. Idly brushing it away with his magic, he spoke again.

“And I guess it does make sense that we earned way too much for that job.” I managed to remember where we had left off on that particular topic—such a skill being necessary in conversations with him. “If a pony like Svengallop could get on the crew, the Palace must have been real desperate to get repairs done.”

“That, and Waytrans never cared much for quality.” I picked up Crosstie’s letter. “Railworks, on the other hoof… I wonder who the new project owner is.”

“Of course it’s still the Palace, Clear Track!” He gestured wildly, disturbing a few of the leaves on the table. “Who else pays for railways? Crazy aristocrat trying to form their own nation?”

‘Crazy aristocrat’ would explain the secrecy, I thought on a tangent. But hiding a railway construction project would be nigh impossible.

“Why would the Palace require such discretion?” I asked Crosstie.

He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe it’s something to do with those other nations. There’s been a bunch of joint projects ever since they helped us in that… invasion.”

‘Invasion’ was one way to describe that event.

“You make a good point. Delicate foreign relations might explain the secrecy.” I pushed the letter back to Crosstie. “Well, in any case, I do hope that you find this mystery construction project enjoyable, seeing as I had not received such an invitation.”

“Hey, that’s no fair!” He leaned across the table and pointed a hoof at me. “You’re the experienced one. Just watch. I bet you’ll see that letter sitting in your mailbox when you get back.”

“That’s a generous assessment of Equestria’s postal service, Crosstie. I expect it to be delivered for me long after the meetings at Canterlot have concluded.”

A short laugh was all that I got in response, and Crosstie settled back in his seat.

We stayed at Manehattan Park for a while, talking amongst ourselves and watching the leaves fall. Later, once I returned home, I found the same letter as the one Crosstie received tucked into my mailbox. I must have been lucky.

As Crosstie lay on the top bunk of our small train car, once again on our way to a new contract, I thought back to our very first one together.

It had been a railway expansion project in Appleloosa, where unicorns were rare and unicorns in construction unheard of. Yet, given our respective careers, a meeting was almost inevitable. Ponies with a railway-related cutie mark were in short supply, and even of those, many found their calling in conducting or train engineering. Of the ones who were specifically experts of railway construction—well, the Palace knew to only announce one project at a time, because starting a second would require doubling the population of qualified ponies in Equestria.

Wayward Transportation had landed the Appleloosa contract, but the specific general contractor mattered little. There were only so many ponies in my line of work. Everypony on the team was already a familiar face—except for Crosstie.

I had my doubts. There had been no unicorns before him, and Waytrans was known to hire ponies of… dubious skill. But Crosstie quickly demonstrated that he deserved his mark, a simple set of railway tracks, with the way he used his magic to do things I had bet was impossible. I thought I knew everything about railway construction, but my arrogance cost me dearly.

Well, not quite so “dearly.” It was only a total of thirty-eight bits.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that he was living in Manehattan, too! It was a lonely time in my life, but we maintained contact when we were between assignments, meeting up at fancy musicals and run-down bars. The musicals had been his choice.

It was a few years later when I invited him to my weekly observations at the park, a ritual I had held ever since my father brought me there. It was good to have another pony I could share my coffee with again.

Although Crosstie’s coffee addiction wasn’t doing him any favours on the train ride.

“Crosstie!” I said, distracted from my reminiscing by the sound of yet another splash. “If you can’t keep your coffee in the cup, then don’t drink!”

“Hey, I haven’t even spilled it on you yet,” responded the muffled voice above me. “And we’re almost there, so I can finally get a break from all your complaining.”

“I was not simply complaining. Fire safety is a legitimate concern.”

“Yeah, yeah, remembering those old mares’ tales now, are we? Never took you to be the superstitious one.” Crosstie stuck his head past the edge of his cot to look down at me. “Didn’t you listen to Twilight?”

“Yes, well, Her Majesty Princess Twilight Sparkle told us to not be surprised if one of them spontaneously lights themselves on fire. How am I supposed to stay calm with that sort of statement as an introduction to their kind?”

Crosstie shook his head in disappointment. “Now you get why the Palace wanted us to shut up about all of this, right?”

I was taken aback. That was not the argument I had been expecting.

“Clarify?” I asked, though I had an inkling of where this would lead.

Crosstie coughed. “Well, I know you’re a good pony, Clear Track, and if you’re panicking, imagine the reactions if it got out.”

And that was a good argument against my irrational fears. Though the fears would remain, at least until I learned what they had cost.

“I… fine, Crosstie.” I looked away from him.“You’re right.”

“So whatcha gonna do about it?”

I sighed. “I will stop my ‘complaining’ for now, at least until we meet them. Though if we are supposed to teach them about railway construction, per our contract, I suppose interaction will be unavoidable.”

I lurched forwards slightly. Both of us looked out of the window. It’d better not be sheep again.

“Well, looks like you’re gonna get that first ‘interaction’ pretty soon, Clear Track.”

I grunted in agreement, and as the train stopped, I mentally prepared myself to meet these fearsome creatures who could burn at the slightest provocation.

The entire railway crew disembarked onto a pile of red shale disguised as a station platform, and we all gathered together for our first encounter with the kirin, the creatures with whom we would be working for the next two months.

“So this is the railway construction company Twilight sent us.” A tall figure looked at us with an strangely indiscernible expression. She had a dark green mane extending to the front of her body, and cream-coloured scales rested on a beige coat. A forked horn protruded from her forehead. I had gotten a glimpse of her while we were still on the train, but standing in her shadow, it made the kirin seem all the more formidable.

“Yes, that’s right,” our project manager said with a smile. “I’m Fine Line, and we are pleased to be working with you.” She held out a hoof.

The kirin did not take the offered hoofshake, and instead turned around to call out in a commanding tone. “Cinder Glow, Autumn Blaze, come now! The construction ponies are here.”

I had been so enraptured by the terrible kirin that I did not notice the two smaller ones standing beside the run-down ticket office.

“Buuuut Rain Shine!” a light-coloured kirin with a red mane said. “The ticket-seller was telling us stories!”

“Autumn Blaze, we have guests. Show some courtesy. And Cinder Glow, make sure nopony gets lost.”

I looked at the third kirin, whose emerald mane formed a striking contrast on her deep velvet coat.

Now, these kirin are more my size, I thought.

The larger kirin turned back to Fine Line. “My apologies. My name is Rain Shine, and I am the leader of the Kirin of the Peaks of Peril. Twilight claims she sent the best to teach the kirin; I expect you to live up to your name. But before we start, I must first show you our home.”

“Well, that works with me!” Fine Line said in a cheery voice. “Come on, everypony.”

It was quite a lengthy walk to the Peaks of Peril.

We were led by Rain Shine. On the way, Autumn Blaze was bouncing between us, telling us stories about the kirin. Well, calling her words “stories” was being generous; she flitted from topic to topic like a butterfly between flowers. Crosstie laughed at some of them along with the rest of the crew, while I kept a polite smile on my face.

Instead, my attention was focused on the other small kirin, the one named Cinder Glow, who kept watch over the group. The reason behind this strange three-way division of labour became apparent as I noticed that Rain Shine seemed to only be capable of looking forward, while Autumn Blaze’s attention span meant that we would likely already be at the destination before she would notice that somepony was missing. Cinder Glow kept a slight distance and frequently scanned her gaze across us, nodding occasionally.

That was, until she stopped to stare at a clump of small, blue flowers.

“What’s so special about these?” I asked, walking up behind her.

She looked up with a start and glared. “What, a kirin can’t have a moment to herself?”

“Sorry,” I said, scrambling. “I mean no offense. I was merely curious.”

The kirin paused for a moment and then laughed, to my immense relief. “Oh, nevermind. These flowers are called ‘foal’s breath’. They… make a great tea.”

I nodded, not inclined to force the topic further.

She glanced at the main group again, then looked at me. “Why aren’t you talking with Autumn Blaze, like everypony else? Most ponies seem to like her.”

I shrugged. “She’s fine, but it can be difficult to keep up with her stories. Why? Do you not?”

Cinder Glow shook her head. “No, no! That would be ridiculous. She saved the entire village once, after all. I would trust her with my life.”

From the way she sounded, I suspected that there was more to this story. But I was not in a position to pry, especially considering the… heated consequences. Though I did notice that Cinder Glow didn’t hold her head quite as high as before.

Us two walked in relative quiet, at least when compared with the main group, until we reached a large grey boulder. Rain Shine moved it aside with a golden glow to reveal a thin gap in the mountain.

“This is our village,” Rain Shine said. “You are welcome to enter.”

We followed Autumn Blaze through the gap in single file, while Rain Shine stood aside. She stepped in only after everycreature else had made it through, then replaced the boulder over the entrance.

Surrounded by mountains, the village was like a pearl within an oyster’s shell.

The village itself was mostly composed of small treehouses, ones which were more tree than house; it seemed that the trees themselves had grown hollowed-out trunks and raised platforms. Rain Shine told the crew that we would eventually receive our own treehouses for the duration of our stay as a sign of good-will, but that they had underestimated the amount of time it would take. As construction workers who were all too familiar with project delays, we didn’t blame them.

They did, however, treat us to a meal of a variety of dishes, some of which I suspected would have cost a fortune anywhere else. These plants were all grown locally, and I thought I recognized some of them from the many small gardens which dotted the village.

It was a quiet table, and I suspected it was due to a mutual desire to avoid offense—that, and Autumn Blaze’s absence. With little else to do, I focused on the food. It was good. Even if my palate was too dull from years of fast food to truly appreciate their quality.

After that brief exposure to kirin culture, night had fallen. Rain Shine, Autumn Blaze, and Cinder Glow once again escorted us along the path at the foot of the mountain. We stayed in our train cars for the night.

The next day, we began both construction and instruction on the railway. Almost half of the kirin village—Autumn Blaze and Cinder Glow included—came to learn. Fine Line asked if any of them had prior experience; their response was that “kirin construction worked a little differently.” I wondered if fire safety was a part of it.

Our work did not proceed as well as we had expected. Having trainees was common, but having so many—more than even the number of experienced workers—was difficult. Spending most of the time answering questions rather than actually building anything had depleted crew morale.

However, our professional difficulties were partially made up for by the kirin’s hospitality. Rain Shine had extended an open invitation for the construction crew to access the village, so we would all go to the village after our day’s work and only return to our train cars after an evening of socializing.

Over these next few days, I managed to catch a glimpse into the kirin way of life. And the first part to learn about? Food.

The kirin sustained themselves by growing a large number of crops in a limited area with the help of their horticultural magic. That magic also allowed them to cultivate harder-to-grow plants, many of which were considered exotic back in Equestria. I had thought that hayfries and coffee were amazing, but kirin cuisine was on a whole other level. They hoped to export many of these rare crops in the future; our work here was bringing them closer to that goal.

One such potential export was the foal’s breath flower, a local delicacy. It was a plant which only grew in this area, and, as I would soon learn, contained several magical properties. Indeed, it was over a cup of tea brewed from this flower that I learned about the source of Autumn Blaze’s heroic status.

“Hey, Clear Track, this actually tastes pretty good! It might even be better than coffee, and you know how much I love that stuff.”

“Better than cold coffee for sure,” I said, taking a sip from my own cup. “Although, so is water.”

“Hey!” Crosstie protested. “It’s not my fault that everypony else is so obsessed with how hot their drink is!”

“Coffee…” Cinder Glow said, sitting across from me at our table. She had recommended this café, The Glowing Kiln, and so most of the crew—pony and kirin alike—were here this evening. “I’ve heard you ponies talk about this ‘coffee’ quite a bit. Is it like our foal’s breath tea?”

“I suppose coffee is popular enough,” I said. “At least where Crosstie and I live.”

“And where would that be?” she asked.

“Manehattan,” Crosstie grunted. “Big city. Lots of ponies.”

“It really is quite an interesting place,” I said. “Some ponies call it the ‘lighthouse of Equestria’, with all the newest innovations appearing there, but I mostly just enjoy the convenience.”

“Ahh. Coffee must be important to you, then.”

“No?” I replied hesitantly. “There are many ponies who rely on it to keep them awake long past their natural hours, but I personally just enjoy the taste.”

Cinder Glow tucked a hoof under her chin. “Was it not invented in your city? Is there no story behind it?”

“Nah. I’m pretty sure it’s imported.”

“Is there something more to this… ‘foal’s breath tea’, then?” I asked. “I had thought it was merely something to drink.”

“Ooh, ooh, is someone asking about foal’s breath?” chimed another voice. I should not have been surprised that our conversation would be overheard in the crowded cafe. “Cinder Glow, can I tell them about it? Pleeeeeease?”

“Ummm… go ahead, Autumn.”

What followed was a completely bizarre experience. The enthusiastic Autumn Blaze had leapt onto our table, and before I could ask her to come down, she began to… sing? Initially, I was somewhat annoyed, but it soon became apparent that her song described an important part of kirin history. I settled down and tried to listen as well as I could, though I was sure I missed some of the metaphors. I was surprised to learn that some of our own Element Bearers were so integral to the kirin regaining their voices. And… was that a reference to The Spirit of the Stage?

“—that’s the lesson which the kirin finally learned!”

I applauded out of respect, and saw that the rest of the cafe did so as well. Autumn Blaze bowed to the cheers and hopped off the table.

“Does that explain it?” she asked me and Crosstie.

Before I could respond, Crosstie spoke up.

“That’s horrible!” he said. “How could Rain Shine have done that?”

Cinder Glow glared back. “Being mute and calm all the time isn’t so bad.”

“It didn’t feel bad because you couldn’t!” Crosstie slammed his cup on the table, drawing another round of looks from all around the tiny cafe. “And they were visitors! How dare she order them into the Stream as well!”

“It’s quite understandable, Crosstie,” I said, “when you consider that Rain Shine had thought the village was in danger of burning down. It was what she had asked of her own people.”

“And you, Clear Track! Do you understand what their fear had cost them? They couldn’t even talk for years! Ask yourself if you would have made the same choice Rain Shine did!”

Autumn held out a hoof in a warding gesture. “Hey, Rain Shine’s not evil, and I’m sure Clear Track here isn’t either. It was an honest mistake.”

But I fell silent after Crosstie’s remark.

“And,” Cinder Glow said softly, “Rain Shine should never have been forced to make such a difficult decision.”

Both Crosstie and I stared at her, but neither had the courage to press her on it. A moment passed.

“Well, then.” Autumn cleared her throat. “Who’s up for another round of tea?”

I absently nodded my head.

Author's Note

New chapters posted every day until completion!

Chapter 2

We continued to work on the railway. After the first week, most of the kirin—including Autumn Blaze—had lost interest; Cinder Glow was one of the few who stayed. But even of the remaining interns, most had other commitments, so they could only train for a few hours each day.

“Training on a railway,” Crosstie said. That had earned him a groan.

Our construction speed, however, had picked up. The kirin’s curious nature proved to be an asset, and soon they had learned enough to be of assistance—even if explanations were still needed from time to time. Though we were still slower than our normal operations, it was enough for us to see some progress being made. And we knew that our work would only be more efficient from here.

“Look at what we’ve built,” Cinder Glow said, looking back towards the train cars—where the end of the line used to be. “It’s amazing that we’ve made it this far already.”

“Oh,” I replied, “this is slower than our usual pace. Much of our time was spent teaching and demonstrating, after all. But soon, when us experienced workers have taught you all that we know, you’ll see how much we can do together.”

“Really,” the kirin said, incredulous.

“Really.” I looked onwards into the valleys and wilderness where the railway would soon lead. “This is only the beginning. You do remember the plans for the finished project, correct?”

"Yeah, of course. It would wind around here”—and Cinder Glow waved her hooves, gesturing towards the mountain ahead of us—“and then basically lead right up to our village! It would be so easy for ponies or other creatures to just step off the train and visit us. There are so many things that we could learn from each other.” She paused and looked towards me. “Ever since the two ponies came… I realized that our village had been shut away from the world for too long. But we won’t be missing out anymore.”

There was something in particular missing from that. “And what about visiting other places, like Equestria or even the far-away Mount Aris?”

Cinder Glow shrugged. “It would be interesting, I suppose.”

Something about her tone of voice suggested the contrary. However, I had brought up the original plans for another reason.

“Well, on the topic of the railway,” I said, “it was our intention to have it completely built by the end of the project.”

Cinder Glow nodded. “I wasn’t sure if Princess Twilight was exaggerating when I read her letter, claiming that the project could be completed in just two months with a work crew of only a few dozen ponies…”

“Well, it won’t be just ponies working on this railway. You kirin will soon learn enough to be capable railway construction workers in your own right.”

“Still, I can’t believe it,” Cinder Glow said, shaking her head. “Building the railway through all of these valleys, in only two months. Can you imagine?”

“Yes,” I said. Indeed, I saw it in my mind, the image of thin train tracks overlaid on the terrain, a sight so common to me. “And you will be a part of that as well.”

That last statement proved to be true, as the kirin workers continued to absorb knowledge like a dry sponge absorbed water. It was almost alarming how efficient all of the remaining kirin had become in the following weeks.

Since the number of trainees had decreased, each one could have a designated teacher, and Cinder Glow’s had been primarily assigned to me. Instruction was no longer a chore, especially since Cinder Glow could understand any of my explanations about various aspects of railway construction almost immediately. It was such an incredible feat that, despite Fine Line’s earlier inquiry about their construction experience, I had to confirm it.

“I’m not much of a builder, even by our standards,” Cinder Glow replied. “I’m usually an actor, and I paint sometimes, too. But remember that kirin don’t build things the same way ponies do.”

I had seen the under-construction treehouses, of course, though I had not taken the opportunity to investigate them in detail. It was a gross oversight on my part, one which I intended to correct immediately.

“Right, and I have been meaning to learn,” I said. “Would you mind showing me after work is over?”

“I’m no expert,” Cinder Glow said, levitating another railway spike into position. “But for a pony, I suppose anykirin is qualified.” She grinned.

“Hello, Mossy Gleam! We’re just looking at the houses, so don’t let us interrupt you.”

Cinder Glow and I had finished our work for the day, and we made it to the under-construction treehouses as planned. What we had not expected was our company. Mossy Gleam, the kirin who had been working on the new treehouses, looked up at hearing Cinder Glow’s voice.

“Nah, Cinder, ‘sall good. I’m pretty much finished up for the day.” He turned to face me. “And you won’t hafta wait much longer. Houses’ll be done soon.”

“I must thank you for building these for the railway crew,” I said.

“Ahh, it’s just my job,” Mossy Gleam replied. “But really, it’s the farmers who deserve your thanks. With so many more mouths to feed, they’ve been workin’ overtime. Not to mention that some of ‘em are also building that railway of yours.”

“I will,” I said, and made a mental note to myself to do so. Especially the ones on the construction crew, whom I had just realized were basically working two jobs at once.

“Mossy, I was going to try to explain to Clear Track how we build these houses, but you’re the professional.” Cinder Glow said. “Would it be too much trouble if you…?”

“I can help,” Mossy Gleam replied. “Though, Clear Track, you should have some idea. Equestria’s got a few living buildings, don’tcha?”

I had looked forward to being taught by Cinder Glow—as opposed to our usual arrangement—though I supposed that this was acceptable.

Living buildings? I thought to myself. That must mean these are built from living trees. I had thought that these treehouses seemed strange. And ones in Equestria…

“Now that you mention it,” I said after a pause, “I do remember something, vaguely. There was this library that was made from… oak, I believe? Though I must admit that my knowledge in this area is sorely disappointing. And I do wonder if ponies use the same methods as kirin.”

Mossy Gleam shook his head. “I doubt it’s exactly the same. Come on over.”

He beckoned me forward, and the three of us trotted up to one of the treehouses. It was similar in form to the ones that the kirin lived in, though it was missing the glass over its windows and a door over the doorway.

“It’s actually really simple. Mostly, we do it by tricking the tree into thinkin’ there’s something that it needs to grow around. There’s a specific process we do with our magic, though it’d be hard to explain.”

“Can the tree really adapt to having such a large cavity in it?” I asked.

“You’re lookin’ at evidence right here,” he said. “‘Course, it’d take way too long if we didn’t speed up its growth, so we do that, too. But I bet there’s probably different ways to do it. Pardon me askin’, but aren’tchu earth ponies good at growing plants too?”

“Supposedly.” I smiled sheepishly. “I personally never understood horticulture. There’s theories on a sort of innate magic that we might possess, but if we do, then I have never felt it.”

Cinder Glow glanced at me, but she turned her attention back to Mossy Gleam.

He shrugged. “Not everyone can be an expert in everything, eh? But anyways, that’s how the kirin do it. It takes a lotta energy, and it’s hard to make the tree grow exactly right so you don’t end up with missing walls or the like. I remember when we had to rebuild the whole village in a single moon, and that almost made me quit my job.”

The kirin fell silent after that remark. Cinder Glow stepped up and gingerly laid a hoof on his back. “And we thank you for it, Mossy Gleam. Don’t forget that.”

Mossy Gleam nodded. “That was certainly some time, wasn’t it?” he said, then looked back at me. “Urrr, sorry ‘bout that, Clear Track. I get stuck in the past sometimes. But as you can tell, these houses are almost done, and I dare say I did a darn good job with ‘em.”

Mossy Gleam seemed to puff out his chest, exaggerated by that mane which extended down his neck. I heard something from beside me, and turned to see Cinder Glow struggling to stifle a laugh.

“It’s just”—she had to stop for a moment—“you’re always such a gem, Mossy.”

He laughed as well, and punched her in the shoulder. “You say that as if you don’t feel the same ‘bout everykirin, eh?”

Everykirin, I thought, except for Autumn Blaze. I was actually tempted to say it out loud, but my slight irritation was not enough to spur me to such a rash decision.

“Are there any non-living buildings as well?” I asked. “Or is everything built using that same method?”

Mossy Gleam glanced back at me, momentarily disoriented. “Wha’? Non-living… Oh! Nah, we prefer to use living buildings. Most o’ the time, they’re really strong and don’t need repairs.”

“Thank you for your explanations,” I said. “I believe that is all.”

“Well,” Mossy said, “it’s gettin’ late, so I’ll be heading out to The Glowing Kiln. I guess I’ll see y’all around, then!” He waved at us both, then trotted away.

With Mossy Gleam gone, I was once again alone with Cinder Glow.

“Was there any reason you wanted to see a deadtree?” she asked.

“Oh, I was just curious to see if there was anything more I might learn.” ‘Deadtree’ was a specific term that the kirin used for non-living buildings? Interesting, though perhaps I had violated some sort of taboo. “I’m sorry if it was impolite.”

“No, you’re fine. There is a building like what you described.” But she seemed strangely hesitant.

“Is something wrong?” I asked after a moment of silence. “Is it restricted for visitors?”

“It’s at the end of this path.” Cinder Glow pointed at one of the many trails leading away into the surrounding wilderness, but she then looked down at the ground. “We… well, you’ve heard how Autumn Blaze was forced to leave the village. Rain Shine wouldn’t have let her stay anywhere close, so it’s just a long hike.”

Her hesitation made sense, then; no doubt anything stemming from their period of silence was a delicate subject. I supposed that the location of Autumn Blaze’s exile held some cultural significance, but if Cinder Glow was acting as my guide, then there could be no accidental offense. Besides, I was curious.

“I would not mind,” I said.

“Then let’s go,” she replied.

She stepped towards the forested path, and gestured for me to follow. I scrambled to catch up to her, though I glanced back when we were maybe a few dozen paces away from the village proper. From here, the kirin’s home looked so… small. As if it were nothing but a tiny spark of life surrounded by an endless wilderness.

I looked forward again only to see an emerald tail disappear behind a bend in the path, so I once again had to speed up to a canter.

“Oh! Sorry. Am I walking too fast?”

“I was just a little distracted,” I said.

She nodded and continued forwards.

From then on, we walked mostly in silence, and it seemed that Cinder Glow had much on her mind. Not wanting to distract her, I took the opportunity to investigate my surroundings.

The sunlight barely penetrated through the canopy, and with the mist which was common in these mountains, the forest became downright gloomy. I heard phantom noises around me, ones which were no doubt caused either by woodland creatures or by just the wind, and yet I kept casting nervous glances around me.

One particular noise sounded from right behind us, making me jump. Cinder Glow turned around.

“It’s just a squirrel,” she said. And indeed, it was.

Still, I could not keep my heart from racing. “Is there anything… dangerous? In these forests?”

“Have you seen anything of that sort?" Cinder Glow said with a chuckle. “No, there isn’t, or Rain Shine would have warned you.”

“How much longer do we have to stay in these woods?” I asked.

“Still afraid, eh?” She smirked. “But actually, we’re almost there.”

Only after she said those words did I see a gap in the treeline ahead. Cinder Glow suddenly broke into a gallop, and I followed suit.

Once we cleared the forest, we found ourselves at a windswept clifftop, where the mists had been blown away. Cinder Glow came to a stop at the edge of the cliff, and I sat down beside her with a seemingly endless drop only hoofwidths before me.

We oversaw a grassy plain, which stretched away from us towards distant hills. A meandering river ran from the foot of these mountains towards the horizon. The setting sun seemed to dip into its waters, setting the entire river ablaze. A gust of wind blew across us, stinging against my face. Leaves swirled around us, green and golden and red, bringing with them the crisp scent of the forest we had just left behind.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she said, gazing outward from the cliff.

I turned towards Cinder Glow, and directly into the path of a stray leaf.

She lifted the leaf away from my eyes with a red glow, revealing a bright smile and a sparkle in her eyes. I imagined how silly I must have looked. A blush crept up my face.

“It is,” I said, attempting to recover, “though it would be even better with just a couple fewer leaves.”

She laughed at that, a sound which would surely lift the spirits of anypony who heard it. I must have laughed along with her.

But our laughter soon quieted, and we sat there at the cliff’s edge, accompanied only by the wind. Eventually, Cinder Glow was the first to speak.

“I’ve only been here once before, you know. But Autumn Blaze still comes here all the time. She says it’s one of the prettiest places in the Peaks.”

I nodded. “The beauty surpasses any place I’ve seen in Equestria. It makes sense that she would choose to live here.”

“But it wasn’t a choice, was it?” Cinder Glow turned away.

Right. This was a delicate subject. Searching for another topic, I returned to something else she’d mentioned. “What about the only other time you came here? What was it for?”

“After we regained our voices, Autumn had asked for help moving back to the village, and I volunteered. I didn’t notice the beauty. At the time, I didn’t pay attention to much else other than helping her.”

“You must have had a lot on your mind,” I said.

She nodded. “Words were hard, then, and it was the first time in years since I’ve seen Autumn. She’d been gone for so long, and…” She trailed off.

I choose my words carefully. “You didn’t know what it was like.”

Cinder Glow sighed. “You’re right, I didn’t.” She paused. “I wonder how she spent all those days?”

“I cannot imagine,” I said, “though we did come here to look at her old house. Perhaps there are answers there. Though, are you sure that looking at her old belongings is appropriate?”

“Anything she wanted to keep, she already took back to the village. Come on.”

We stood up. The ground in front of the hut was littered with rocks and a few pieces of broken ceramic. Bare sticks jutted out at strange angles, lashed to the building with fraying ropes. A few branches of a tree had been incorporated into its structure, though nowhere to the extent of the other kirin buildings I’d seen. I suspected that Autumn Blaze had initially tried to make the tree her home in its entirety, before giving up and simply using it as structural support.

The floorboards creaked as we entered.

“She truly did empty out the place,” I mused. A few individual items were all that lay around the room, and there was little furniture except for a shelf that looked to be built into the wall. The long cooled-down oven found my companion poking at it, and motes of dust kicked up by our entry glowed like embers in the sunlight which shone through the windows and the cracks in the roof.

“She really built all of this herself,” Cinder Glow said. “Look at this oven. It’s not the best I’ve seen, but I remember Autumn being horrible with ceramics.”

I looked at the construction of the shelf. There were no nails; instead, each plank of wood was connected by a series of indents and protrusions, allowing the pieces to slide together like a puzzle. It was similar to the joinery techniques used back in Equestria, though these ones seemed more intricate than any that I had seen before. I pushed the shelf lightly to test its strength. It would not budge.

A strange contrast with the haphazard construction of the structure itself, I thought.

I finally decided to look at the contents of the shelf. There was a small, dried gourd with a smiley face painted on it. Beside it was a ceramic jar which sat on a loose stack of papers. The jar, too, wore a smile.

“Do you know what all the faces mean?” I asked, idly tracing the lines with a hoof.

“Let me see.” Cinder Glow walked over. “Oh… I remember. I think she said something about these being her companions when she was lonely.”

I froze, my hoof halfway over a painted smile. It was only then, I think, that I began to realize the true cost of Autumn’s exile.

“Yes,” Cinder Glow said, leaning closer. “I think it must have been awful for her. And I don’t think anyone thought to visit, either.”

I slowly set my hoof back on the ground. With whatever comfort these figurines had been able to provide the lonely kirin, I felt that they had earned a degree of respect.

“I wonder why Autumn didn’t take these back with her,” I said.

“She still has one,” Cinder Glow replied. “A twig, I think. And she paints her hooves sometimes.”

I sat down, looking up at the faces and thinking, while Cinder Glow continued exploring.

“I never did get a good look at this,” she said a while later. I turned around. The object she was examining appeared to be a small slab of slate filled with chalk markings.

I stood up and walked over to take a closer look. The markings were grouped, with seven vertical markings crossed by a single horizontal one. Those, too, were in groups of four. As the markings approached the bottom, they became smaller and smaller, until they seemed to run off the edge of the slate.

“I think it’s a calendar,” Cinder said. “Eight days in a week and four weeks in a month for us, anyways.” She levitated the slate with a red glow and flipped it over. “Look, this side is covered, too.”

“There are only about a dozen months recorded on each side,” I said.

“I guess she must’ve given up after a couple years,” Cinder Glow said. She looked away and sighed.

“How… how long, exactly, was she exiled for?”

“Four years and three months, give or take.”

I thought about it. Four years and three months of exile, of being separated from everyone you ever knew. I did not consider myself a very outgoing pony, but I knew that those would surely be the worst four years and three months of my life.

Something else caught my eye. It looked like a piece of paper, though it was almost buried in the dust. I fished it out, nudging it with my hoof to dislodge most of the dust before picking it up in my teeth.

“Here, let me see.” She took the sheet of paper, though on closer inspection, it did not look like any paper I knew. It was as if a thin sheet of solid wood had been shaved from the surface of a tree, and I wondered if that was exactly how it was made.

“It’s a map,” she said. “Look, the village is here, and the forest takes up the rest of it. We’re at the edge.”

The words ‘Home Base’ were accompanied by a little drawing of the building we were in, and ‘Village’ was written beside a drawing of two of the living tree-buildings. A number of crosses dotted the map, all with their own labels and little ticks as well. The words ‘Search for Foal’s Breath, Version 74’ were written across the top of the page.

Cinder Glow, too, noticed the title. “She… she was searching for the foal’s breath flower, all this time. She never gave up on us.” She closed her eyes.

I asked, “What does ‘version seventy-four’ mean, do you think?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “Ask Autumn, maybe. But I won’t. She’s sacrificed enough already.”

I placed a hoof gently on her back.

“Cinder Glow…” I searched for comforting words. “It wasn’t just your fault.”

She barked a sharp, bitter laugh. “But in a way, it was! If I’d wanted to, I probably could have gotten Rain Shine to take her back. It didn’t take anything more than two strangers to convince us, after all.”

“Any kirin could have done so as well, and yet no one did.”

“Maybe we all share the blame, but it doesn’t change the fact that I could have done something, and didn’t.”

This line of conversation was leading nowhere. “Cinder Glow, consider that there was a reason she was exiled in the first place,” I said, pacing slowly in a circle. “After a disaster like the fire, I understand why you would do anything to prevent it from happening again.”

“Did you learn nothing from the story?” She took a breath. “Okay, maybe you don’t have the full picture. Autumn did gloss over a lot of details in that song of hers.”

“Then tell me,” I said, sitting down. “If you’re comfortable with it.”

Cinder Glow seemed agitated, but still she spoke. “There was a lot of blame being passed around after the fires. Everyone was mad at each other, trying to figure out who was responsible. I… I was angry, too. And scared. Rain Shine’s decision was the only thing which would keep the village together.”

I pushed on. “So it made sense to do what you did.”

“You still don’t understand, do you? The silence was the worst consequence of our anger. I hate that we were ever afraid to be ourselves.”

Cinder Glow was breathing heavily. I was afraid to speak, and I could have sworn that the tips of her mane seemed to glow. But after a tense moment, her breaths calmed.

“I guess it’s true that anger isn’t always good,” she continued. “It can often be dangerous. But living like that… it wasn’t really living at all.”

“I… I was afraid of it, too.” I do not know what compelled me to say that. “Your nirik form, I mean. When I first came here, I didn’t know what it could do, and, given the vague warnings that Princess Twilight gave us… I guess I leaped to conclusions.”

Cinder Glow sighed. “Then you’re in good company. But afraid of what, exactly? Unless a kirin tried to burn down your home, too.”

“No. It was just the stories I’ve heard since I was a foal. There’s always been legends about kirin and niriks, and when I received this assignment…” I shoved my face into my hooves. “Sorry, this is ridiculous. And Crosstie talked some sense into me.”

“As I said, you’re in good company. But you’ve never seen any of us in nirik form, right?”

“I admit I haven’t,” I replied. “It cannot be that bad, can it?”

Cinder Glow took a deep breath and held it, before slowly letting it blow out. “Even now, I can’t just let myself be angry. The only time I feel safe doing it is… when I’m acting. Is that weird? I can pretend to be angry.”

I sensed that this was something important, but I did not know what to say.

Cinder Glow looked again at the map she held in her magic. “Despite all of my talking, perhaps I haven’t learned that lesson about being true to yourself, either.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I was… afraid. Afraid of what would happen to me if I had challenged the decision, though Autumn’s exile had seemed so wrong to me even then.” She looked back at me, her eyes glistening, and I thought I could see an endless well of guilt within them. “So I did nothing.”

“But…” I thought for a moment. “So what if it was your fault? But these regrets are in the past, and you can’t change them. Autumn Blaze has forgiven you, and the only thing you can do now is to keep going forward.”

Cinder Glow released the map, allowing it to slowly flutter to the ground. “I guess I’m just afraid that I’m still the same, worthless kirin who wouldn’t stand up for anything.”

“I don’t think you’re worthless.”

A moment passed as Cinder’s expression slowly changed to an almost predatory curiosity. I could have sworn that the temperature in the room changed.

“Ahh, Clear Track. Then what do you think I’m worth, exactly?”

“You’re hardworking and a great companion, and…” The heat rising in my cheeks was most distracting, and yet I had to think of something to say. “You’re worth a friend. One that I am extremely fortunate to have.”

“Oh.” She almost seemed… disappointed.

“Unless,” I quickly added, though I felt the heat intensifying, “what do you want to be?”

She blushed as well, and I was afraid she could hear my heart pound as I waited for a response.

“…well, it’s just that you had a lot of compliments for someone you consider merely a ‘friend’, Clear Track.”

“And despite all that, you didn’t seem satisfied with my answer,” I countered.

We stared at each other a bit more, neither willing to give the other any more verbal ammunition.

“Well,” I said, mustering up my courage, “clearly we are at an impasse. So I suppose I can go first.” I took a deep breath. “I like you, Cinder Glow. A lot. Maybe even more than platonically.”

“‘Maybe’?” she replied, laughing. “Okay, then. And… I guess I feel the same about you.” She smirked knowingly. “Maybe.”

I pressed my luck. “Should we make this… official, then? If we both have feelings for each other, it is only logical—”

She poked my nose with a hoof.

“You silly pony, it doesn’t really matter. And we’ve seen enough here. Let’s go.” She turned towards the door, brushing her tail against my chest.

We walked along that same path back towards the village, though this time in much higher spirits.

Author's Note

New chapter tomorrow as well!

Chapter 3

A few days later, Cinder Glow offered to show me around the theatre.

“It’s been a while since we’ve put on a play,” she said, indicating the open structure currently covered by a velvet curtain. “Everyone was so busy ever since we began preparing for the railway crew. No kirin had time to perform or to watch.”

“It must be a shame,” I said. “I would have loved to watch a kirin performance.”

“We might be able to put one on,” Cinder Glow said. “With the treehouses almost completed and the food problem sorted out, everykirin has a bit more time now.”

Once I had informed Fine Line of the ‘food problem’ the kirin were having, it turned out to have a remarkably simple solution. We simply received a shipment of food along with the construction materials we were receiving every week by rail, and it also provided an opportunity for the kirin to try out Equestrian cuisine.

“Only if it isn’t too much,” I replied. “I’d rather not burden you all more than we already have. Perhaps I could ask the rest of the crew if they’re interested, and you could talk to the kirin?” I knew Crosstie would surely be even more ecstatic than I was at the concept, but it would be no use if everypony else was disinterested.

“Sure,” Cinder Glow replied. “But come on!” She leapt onto the stage and ducked behind the curtains. I followed suit.

“This set seems familiar,” I mused, upon seeing the props that had apparently been left out in the open. “But… that is surely impossible. This is a kirin play, yes?”

“Of course. The Spirit of the Stage?”

“Indeed, I was not mistaken!” I cried. “But how has it become one of the most popular Bridleway musicals in recent months? And I also don’t know anykirin by the name of ‘Silhouette Gloom’, the supposed playwright.”

Cinder Glow smiled. “Give it to Autumn Blaze to use that as her pen name. She must have caught the eye of somepony close to the Equestrian theatre scene.”

We glanced around the stage. Collapsible set pieces were neatly gathered up and placed in little bundles, and when I investigated more closely, it was revealed that a thin layer of dust had settled upon them. Cinder Glow carefully swept it off.

“So, who do you play?”

“I play the Spirit, but I think I remember the script well enough play the other roles if I had to.” Cinder Glow went to a drawer and opened it, taking out a bone-white mask with an unmistakable shape.

“You know,” I said, leaning closer to peer at it, “I have never seen the mask in detail before. It is rather more elaborate than I imagined.”

Cinder Glow blushed. “Most of these were… personal touches. I’m the one wearing this thing, aren’t I?” She briefly put the mask on, and in that moment I could see how it was not just the Spirit’s mask, but her mask, with all of its curves and edges aligning with her visage.

“I like it,” I declared, surprising myself with my bluntness. “It suits you.”

“And now you’re just flattering me,” she said, while almost pushing me over. Still, it was impossible to miss Cinder Glow’s smile as she said those words. Then she sighed as she floated the mask back to its original place. “It’s been too long since I could act.”

“We’ll do it, then,” I said. “Let’s get a performance going.”

And as it turned out, the rest of the crew was potentially interested in such a thing. Crosstie was practically hitting himself for not trying to suggest it earlier. I think most of them were more interested in the novelty rather than the artistry which went into musical theatre, but it was an acceptable outcome nonetheless.

On the kirin side, it turned out that most of the other performers had shared a sentiment similar to Cinder Glow’s: wanting to perform, but too busy to do so. Now that circumstances had improved, they were willing to try to find time for the nessesary preparations and rehearsals. Rain Shine even proposed a general day of celebration on the last day of our contract, something which had Autumn Blaze jumping with somewhat-threatening excitement.

Or perhaps the jumping was rather innocent in and of itself. Her song about all the things that she just had to show the ponies, however, felt less so.

Only a couple weeks separated us from the end of the project now. We had laid down many miles of rail, and Rain Shine was confident in the kirin’s ability to build their own once we left.

During this time, I had formed quite the relationship with Cinder Glow.

We were like a pair of hooves. I could reach to the side when I needed a spike, and Cinder Glow would have one. If I saw that Cinder Glow needed another clamp, I would drop one at her hooves.

She always gave me a brilliant smile when I did that. I would smile back.

Sometimes, when we were done with construction work for the day, we’d socialize, and The Glowing Kiln had become a favourite hangout for the entire crew. Even Fine Line, our project manager, would come here sometimes. Autumn Blaze would often regale us with some tale or another, while Crosstie would be drinking to his heart’s content. Granted, it was tea, not coffee, but the effect seemed to be the same for him.

“You two’ve been hanging out a lot,” Crosstie said after a few cups. “Is there anything else, or are you ‘just friends’?”

I looked at Cinder Glow. She looked back and shrugged. It wasn’t as if we were trying to hide anything, but the subject was a delicate one.

With the noise of the cafe providing a semblance of privacy, I replied, “Maybe just slightly more than that.”

Crosstie smirked. “Just slightly?” At the same time, Cinder Glow bucked me in the shins.

“Don’t listen to him,” Cinder Glow said. “Clear Track’s mind hasn’t been so clear these days.”

“And that would be your fault, Cinder Glow. How am I supposed to keep my head on straight around you?” She blushed. I think I blushed harder. Did I really just say that?

“Hey, you two, can we tone down the PDA? It’s giving me a headache.” Crosstie gave us a smirk. “Jokes aside, I’m happy for you guys. Here’s to friendship and more. Cheers!”

Cinder Glow and I responded in kind as we clinked our cups together.

And after that day, my bond with her only grew stronger. Our relationship had always been known to us, but telling it to somepony else made it seem more real.

But at other times, Cinder Glow and I would walk away from the village, exploring the forests of the Peaks of Peril. This was much more convenient once the crew finally received our treehouses, and we no longer had to make the walk back to the train car.

“It’s getting late,” Cinder Glow said when I stumbled over an unseen tree root. “We should head back.”

I should have agreed with her. Already I could see the brightest of Luna’s stars.

Instead, I replied, “Why can we not stay out here, in the forest?”

She smiled. “You, Clear Track, the one who practically got scared out of your coat by a squirrel, are suggesting to stay here through the night?”

“That happened once.” I shoved her lightly. “Besides, you must admit that these woods can be disorienting at times. Were you not the one who insisted that you knew these woods like the walls of your hoof?”

She shoved me back. “That was also just one time. Besides, we're here, aren't we? No harm, no foul.”

“Indeed we are here, and I see no reason to leave. The nights are mild, and we might share the warmth.”

Cinder Glow’s cheeks grew a little brighter. “I... suppose.”

“If it becomes cold,” I added, “I would simply need to make you really angry.”

Cinder Glow turned away from me with a scowl, and it felt like my heart stopped.

“No, no!” I said. “Cinder Glow, I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”

Cinder Glow shook her head, still facing away from me. “No, I’m the one who should be sorry. Did I ever tell you that I was the one who started the fire?”

It took a moment for me to realize which fire she was referring to—the one which had consumed the village and led to years of silence. “You had not.”

She sighed. “The other kirin don’t treat me any differently for it. But it’s still my fault for that argument. Maybe if I just hadn’t smashed Winter Flame’s vase…”

Just look at me, I thought. Just look at me, please. Tell me it’s okay.

“I… am sorry for that, Cinder Glow.” I stepped up beside her, and laid a hoof across her back. “But you should not be. The mistake has been corrected, and I daresay the kirin have learned from the experience.”

Cinder Glow finally turned. Her eyes were glossy, reflecting a dozen stars.

“I know that in my head. But not in my heart.”

I did not know what to say after that, and apparently, neither did she. But we wandered along the forest for a while, trotting side by side, until we arrived at a small clearing. The sky had grown much darker.

“The stars, Cinder Glow.” I stared up at the night sky. “In my home, you never see so many stars. Thousands of street lamps, millions of homes, all shining light into the dusty air. The light pollution blocks out all except for the brightest of them.”

“I’ve lived all my life in these mountains,” Cinder Glow replied. “To me, this is normal. Yet when I think about the rest of the world… it frightens me, just a little. What’s Manehattan like, Clear Track? Not how others would describe it. You.”

I thought for a moment, taken aback at the sudden question. What was Manehattan to me?

Then I spoke.

“It’s the ponies there, and the memories I’ve made with them.” I looked her in the eye. “That’s all that home is, isn’t it?”

Cinder Glow smiled, and shook her head. “Keep explaining.”

I tried to think of some examples. “Manehattan Park is one of the most beautiful urban parks in Equestria, but that doesn’t really matter. All that matters are the times I’ve been there with my father and with Crosstie. And the same goes for plays I’ve watched at Bridleway. I was never interested in theatre, but when Crosstie took me to a few performances, suddenly it became important to me.”

Cinder Glow paused. “Huh. I… suppose that makes sense. Do you have many other friends there?”

“There’s Crosstie, whom I mentioned, and there’s the ponies I hang out with at the bars. Goldenrod, Star Spot, Radical Numbers… but apart from Crosstie, none of them are very close friends. Why?”

“In this village, I know every kirin who lives here. I’ve played with them growing up, and even during the hardest of times, we’ve always worked together. Especially during the hardest of times.” Cinder Glow looked down. “I’d be lost without them. I don’t think I could ever adjust to a big city like that.”

“Why would you need to?” I said. “I think this place is beautiful, and you fit perfectly.”

“Do you really mean that?” she asked. Her voice was trembling. “All of it?”

“I do. It’s a wonderful village, and—”

Cinder Glow leaned forward and pressed her snout alarmingly close towards mine. I leaned away instinctively.

And immediately realized my mistake.

“No, Cinder Glow, wait!” I said, desperate. Cinder Glow’s face was a bright red, and I felt my own cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I… I would be fine with it.”

Cinder Glow shook her head. “No, you don’t have lie just to make me—”

I wrapped a hoof around her mane and pressed her face against mine.

It was perfect. It lasted forever. It lasted only a moment.

We pulled apart. I was breathing heavily.

“What… what now?” I said.

“What do you mean?” Cinder Glow asked. “Was I… bad?”

“No, no, nothing like that!” I blushed in embarrassment. “But the construction project is over soon. Where would we be after that?”

“You think too much,” Cinder Glow said. She tapped me on the nose. “There’s still quite a while.”

“Maybe,” I replied. “But it’s a legitimate question, and better to deal with them sooner rather than later.”

“And just because the project ends doesn’t mean you don’t have to leave.” She gestured around us. “You said this place was beautiful, and you don’t have many friends in Manehattan. You could stay here. You could even keep building railways.”

“Yes. I suppose I could.” I thought for a moment. “Or you might move to Manehattan with me, and we can experience the beauty of my home together. And if that doesn’t work? The world is a great place. We could go anywhere.”

“See, Crosstie? There’s so many options. So you can stop panicking.”

“Yes, I suppose. Though we should still keep it on our minds?” I looked at her. Cinder Glow looked back. Her eyes. Those shining, golden eyes.

“I will.”

Eventually, we fell asleep in that meadow, wrapped in a blanket of starlight and in each other’s hooves.

That question churned in my head over the next few days. To stay, or to leave? Manehattan was what I knew. I loved the atmosphere of the run-down bars, the curated beauty of Manehattan Park, even the cramped little place that I called home.

But I had never before met anyone like Cinder Glow. She was a roaring fire in a cold room. I did not wish to part with her.

Apart from Crosstie, I had few close connections. I asked if he would consider moving to the Peaks of Peril.

“Of course not!” he said. “The village is nice, the kirin too, but I wouldn’t give up Manehattan just for that. It’s so… small, here.” He paused for a moment, scratching his head. “This is about Cinder Glow, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, feigning innocence.

“Well, I know how long you’ve lived in Manehattan, and it’s not like we’ve been stuck there.” Crosstie scratched his head. “For Celestia’s sake, you’ve been working railways longer than I have. I can tell you like this place, but not more than any of those other cities and towns we’ve been.”

“You have me there.” I sat down. “So, what do I do?” I knew that Crosstie could be… odd, sometimes, but he was my dear friend and I respected his advice.

“What, about moving or not?” Crosstie shrugged. “Look, I might be a little biased here, ’cause I’d miss hanging out with you. But think about it. Would you live here if it wasn’t for her?”

“The food here is superb, and the views are…” I paused at Crosstie’s raised eyebrow. “Fine. Admittedly, I would not.”

“So you see, it’s really between you and Cinder Glow. I mean, you technically could just move back if it doesn't work out. But the fact that you’re asking me this question, rather than Cinder Glow, says something.”

That last sentence seemed unusual for the mostly straightforward Crosstie, but I was in no mood to delve any deeper.

The relationship, of course, did not did not go unnoticed. Though Crosstie had been the first to realize—or at least be so blunt as to bring it to our attention—a number of ponies and kirin eventually became aware of it. And of those, I suppose it was no surprise that some came to the same conclusion that Crosstie had.

A blade hung over our heads, and the rope was fraying.

“Rain Shine wants to speak with you two,” Fine Line said.

“But our shift isn’t over,” I replied.

“Honestly, Clear Track? You haven’t been doing much anyway.”

I hung my head in shame, because it was true. How could we, our thoughts being as occupied as they were?

But to my surprise, she continued, “I should have called you off sooner. The railway’s almost finished anyway, so there was no point in forcing yourselves to work.” She paused for a moment, as if steeling herself for a dive into frigid water. “There’s also another consideration.”

“Which is?” Cinder Glow prompted.

She sighed. “I don’t know about you, Cinder Glow, but for me, Princess Twilight Sparkle had clearly set out the primary purpose of this assignment, and it was not to build the railway. It was to teach you, and more than that, it was to improve relations with the kirin in general.” Fine Line shook her head. “I just hope that the Princess can forgive how I've totally botched this. But the rest is not for me to say. Just go and talk to Rain Shine, please.”

“Clear Track. Cinder Glow. Please, make yourselves comfortable, and help yourselves to anything you’d like.”

There were three cups of foal’s breath tea—the scent was more than familiar to me by now—and a small bowl of snacks on the wooden mat. Not just local fruits, either; Rain Shine had managed to find some of the chocolates from the food shipments. I awkwardly sat down on the provided cushion, while Cinder Glow did so significantly less awkwardly.

Rain Shine lay down only once we had settled in, her large frame seeming to spill across the floor. Lowering herself to eye level had managed to remove some of the intimidation factor.

“The project will be over soon,” she said. “And from what I understand, it has gone exceptionally well. Cinder Glow, would you say that the kirin are close to being able to build their own railway?”

“With materials, we could probably extend the current network,” she replied. “But that’s not why we’re here, right?”

Rain Shine sighed, and I could see how her entire body seemed to deflate. “I am happy for you two,” she began. And she took yet another breath. “Like wind and rain, one is lonely without the other.”

Cinder Glow blushed and leaned against my shoulder.

“But we all know that there is no warmth without flame.” Rain Shine paused for a moment, then lifted her own cup with an unsteady golden glow before drinking in one gulp what must have been most of the tea. “The project is almost over, which means coming to a decision about the future. I won’t tell you what to do. I will suggest that you figure it out before the project ends, so that there is no risk of misunderstanding.”

Her words were met only by sullen looks. Of course we knew that already.

Rain Shine managed to force herself onward despite the lack of response. “Clear Track, I would welcome you, or any of the other construction ponies, to live in our village. You have been such wonderful help for us, and I think I speak for all of the kirin when I say that your presence has been a delight. And with the new railway extension, it should not be too difficult for you to move your belongings here.”

“And you’ll even have a place to stay,” Cinder Glow added. “I mean, we were going to use them as sort of temporary visitors’ housing after the project, but you could keep your current if you wanted.”

I only managed to nod as my stomach twisted itself into knots. Living here and leaving Manehattan behind… it would be a serious commitment. Wasn’t foal’s breath tea meant to make the drinker more talkative?

Seeing that I had little more that I wanted to say on the matter, Rain Shine shook her head. “I had hoped… but no, this meeting would not have been needed if that was the case.” She sighed and turned her attention towards my companion. “Cinder Glow, you might remember how I had spoken many times with Princess Twilight Sparkle in these past few years.”

Rain Shine received a single half-hearted nod. I knew that Cinder Glow loved the village, and more than that, so much of herself was intertwined with this place. She did not want to go any more than I wanted to leave Manehattan.

“One of those times,” Rain Shien continued, “the Princess brought up the topic of what she called ‘immigration’. I still do not understand why the process of moving to Equestria should be so complicated, but she mentioned that she was slowly making it easier. The Princess wants Equestria to be a home for any creature, so if you wish to move there, I know that she would be glad to help you through the steps.”

Cinder Glow’s expression darkened, and I put a hoof around her back. I wished that I could comfort her more—yet, I was the very reason she might give up her home.

Rain Shine noticed as well. “You have been one of the kirin I can always rely on,” she said. “Ever since I became leader, and even before then, you were always there for the village. You have done so much, Cinder Glow”—and there her words almost choked off—“and I never would have made it through those first days without you.”

Cinder Glow tried to hang her head even lower, but a glow caught her chin and lifted it.

“Whatever debt you think you owe to the village, you have already paid it, and a thousand times more. I will miss you dearly if you do decide to go, as I would miss any kirin of our village. But you have no obligation to stay.”

There were tears in Cinder Glow’s eyes, and as I noticed, in Rain Shine’s well. I let her go as Rain Shine pulled her into an embrace.

“The fire wasn’t your fault,” the kirin leader said softly. “No more than anyone else.” Rain Shine looked at me while Cinder Glow collapsed into sobs. “Clear Track, you should know why I made those terrible decisions that day. The smoke from our smoldering homes was heavy in the air, yet most of us were still niriks, looking for something, or someone, to blame for the fire. The only way to stop the anger, to stop anykirin from being hurt or worse… it was for each and every one of us to bear the full responsibility for what happened.”

Author's Note

Final chapter tomorrow.

Chapter 4

It was the last night before the scheduled performance. Once again, Cinder Glow and I set out along the forested paths which had been the setting of so many carefree evenings. Tonight, however, was anything but. In heavy silence we walked, and in silence we sat down together beside that old shack.

This was the first time we had come here at night. The stars lit the sky like sparks of flame, and the river glowed silver under the Moon’s light. But the most beautiful thing I could see was my companion’s silhouette.

“Are you going to come back?” she eventually asked.

“I don’t know,” I replied, somewhat truthfully. “Will you come with me?”

“Maybe,” she replied, and I could tell that she was also trying to convince herself.

We sat there for another few minutes.

“I love you,” I said out of impulse, or perhaps out of desperation.

“I love you too,” she replied. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“Neither do I.”

The silence of the rustling leaves pressed against my temples. I saw a shooting star. There was nothing to wish for.

“Cinder Glow, what will happen?” I said in a trembling whisper. I was afraid that she would hear me, but my lips could not keep these words from coming out.

“I don’t know.” And we both knew it was a lie.

It was the last day, a day meant for celebration and general revelry. The celebration was for a job well done, and indeed I felt we deserved it; we had finished the railway on schedule, with the kirin crewmembers being able to complete the last stretch by themselves. Rain Shine was completely satisfied with our work, and by extension Princess Twilight would be as well.

And as for the general revelry, who didn’t like a bit of partying?

The kirin were wonderful hosts—as they had been since the beginning—which meant they wished to contribute as well. Food, drinks, venues, and company were graciously provided, despite their own busy schedules.

But while everyone else was enjoying themselves, my heart wasn’t in it, and I retreated to my room.

“Hey, have you and Cinder Glow decided on anything?”

Crosstie’s voice was often welcome, but not in this case. I shook my head and continued packing.

This might be my last day in a house like this, I thought. Living inside a living tree. Well, that doesn’t matter anyways.

“Clear Track, you okay?” The voice was closer now.

What do you think? I thought. I threw my pillow into a saddlebag and waited.

“Okay, I get it. But Rain Shine is wrapping up her speech, which means the play is gonna start soon. And… I thought that I’d just remind you.”

I finally turned around and saw that Crosstie was standing way too close to me. I flinched.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, backing up. “But you’re coming, right?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Let’s go.”

I shouldered my way to the front of the crowd and waited.

It's interesting what one’s thoughts will focus on in such a situation. I had seen The Spirit of the Stage before, which meant there was little reason for me to pay attention to the story itself. It wasn’t why I fought for a front-row seat, after all; I was still waiting for that. But some part of me must have appreciated the artistry which went into the performance.

And eventually, there she was. Cinder Glow, playing the Spirit.

Even though I knew she was playing a male part, she still shocked me when I heard her. It was so unlike her usual voice, a rich and dramatic tenor rather than the bright, soft tone I was used to. I had seen actors who could change the presentation of their voice before, but never as convincingly or as expressively as she did. It was a side of her I had never seen—or rather, heard.

Half of my mind watched the play, while the other half ran through wild fantasies. We would form a traveling troupe of kirin and pony performers alike, starting from Manehattan and branching out from there. Or I would become an engineer and an ambassador to the kirin, living with here and forging a tie between the village and Equestria. Maybe we would leave our old lives behind and end up in a little corner of the world, living off the land and making everything with our own hooves—though why I even thought of this idea, I still don’t know. Perhaps Autumn Blaze’s exile had affected me.

But it was not as if I had been able to completely ignore the play in front of me. At least, I had noticed enough to realize that, were it not for my state of mind, it would have been one of the greatest productions I had ever experienced. Especially I felt that the scenes were written with this specific theatre in mind, given the way that the movements and set changes simply worked. There were other differences, though I could not tell if they had been improvisations or if the Bridleway producers had modified the play for a pony audience.

In either case, this version seemed more true to me.

But it was only during the scenes with the Spirit when I truly paid attention to the performance—though perhaps I cared even less for the story then. Because my eyes were on Cinder Glow, noticing her every movement, trying to remember every sound of her voice. She channeled the Spirit’s emotions—his desire, envy, and rage—and through her I drank of them in an attempt to fill my own.

Few things would have had me break out of that trance. And yet, I was startled when Cinder Glow suddenly turned to face me, right as the final act was concluding. I could manage to see both of her eyes, even the one shadowed by the mask. It reminded me of the countless times I had seen those same eyes, under an autumn canopy or a starry sky. And I was frozen in shock as she said the familiar lines:

Go, flee, forget all of this!
Take the boat and don’t look back!
Stay hidden—don’t let them find you!

Cinder Glow continued to stare at me, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I noticed that everyone else was also looking at her in confusion.

If this world has, at all, any mercy,
May this be the last time you ever hear of me.

Though these words were only a part of the script, I knew that they were not meant for just the performance. Then she huddled in on herself as the other actors left the stage in their prop gondola, her eyes still focused on me as she sang softly:

A spirit,
Not fit to be among the living.
A spirit,
Cannot take off the mask he’s wearing.
So much to want, and none deserved.
The curtains close, let hell be served!
My songbird, on your soul I depend,
And without you, our music shall end.

I understood.

As the clapping died down, Crosstie turned to me and asked, “What was that about?”

“Huh?” I replied. My mind was still in a haze. “It’s fine. It’s fine.”

Rain Shine gave another speech, and then we headed back, to our lodgings and then to the train and Equestria.

After I left, I did sometimes think about sending a letter, or perhaps even visiting. But whenever I lifted my quill to paper, I could never bring myself to write anything. And why would I ever take the train all the way to the Peaks again, just to give her false hope—or to pain myself with the sight of her with someone else?

Though I do hope that she never tried to contact me, because if she did, then I never received anything. Hopefully she would understand the inconsistency of the postal service. She meant too much to me for a message to be ignored.

Still, I should never have let myself fall for her.

Best to let sleeping kirins lie, lest you be drawn like a moth to their flame.

Author's Note

Many, many thanks to the former and current members of Bean’s Writing Group who have helped me with this story.

In particular, to Bean, Techno Flare, Gay for Gadot, thesmokinguy, Scriblits Talo, Short Tale, Nighthawk, and Milk & Honey.

Retrospective blog possibly coming.