Yak in a Library

There’s a pony expression, “like a yak in a china shop,” that has fallen out of fashion in the past few years, coinciding with the time yaks decided to ally with Equestrians. The ponies that cared about such things phased the expression out of their vocabulary, like the way ponies from 10 or so years ago stopped saying a particularly complex or over-patterned outfit was “zebra” (though sometimes they’d still start to say it before looking over at Mahiri and hurriedly correcting themselves). Despite the political incorrectness of the phrase, it’s still the first thing that pops into Mahiri’s mind when she sees the Vanhoover Public Library’s newest visitor.

Though perhaps it’s not entirely apt. The titular yak in the china shop is unaware of the commotion their presence causes, leaving wanton destruction in their wake without sparing a glance at those they might offend. The yak in the library does no such thing. Despite dwarfing just about every pony visitor in size, she shrinks in towards herself, hiding herself behind a veritable fountain of fur. Just looking at it makes Mahiri feel hot. She couldn’t imagine such a specimen surviving a day in Zebrica without succumbing to the worst heatstroke known to zebrakind.

Ponies generally make way for her as they see her coming. Vanhoover is one of the farthest north cities you can get before leaving Equestria (depending on whether or not you count the Crystal Empire as part of Equestria, and she does not know or care enough about pony history to be part of that debate), so it’s likely at least a few of its citizens have seen a yak before at some point, but they still shuffle out of her way, as if any minute she’ll lose control and go berserk, smashing the first thing she sees.

From the way the yak moves, she might be afraid of the same thing. She takes slow, measured steps, shuffling forward while keeping her eyes trained on the ground, until it becomes clear that she…yes. She’s approaching Mahiri’s desk.

Time for her least favorite part of the job. She much prefers sorting books.

The yak approaches. Clears her throat. “Hello. Um.” She avoids eye contact. Mahiri doesn’t mind that. She thinks it’s rather overrated. “Looking for books about…yaks.”

Mahiri raises an eyebrow and says the first thing that comes to mind. It’s rather rude, which is an unfortunate trend with her. “Wouldn’t you know all about them already? You’re your own favorite subject, from all I know.”

The yak shakes some of that endless hair out of her face. “Can’t ask other yaks. Freya needs--I need--somebody who knows about…magic.”

Her accent is a little less pronounced than that of other yaks, but it might just be because of how much time she takes with each of her words, and how soft they all are. The last word is almost whispered.

“Magic? Why would a yak need to know about magic?”

Ask any yak, and they’ll tell you that yaks are the best at everything. Just about everything, anyway. The only things yaks aren’t the best at are things that they were never in the running for at all--and that includes magic, because yaks don’t do it. Magic in the presence of a yak is considered a bit pretentious at best, and a grave insult at worst. Magic is cheating, taking something that should be done through hard work and hoof grease (and brute strength) and just doing it with a thought (and often some complex mathematics but yaks have no interest in that part, largely). Yaks are too good for magic, for pony magic or zebra magic or changeling magic or any other kind.

The yak before Mahiri’s eyes widen, glistening with…tears? Is whatever she’s here about really that serious?

“Hard to explain,” she says, voice almost softer now. “But…important. Really important. Need to know if other yaks--if any yaks…have written about yak magic.”

And yes, alright, this is when Mahiri actually starts paying attention.

Because yes, there is a chance this yak is messing with her, though yaks as a species aren’t really known to do that and their humor is significantly more slapstick-based (to describe it generously). There is a chance she’s significantly confused, and perhaps Mahiri should be notifying the authorities rather than humoring her for any longer.

But there is a chance…

There is a chance that this Freya is some kind of a miracle.

And any miracle is simply a scientific phenomenon not fully understood yet, and if Mahiri is the one to observe it, test it, study it, she might finally get the respect she deserves from the scientific community, instead of dismissed as some kind of woo-woo shaman who could never hope to understand magic the way they do, merely harness a small fraction of its power…

Mahiri realizes she never responded to the yak, and also that her eyes might be shining in a bit of a scary way again (that happened a lot in grad school). “Right. Yes. Freya, was it? Finding a book on yak magic might be a bit of a tall order, but I can get you all the books we have on yak culture and all the ones on magical science--erm, thaumaturgy, alchemy, or kinetics?”

Freya blinks at her.

“Right. We’ll start with books on non-pony kinetics and cultural rituals, and expand as needed. Follow me.”

They weave their way through the stacks, Mahiri leading the way confidently. “I like your mane,” Freya offers to her quietly.

She falters in her stride, caught off guard. “Oh. Thank you.”

Mahiri’s mane is short but intricate, woven braids with sections separated by tiny golden beads. Her mother used to braid it for her when she was a filly. It’s one of the few things she keeps from her homeland.

“I like your…saddlebags,” she offers.

The bags are a deep red with little symbols sewn across the flaps of them, meaningless to Mahiri but pretty at least. The yak smiles a little. Probably. It’s hard to tell under the hair.

They come to the sociology section and Mahiri extracts all the books she can find about yak culture, giving them to Freya to balance on her back (it’s not rude if she’s the visibly stronger of the two of them). In the magical sciences section, she pulls out books about non-pony cultural rituals and kinetics.

One of the books has a circle of zebras on the cover, wearing masks and wielding large, glowing staffs, their front hooves not holding the staffs prostrated towards the sky in some wordless entreaty. Mahiri winces at it, and turns that book cover-side down.

They bring the books to a study room with a magical soundproofing enchantment on it. They pile all the books onto the table there, and Mahiri sits in one of the available chairs. Freya doesn’t fit in the chairs, but if she sits on the floor, her head can still extend above the table.

Mahiri tries to sound normal when she speaks, leaving out any warble of excitement or desperation. “Okay. Nobody in the library can hear us inside this room, so in case you’re worried about who will overhear or anything like that, you don’t have to be nervous about that anymore. Freya, what’s the real reason you’re looking at books on yak magic?”

Freya makes tiny circles on the table with one hoof. “Something happened. At home.”

“Something happened to you?”

Her head dips in assent.

“What was it?”

The hair conceals her eyes again. “It can’t…shouldn’t have happened. Yaks can’t…yaks don’t do magic.”

“Sure,” Mahiri says, trying so very hard not to sound too impatient, “but if that’s all you came here to say, why are we reading all these books to find out something we both already know? Do yaks not do magic, Freya? Or have none of them done it yet?”

Both of her hooves are on the table now, and she hurriedly takes them off. “Not that I’m interrogating you or anything,” she adds. “It’s just…this could be big. If what you’re implying is true, this could change our whole understanding of yaks, maybe even our understanding of magic depending on just how it manifests--”

“Don’t think it’s all yaks,” says Freya, slightly louder now, though it’s still just about a normal speaking voice for any other creature. “It might just be…”

She doesn’t finish, so Mahiri does it for her. “Just the one?”

“Mm-hm.”

Mahiri sighs. “Look. I know you’re nervous. Obviously. I know you’re not very comfortable right now, but I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on. I have an idea, but I don’t have all the facts, and I think you’re the only one who can give them to me. I’m not going to do anything bad, I just…I want to know. I like knowing things. I like understanding things. I want to understand why you’re here. I want to help you.”

She almost says something devastatingly sappy, like I’m your friend, but doesn’t because she doesn’t want to outright lie to the poor yak. Whatever the new Reigning Princess might think, friendship isn’t something you give out to just any creature that crosses your path, no matter how useful for future research she might be. Friendship is highly overrated, in Mahiri’s opinion, and Twilight Sparkle really should have stuck to publishing her journals in Magical Workings Weekly. Politicians always disappoint sooner or later.

“Zebra wants to help? Really?” Freya asks, and yes, that’s a note of earnestness in her voice. She has her now.

“I’ll do whatever I can,” promises Mahiri.

Finally, after a lot of hoof-shuffling and nervous mumbling, Freya reaches up to brush her fur out of her eyes, and with one final deep breath, launches into her story.