The Wanderer

The resounding last call of the train’s whistle brings your thoughts to the forefront of reality.

Peeling your head from its well-used perch on the window, you turn to see your fellow passengers beginning their disembarkment. Not wanting to be left behind, you clutch the handle of your suitcase and roll it out into the aisle, joining the tired masses with a huff of exhausted breath as you stand. You give a polite nod to the cabin’s attendant as you step out onto the landing, the cold air greeting you by nipping at your nose with a stray breeze.

Ponyville is the same as it’s ever been; that is to say, infinitely more welcoming and homey, even this late at night. Since it’s Friday, the streets are busier than usual, as is the norm with the onset of the weekend looming on high.

In the business sector, the Friday rush was largely unpleasant, due mostly to the belligerence of most of its elitist residents. Here, though, among the commonality of those much like you, you’d go so far as to say that hitting the local bar with friends was a great time.

The remembrance of nights spent under the stars, all of you tipsy and beset with joy, draws your focus back to the purpose of your stint in town. Wordlessly, you march onward, your recollection having faintly painted your expression with jubilation.

Your memory of the town ensures a quick trip, much to the dismay of your frozen face, buffeted by the wind all the while. You bring your free hand to your collar and tug upward, obscuring your chin and part of your mouth from the harsh winter chill.

Before long, an all-too-familiar oak stands tall in front of you, illuminated from the outside by the orange glow of various lanterns and lights from other buildings. The shrubbery on some of the window arches has grown quite a bit since you were last here; where there were once bushes, there now sits flowing cascades of greenery and flora, the front of which hang slightly over the windows themselves, silhouetted by the light within.

She must’ve been letting it grow out for winter. Better insulation, or something along those lines.

Whatever the case may be, you close the distance between yourself and the front door, where the earthy, almost bitter scent of the tree wafts into your nose. Bringing your hand up to the door, you gently place three firm knocks into the carved-out impression of a candle, stepping back a tad once you’ve finished.

From within, just above the dull row of the windy night, you can make out the rustling of someone leaving their seat. A few seconds later, footsteps; faster than a normal gait. Hoofsteps, then.

Wispy thrums of magic grace your ears as the handle is enveloped in a bright purple aura. The door turns ajar gingerly, revealing the first friend you’d ever made in Equestria, clad in her reading glasses and pajamas.

Her purple coat is a bit disheveled; by the looks of it, the poor mare was almost asleep when you knocked on her door. Her hair shares the same fate, matted on one side. More than likely, it ended up that way after nearly passing out on a book, if you know her well enough.

“Anon?” she asks, visibly confused by your sudden and unannounced presence.

You offer her the most sincere smile you’ve given since leaving for Canterlot four years ago, hoping to defuse any uncertainty you’ve brought to the table.

“It’s nice to see you again, Twilight.”

You rub your left cheek bashfully, regretful for having woken her from what would’ve likely been a peaceful night’s sleep.

“I’m really sorry if I woke you up. A lot’s happened, and I didn’t really know where else to go, so I hopped on the first train here that I could find, and-”

You’re cut off by a purple blur latching onto you, forehooves thrown around your midsection as she mats her hair further by resting her head against the bottom of your chest.

“I missed you, you big goofball,” she greets you, muted slightly as you return the gesture and bring her in for a tight hug.

As she steps down from the embrace, she grabs the handle of your suitcase with her aura, dragging it into the house alongside her.

“Come on in,” she offers warmly, looking back at you, decidedly more awake than when she first answered the door. “I’ll make us some tea.”

A familiar offer that you can’t refuse.

You follow after her, taking care to gently shut the door behind you as you cross into your old home. Above all, the familiar scent of lavender hits you like a runaway train. You can remember only faintly smelling it when you lived here, but in the four years since you’ve been gone, it’s grown far stronger than you ever could have imagined it would.

Apart from the domination of your olfactory system, you see that Twilight reorganized the actual library section of her house into something like an extension of her living room. Rather than a relatively empty space with a few book stands strewn about, there now sits a couch, a few loveseats, and the odd reading chair.

“I really like what you did with the front room,” you compliment, genuinely enthused by the change. “It feels even cozier than it used to.”

“You really think so?” she calls back to you as you catch up to her, both of you crossing into the actual living room. “I figured that the extra furniture would make it a nice place to settle in with a good book. You know, for the odd pony that comes in and checks something out.”

“And for you, no doubt,” you tease.

She grins sheepishly, looking up at you from your left side.

“Somepony had to make sure it was comfortable, Anon,” she responds with a slight giggle. “Without proper testing, how could I have justified the expense?”

“Touchè.”

Passing by the living room, she leads you to the guest bedroom, where she drops off your suitcase just inside before turning to you once more.

“You still like chamomile, right?” she asks.

“I can’t even imagine a day where I would stop liking chamomile.”

“That’s a relief,” she half-laughs. “Rarity’s developed a palette for tea recently, and Spike took after it with her, so I’ve run out of every other kind of tea.”

You can’t help but chuckle.

“He’ll grow out of it eventually, I bet.”

She giggles as she turns to head toward the kitchen. You follow in kind, resting your elbows on the island countertop while she fetches the leaves from one of her cabinets.

“I hope so. He doesn’t even like tea, he just thinks she’ll be impressed by his ‘refined taste.’”

“Speaking of him, what’s he up to?” you inquire, looking around for any sign of him. “Isn’t he usually still up around now?”

“He’s probably fast asleep upstairs,” she responds as she gets the kettle ready. “We had a long day today.”

“Do tell.”

“Well,” she begins, moving to light her heinously old - at least by your standards - stove. “We did a lot of running around in town, trying to get the last touches for the winter festival ready.”

The flame in the stove ignites, enshrouding the kitchen, as well as the two of you, in a dull, warm glow.

“Being in charge of the whole thing this time around has been fun, but it’s also been really stressful. Honestly, you wouldn’t believe how many ponies that signed up to help out were just slacking off until the last minute.”

“How many were there?”

She adopts a dumbfounded expression, most likely the same one she wore when she initially discovered how much work was left.

“Three whole ponies!” she exclaims, careful to keep her volume down. “Three!”

She sets the kettle down on the stovetop and turns her full attention to you.

“It felt like thirty with all the work we had to help them catch up on.”

The exhaustion of the day makes itself known in her gaze, a tired and fed-up pair of eyes pointed right at you. You mentally kick yourself again for interrupting what was probably a well-deserved rest.

“Were you able to kick their butts into gear?”

“Just barely,” she sighs, “There shouldn’t be any problems tomorrow, hopefully.”

Tomorrow, huh? You sure picked a hell of a time to play couch surfer, Anon.

“Well, I’m more than happy to help out, if you need.”

She beams at you from across the countertop, her exhaustion replaced by a grateful smile.

“I might just take you up on that offer, Anon,” she replies, using her magic to lift the lid of the kettle and check on the tea before gently placing it back down. “In fact, did you want to come to the festival with me tomorrow? The booths only need one last lookover, so it should give us plenty of time to catch up.”

As she finishes her sentence, the low whine of the kettle fills the room, prompting her to turn the stove off and place the kettle on a nearby rag.

“Besides,” she continues, searching her cabinet for the tea leaves. “You could surprise the girls! I know they’d be excited to see you again.”

It had been quite some time since you’d connected with the motley crew in any meaningful capacity beyond back-and-forth letters. Letters, for better or worse, had become routine in your hectic day-to-day crawl. There wasn’t much room for anything else, shy of the odd holiday off here and there.

You’re ashamed to admit it, but keeping the flames of friendship kindled had been knocked down a few notches on the totem pole of responsibilities thanks to your previous job. Even so, the girls did a good job of acting like nothing had changed, Twilight included. Despite your letters becoming sparse during busy product releases, it was always as if you had replied to them just yesterday.

A pit in your gut opens, its maw unhinged.

“...Yeah. Yeah, I’d really like that.”

Twilight, looking over at you while she pours the tea, seems to notice the tension building up within you, though you can’t place exactly where on your neutral features she discerned it from. Ever the analyst, that mare.

“Is everything okay, Anon?” she inquires, placing tea bags across the tops of both cups as she does so. “You look bothered by something all of a sudden.”

You’re far too tired for any sort of deflection tonight.

“It’s just… it’s been so long since I’ve made time to see any of you.”

She rests her expectant gaze squarely on you, saying nothing as she finishes pouring the tea, opting to let you expound your thoughts.

“And I haven’t exactly been timely with my letters, either. I guess I was…”

It’s not a guess, it’s a fact.

You fidget slightly against the counter, discomfort with yourself manifesting a malignant tightness in your heart.

“I haven’t been a good friend to any of you.”

You lean further into the counter, hanging your head over your forearms.

“I got so bogged down with trying to make it in Canterlot, I just… lost sight of everything else.”

She shifts in place slightly, readjusting as she gracefully passes you your steaming cup of tea with her aura. Mulling in careful consideration for a few moments, she softly speaks up, doing her best to soothe you.

“Is that why you came back so suddenly?” she asks, speaking steadily with careful, gentle intonation.

Was it? Are you sure you didn’t come back just to bum a bed off of your old friend? Twilight was the first person that crossed your mind after quitting, sure, but the only thing you were preoccupied with was getting the hell out of Canterlot.

You’re terrified of the notion of having picked up the acidic habit of selfishness from your poisonous environment. You rub your face roughly in a cyclical motion, attempting to rid yourself of your acquired depravity.

“Hey,” she interrupts, not letting your thoughts have one moment more in the spotlight.

Removing your face from your palms, you’re greeted by Twilight’s worn-out countenance, mere inches from you. Though there is no grin present, you can feel no malice of any kind behind her affable eyes.

Without a word, she rears up on her hind legs, once again wrapping herself around your midsection in a warm embrace, cheek pressed tightly against your solar plexus. Her warmth sinks through your clothes and into your body, and you become a conjoined radiator of comfort and kindness. You reach over and squeeze her tighter against you, feeling wholly undeserving of such a display of empathy.

“Everything is alright, Anon,” she coos into your chest, giving you a good squeeze after a few moments before stepping back down, staggered hoofsteps echoing gently throughout the kitchen as she does so. Her disarmingly amiable smile returns in full force, halting most thoughts from running rampant.

“Sometimes, when we chase our dreams,” she begins, never once breaking eye contact, “we get so caught up in the chase itself that we lose sight of everything else. Nothing exists in that moment but ourselves, and the goal we’ve fought for so long to achieve.”

“It can happen to anyone. I mean, look at how I used to be before Ponyville!” she exclaims, a chuckle rising from her chest.

“The thing is,” she continues, a mentorly tone guiding her voice as her face takes on a more serious expression. “In our race to cross the finish line, we end up making sacrifices that aren’t necessary without ever realizing it. And then, only when we’ve finally reached the end, the weight of what we’ve lost hits us all at once.”

Your heart contorts with pain at the thought of your fate, should you have stayed at Flair and continued slaving away. Memories of past holidays where Rarity would ask you to visit more frequently now stab at you with unholy vigor.

“It’s important to chase your dreams, there’s no doubt about that,” she expands. “But it’s even more important to live your life in the present tense while you’re chasing those dreams. And if it’s really your dream, you won’t have to compromise any part of your inner self to achieve it.”

You pore over her advice, hanging on each word amid the silence that follows. It all reflects back at you, casting clearly the image of yourself that you had imagined you would reach someday.

The ideal was always distant, with its intimate details hazy at best, but you could always envision your overarching qualities.

Successful, opulent, promising, et cetera.

Now, removed from your cubicle hellscape, the introspection has become far clearer. The future you looks great, sure. Nice clothes, spacious house, friends in high places; the song and dance of luxury.

But there’s no mistaking that glint of pure exhaustion in his flat eyes, nor the bags that accentuate it so. The graying hair atop his head is neatly groomed, but lifeless and flat from years of overwhelming stress. There is no jubilance in his stature, only prostration and weariness.

What’s more, for the first time ever, the destination of your once-dream becomes clear. All around this future self are those like him; a menagerie of royal husks, surrounded by their nigh-servile laborers who provide them succor with no recompense. Important chatter is passed back and forth, but not one of them - not a one - ever truly means what they say to one another. Masks behind masks behind masks, all playing the same game for the rest of their pitiable lives.

They extend for miles into immeasurable, golden space; a grove of standing dead.

“Anon, are you okay?”

The vision rips itself away, planting you firmly back in the dimly lit kitchen of the treebrary. Across from you, closer than before, Twilight reaches out to you with a single hoof, looking absolutely mortified.

“...Huh?” you ask, not sure what just happened.

“Y-You had this glassy look in your eyes, and you were starting to lean forward, a-and I didn’t know if you were gonna fall, so I just-”

She cuts her manic explanation off, unsure of what to say next.

“Are you alright?” she asks, now uncaring of her volume.

You place your hands against the edge of the countertop, leaning against it to steady yourself against the wave of vertigo.

“I think your impromptu friendship lesson just kick-started my midlife crisis.”

It’s a fight to get every word out from the bottom of your throat.

“I thought you said you were young for your species?” Twilight asks, a hint of confusion clouding the rest of her concern.

“I am.”

You grasp for your teacup on the counter, careful not to spill any with your relatively unsteady hand. With a single swig, half of the soporific liquid is gone, the still-hot nectar serving to open your throat up once more. It burns on the way down, but you take the pain on the chin with naught more than a deep wince.

Looking back up, Twilight seems a lot more mellowed out now that you’ve broken out of… whatever it is that just happened.

“Wanna go sit on the couch?” she asks with a gentle smile, levitating her cup alongside her. “It’s always easier to get tired when you’re resting. Plus, I don’t want you falling over if whatever that was happens again.”

You nod wordlessly, removing yourself from the kitchen counter and testing your legs. Everything feels alright; no dizziness, legs aren’t weak, and your vision is okay.

“Lead the way, purple smart.”

She throws a half-hearted scowl your way before heading back into her living room, with you in tow.

“Anon, you know how I feel about that awful nickname,” she chastises, putting on the most serious face she can muster.

“Oh, come on, it’s on the same level as ‘goofball.’”

“It’s not, and you know it!”

You can’t hold back your laughter as you both take your seat on the couch, each of you on separate sides.

“Okay, it’s pretty bad,” you concede, lowering your volume as you remember Spike is just upstairs.

She hums in approval, both of you sipping gingerly at the calming tea in silence for a time. It’s surprisingly quiet with both of you focused on your drinks; the combined gentle breathing from both of you is enough to stand out from the sounds of the house settling and the wind outside.

“You know,” she begins, breaking the silence with her voice barely above a whisper. “You never did say what brought you back home. You made allusions to it, but nothing specific.”

You lean into the cushion behind you, letting your head rest on it as your vision locks onto the ceiling.

“I quit my job at Flair after my boss’s boss called me an ape.”

She nearly chokes on her tea, clearly baffled.
“He what?” she exclaims, albeit in a hushed tone.

“Yeah, a product launch went bad because of another department’s mistake, and I got all of the heat for it. He’d always been breathing down our necks anyways, so any excuse to get on our cases was like a holiday to him. He even threatened my career growth…”

You take another dainty sip, already feeling more at ease after having drunk most of the cup.

“He called me an ape under his breath as I was leaving, but I heard it. I made it very clear that he was the reason I quit.”

“What did you say to him?” she asks, frustration at your former employer leaking out through her words.

You refocus your gaze onto her, cocking an eyebrow as your smirk grows.

“I’m not repeating any of that in front of you,” you admit, a chuckle overtaking your sentence.

“Was it really that bad?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if I was blacklisted from working in the business sector entirely.”

Her expression turns to bewilderment as she takes another sip from her cup, her drowsiness beginning to show as much as yours. She finishes it with one final swig, setting it down on the coffee table in front of her.

“Well, I’m glad you got out of there,” she replies, turning to face you fully. “I was starting to get worried about you, to be honest.”

It’s your turn to be surprised.

“Really?”

“Really. The last few times you visited, you just seemed so… out of it. Almost everypony could tell.”

You think back to the last time you saw everyone together. As far as you can remember, you felt fine. Were you really so deeply buried that you couldn’t even recognize it...?

“We asked if everything was okay in Canterlot,” she continued solemnly, “but you just kept insisting that you were alright, and that your job was just getting a bit stressful. We could see a different story written all over your expression.”

“I really looked that bad?”

“Anon, your dark circles were so pronounced when you got here that Rarity wanted to offer you concealer.”

...Shit.

“Well, don’t worry,” you reply, mustering up a resolute smile and throwing it her way. “I don’t intend on going back for anything.”

She tosses the same expression right back at you, clearly pleased with your decision.

“Good. After everything you’ve told me, there was no way I was going to let you.”

Just then, a twinned yawn breaks out in the two of you; the somnolent nectar has fully nested itself within the both of you, it seems. Combined with the heft of the day’s events, you’re having trouble even keeping your eyes open. Next to you, a stifled giggle rings out.

“Tired?” Twilight asks, her own exhaustion threatening to overtake her as well.

“Mhm. Everything’s just… crashing all at once. God, what brand of chamomile was that?”

She gets up off of the couch, reaching with her magic for a blanket tucked away in one of the shelves on the wall.

“A local vendor,” she says as she fishes it off of the shelf, reeling it back in. “We can actually get some more tomorrow at the festival, if you’d like to.”

“Please.”

Another giggle drapes itself over the soundscape as she hands you the comforter, which you hold to your chest.

“It’s still supposed to get a fair bit colder, so here’s a spare blanket for tonight. I wouldn’t want to wake up and find a human popsicle downstairs, would I?”

“Depends. What flavor would I be?”

She brings her hoof to her chin, tackling your inquiry head-on.

“Hmmm… You strike me as a spearmint flavor, I think.”

“I’ll take that.”

“What about me?” she asks, searching your features as if trying to figure out your answer before even you do.

You take far less time to decide than she did.

“Grape, no question about it.”

She deadpans, looking you square in the eyes.

“Let me guess…” she sighs, clearly done with your shit. “It’s because I’m purple.”

“Nnnnnnnnnnyes.”

She plants her head firmly into her waiting hoof with a resounding thud. Even through her disappointment, you can see the faint smile breaking through her lips.

“I don’t have the energy to argue about that,” she says, trying to hold back a laugh.

She shifts her gaze upward to the ticking clock on her wall. You follow in suit, reading the clock as your eyes pore over it: 11:42 PM.

“We should get some sleep,” she resigns, another strong yawn wracking her entire body. “We’ve got a relatively early schedule tomorrow, and we need to be in tip top shape so we can help anypony who needs it.”

You rise from your seat, still clinging tightly to the down comforter for its continued warmth.

“You got it, Twi. What should I set the alarm to?”

“The festival starts at noon,” she says, collecting her thoughts. “We should be there to help set everything up by ten at the latest, so… Let’s say around eight for the alarms.”

“Gotcha. I’ll be up and at ‘em.”

“You better be,” she jokingly threatens, exchanging a warm expression with you as she walks up to you, rearing up on her hind legs for the final embrace of the night.

“Goodnight, Anon,” she murmurs against you, the heat of her breath melting into your shirt as you squeeze back.

“G’night, Twi. Thanks again for letting me stay, I’m sorry it was so sudden…”

She pulls away, gently hitting your arm with her hoof as she does.

“Stop apologizing,” she responds, “You’re always welcome here, no matter what.”

“...Thank you, Twilight.”

A tired grin graces your features as you step back from each other, turning to head in the direction of your respective bedrooms. As you’re about to reach for the door to close it, her voice rings out from the staircase one more time.

“Anon?”

You swing the door back open, Twilight looking down at you from the top step before the wall. There’s an innocent hesitance in her bright expression, not unlike the student of a public speaking class delivering their first speech. It’s present for only a moment before whatever hurdle she wrestled with is put firmly in its place.

“I’m really happy that you’re home.”

Before you realize it, you’re beaming back up at her, cheeks straining with elation.

“Me too.”

Satisfied, she continues heading back up the stairs. You watch her until she disappears behind the wall, content to be among friends once more. Without so much as a peep, you shut the door to your bedroom, marching over to your bedside without any fanfare or delay whatsoever.

Your head doesn’t even hit the pillow before you’re out like a light, thrown deep into a gentle, restful sleep.