Dinky Doo: The Scion of Wind

Golden Harvest was packing up for the day.

The carrot trade was not as lucrative as the other wares Ponyville had to offer. The cream-colored mare did not mind it too much. She contented herself with being just one band of the rainbow that was her hometown. One upside of being such a humble business, she assured herself, was that packing her cart for the day wasn't too much of a hassle.

The stand-part of her wooden cart had already been folded into itself. Humming a distant tune to herself, Golden Harvest found a lever. Each pull on it inclined the cart upward with a click. Bending low and humming absently, Golden Harvest found the forewheel she was looking for. Right now, it was on its side, parallel to the ground; it was a simple but effective design choice for the cart to stay in-place when being used as a stand. But now, it was done being a stand; as it was coming time for the sun to set, it was coming time for it to be a cart, ready to roll after another day of its proud owner convincing buyers of the value of carrots: they were a staple part of broths, salads, and many other dishes that she herself used the underappreciated root for. Snapping the forewheel ninety degrees from the lazy position it had been in all day, she edged around the cart.

"Oh?"

One of many knots held the cart together; the one Golden Harvest was observing had come loose. So she sighed and bent down perfunctorily. She fumbled, hoof and teeth; it had always been the trickiest to tie properly. The cart was equipped with a pair of thin metal rods, essential for transit. Unlatching the right, she guided it to bite a spoke of the forewheel.

After doing the same for the left, Golden Harvest hovered her hooves over her work.

The wind slapped the wooden cart; though the cart, her life's joy, jostled in-place, it did not roll away.

Letting her hooves fall, Golden Harvest breathed a breath of relief, the sort of breath that is synonymous with a job well done.

Strictly speaking, business had been relatively slow for her during this Summer Sun Celebration, so there wasn't that much work to be done in the way of selling. Of course, that only meant that aside from the surplus she'd give to charity and salvage for some of her more creative recipes, the work she had done harvesting her carrots was for nothing. It was a sad reality for farmers who specialized in the less popular crops of Ponyville, nay all of Equestria.

A thump came seemingly from nowhere.

From the side of the cart protruded a knob, which Golden Harvest opened to reveal a short drawer. Inside it was a rope-bound stack of papers, recipes for which anypony could use carrots and the wares of her fellow vegetable vendors. She had collaborated with them before; she had exchanged recipes, ideas, and samples of her flavors, and they had reciprocated in turn. She refused to be patronized; so if say, one of the Apple family, said, "Boy, howdy. Dun' these apple juices liven up them there, erm, bitterness of that there carrot of yers," Golden Harvest would kindly and honestly disagree, then walk on. She conceded that her humble root did not complement all of Ponyville's flavors. But it would be a disservice to carrots to pretend otherwise.

And she would simply move to Tartarus before she accepted the patronage of a customer who only faked interest and gave her any business out of pity.

Shutting the drawer and locking it, Golden Harvest spat the key upwards and angled her mane so that the key would land in it on just the right spot.

For many ponies, it was the last day for gathering their produce-related provisions for the upcoming festival — she had been told by a passing Mrs. Cake that it was sure to be a doozy.

For Golden Harvest, it was a slow but successful business day. The bits jingling inside her cart's built-in coffer, whose lock she had already double-checked, were proof of that.

The next sigh she sighed was one of bliss.

She looked around.

Her fellow vegetable vendors had already packed up and gone home for the day.

Wherever Golden Harvest looked — and she had to visor her eyes to look, because the sun was just beaming too happily at her — the streets were empty. Wind streamed across the contentment on her face. Sweat droplets had been glistening on her fur; she had not known they were there until the streams of air reminded her that they were cool and refreshing against the bare of her skin. Few were ever lucky enough to truly appreciate the peace, the quietude of moments like these. She breathed it in through her nostrils, and for years to come she would remember it with nothing but fondness. In hardship it would bring her solace; on slow business days she would inevitably have, it would give her something nice to daydream about; when she eventually had kids, it would give her something to bore them to tears with. It was insignificant, ordinary, yet indescribably good. Most importantly, it was hers. Nothing could possibly ruin it. "GANGWAYCOMINGTHROUGHSORRYMISS!!!"

She blinked and missed it: a blur of orange whose detail she could spare no time to discern, because it had unsettled the knot she had spent, like, ten minutes finally getting right. Eyes widening, she clinched it beneath her hooves; she breathed.

Another whoosh came, unsettling the spoke on her well-worked forewheel. "Awful sorry 'bout her!"

Golden Harvest pouted at the youngest of the Apples.

Next, two unicorn fillies dashed around the cart. "Sorry about the cart!" they said over their shoulders.

A series of crashes followed this apology.

Golden Harvest winced, afraid to open her eyes.

But just as the sun must rise each morning, so too must her eyes open; a pony couldn't drive her life's joy blind, after all. Courage — that was what it took. What she was looking at had to be some joke, a mirage of the heat, she kept telling herself.

To her knees she dropped, over the mess her shaking hooves were hovered. In just a few seconds, her precious cart had been mutilated into a travesty that was well beyond her desire and ability to describe. Her well-tested recipes, products of years of taste-testing: spirited away by the wind before she could even say goodbye. Every sad glint of her hard-earned bits: rolling away where they could find their way into a colt who thought it was his lucky day, oblivious to the misfortune that had made it so. Worst of all, her carrots: like runaways who made their mothers wonder what they had done to upset them.

The only silver lining that Golden Harvest could count, not that it was of any comfort to her whatsoever in light of the tragedy for which she would mourn without end, was that the alleyway the fillies scampered off to was one she never took her cart through. Why? That was for the fillies to find out, she thought bitterly; but she knew, deep down, that no amount of passive spite she dished out would ever return her beloved to her.

A yellow hoof splashed into a puddle that was strangely colored and scented. "Yuck," Applebloom retched, trying to shake it off. "Scootaloo, what the hay? This alley ain't no place for nopony, least of all young fillies like us! I thought you said you knew where you were goin'!"

Scootaloo dashed around a trash can. "I do," she said, once Applebloom did the same and was in sight again. "This is a shortcut that no one ever takes to Carousel Boutique."

"Gee," Applebloom droned, staring her accusation at the muck still clinging to her hoof, "I wonder why."

Scootaloo pouted. She was too busy trying to come up with a retort to notice another puddle of ick she was coming up on; she splashed right into it. "Aw, it won't come off!" she moaned; Applebloom snickered evilly. "The one time I leave my scooter at home."

"Never mind that," Sweetie Belle said, causing both Applebloom and Scootaloo to look behind them, "where are we going? Which way?"

She was staring at a point past her fellow Crusaders, who realized she had meant the fork in the road.

"Um, left!" said Scootaloo, rounding the corner accordingly.

Applebloom followed soon after.

Nodding at each other, so did Sweetie and Dinky.

Around the bend awaited an overfull garbage bag; it sat right in the middle of this part of the alleyway. Dinky and Sweetie slammed their bodies to the alley walls to avoid it, much less gracefully than they had with poor Golden Harvest's cart. But Dinky didn't have time to feel guilty; she had to keep her senses focussed on the dangers of taking directions from Scootaloo.

Though Dinky had sidestepped the garbage bag, more obstacles lay in wait for her and Sweetie. Both of them leapt over a nasty pool that extended from one side-wall to the other. Once they did, Dinky had to lag back and veer towards Sweetie's side, since there was a garbage bag on Dinky's side that was too fat and tall to clear. Next, there were garbage cans hugging both walls; a small crevice between them was the only way through. Nodding to Dinky, Sweetie lagged back and let Dinky dash through; and as she did, the garbage cans just barely grazed her shoulders. Sweetie caught up to Dinky soon after. Both noticed the garbage can turned on its side. The unicorns leapt, had their hooves kiss the garbage can, and leapt again. Airborne, Dinky saw Scootaloo in the lead, with Applebloom racing after her.

The way ahead was mostly clear of obstacles, except for an rotting old something blocking the only end of the alleyway.

Scootaloo swore. "Cart, cart!" she said to Applebloom, looking to her for direction.

And without hesitation, Applebloom gave it.

"Super Special Cutie Maneuver Alpha Double Sigma Delta Beta. GO!"

Lowering her head, Scootaloo slowed down as behind her crashed water, tides of sea and salt that sloped up the sidewalls as though to attempt to climb it before giving up, slamming together in a crest before Sweetie, who had called it to her aid, before setting their sights for the sliding hooves of Applebloom, who turned around to match the hooves of Scootaloo in a well-practiced buck.

Soaring, Scootaloo spread her forelegs up, her wings buzzing as she screamed her joy for all of Ponyville to hear. "WOO! I'M FLYING, I'M FLYING! WOO!"

Meanwhile, Applebloom was sliding, sliding and turning, and ducking on the slide of seawater. Then, seeing the bottom of the cart too low for her to slip under, she collapsed herself onto the ground. All her limbs were spread apart from her body, and each of her hooves was spraying foam and salt into the hot air; her belly was coasting along the water. Applebloom aimed her head at the gap beneath the cart, like a seamstress would a needle through a thread.

The closer she got to her target, the smaller it looked; Dinky was holding her breath in suspense.

The big pink bow slicked back for a split-second before disappearing beyond the cart.

This lit Sweetie's face up with courage; after Dinky nodded, Sweetie slid on.

Dinky could hear the summoned seawater evaporating behind her; Sweetie disappeared through the gap, and then so did Dinky.

Now that she was on the other side, with Applebloom and Sweetie Belle beside her, Dinky took the cue to shoot herself airborne with a huff of her breath.

Except the breath she huffed shot her nowhere; it was ordinary, like the sort of breath a pony would blow to shoo a fly, or the sort a teenaged colt would blow on his overlong bangs. Even though she knew it was no use, Dinky blew again and again; she shot a look of panic at Applebloom, who could only share rather than assuage it. The look was shared also by Sweetie Belle.

"Incoming!"

Screeching their hooves to a halt, the trio wheeled around. What they saw in the sky made their pupils shrink to pinpricks, as the thing they saw grew ever larger, ever louder too, moreso as Applebloom, Sweetie Belle, and Dinky Doo came to echo Scootaloo's screaming.

Carousel Promenade was a far cry from the inner sectors of Ponyville. Though it was not nearly as developed, it was a great deal more sophisticated. The roads here intersected and intertwined; they were made of a very precise mix of sand and dirt, rather than the drab cobblestone that was so commonplace in the streets. In fact, there was hardly anything 'common' about the place at all! Businesses were set up in tents here, occupying premises with the birds that nested in the trees and the rabbits that occasionally poked their heads out of their eponymous holes. The premises were au naturel, as the dominating business-mare here preferred it. Her headquarters for business was the only one not set up in silly circus-like tent, as she had called it upon a cursory scan of the promenade; she had wanted her business to be distinguished from all the rest, a true rarity.

Perched around the rim of a tent as it happened were a family of birds; they were watching with vague interest. They flapped their wings offendedly before they took off.

Dinky was lying with the Crusaders atop light sandy gravel. Feeling like she had chipped a tooth, she experimentally sucked a breath, only to find that the inside of her mouth tasted like weird salt. Groaning, hers included, vibrated her eardrums painfully. She tapped on her horn: her hoof struck the culprit of this wipeout, the metal cap fixed tightly over her horn.

It took a while for her to notice the sting of her belly and the heated grains beneath it.

It took less time for her to notice the shadow that loomed over her.

An accented voice spoke. "Oh, my. Are you girls alright?" Before any of the fillies lying on the ground could answer, the owner of the voice, a mare, called for somepony who was far behind her. "Applejack? Darling? I'm afraid the girls have had a bit of an incident."

"On it!" Applejack called back; a large cloth was blown away by the wind, causing the accented mare to gasp, scandalized.

The ground was thumping in rhythm with Applejack's gallop.

Dinky was bit up by the scruff of her neck and thrown up. Then she landed on a pony who smelt like a weird mix of hay, apples, and perfume; Dinky's forelegs and hindlegs were draped over Applejack's back. Another filly landed on top of Dinky, puffing her breath out. Without delay, Applejack trotted off.

The groaning on top of Dinky was familiar. "A-applebloom…?"

Applebloom sounded too beat to answer. "Now, hush yer breath, little one," Applejack said. "Let's hurry and git you two inside."

Bouncing up and down too quickly for her comfort, Dinky personally felt like hurrying was only making it worse.

A series of chimes jangled from above. Following the trio inside was a hot summer's sigh, which did not last long inside; in seconds, it expired in the quiet air conditioning.

Applejack threw the fillies onto a random surface, which happened to be really soft and velvety; Dinky couldn't help but snuggle with it. Guiltily, she compared the comfort it offered to that of the sofa her mom was able to afford on her salary.

The door opened again. "Set the girls down over there, darling. I've got just the thing to put them right again. Be back in a spell."

The accented mare trotted daintily away on the carpet.

Meanwhile, Applejack hoisted Applebloom and Dinky atop her back again.

Dinky was deposited onto a chair, and so was Applebloom. Were Dinky in less pain, she would have laughed at the funny noise the chair made when she shifted her rump on it.

She barely heard the accented mare come back. "Took ya long enough, Rarity," Applejack said.

"So sorry," the accented mare, Rarity, replied. "It's not often I must dust off my first-aid kit." Then it was to Dinky she spoke. "Now, hold still. Your wounds are the worst yet, but they are still but a trivial affair, one that I sincerely doubt cannot be settled by the tender application of a few of Nurse Redheart's personally recommended home-care remedies."

And with that came a wet dab on the scorched underbelly of Dinky Doo, who sucked between her teeth. That action, coupled with the coolness of the air finally made her ears pop. "So sorry, darling," Rarity said, now loudly and clearly against her eardrums. "I promise that you need bear with me for only a few minutes longer."

And as she worked, spreading cool minty cream over Dinky's underbelly, she unconsciously muttered narrations of what she was doing at the moment, and what she was doing next. For example, she said, under her breath, things like, "A few dabs of ointment there (that should stem the bleeding for a spell)," and, "Perhaps a numbing agent here is in order," after which she rustled some out of her kit.

Though Dinky was neither a paying customer nor an impatient pony (not recently, anyway), the pace at which Rarity worked sure suggested she was both. And yet, 'a few minutes' still felt like a few hours. During those 'few minutes', Dinky's hooves were dunked in a cream, and it wasn't like any her mom made at home. For one, it made her snout wrinkle. Thankfully, she was not being forced to eat it; instead, it was being jabbed and rubbed aggressively over her forelegs. She tried to not let her shudders show.

A spray bottle assaulted her eyes the moment she opened them; Dinky yelped. "Oh? Sorry about that," Rarity said. "That's not the last of it, I'm afraid."

Following the apology were a couple more merciless sprays. Each one was abundant with a thousand tangy specks of pollen, which attacked her face like a horde of bees. The distinct aftertaste of lemon tickled her nostrils. As much as she tried to hold still, Dinky could not help but squirm, desperate to get away.

At one point, she just went whole hog and started into a dash.

"Now settle down there, lassie," said Applejack, seizing her by the scruff of the neck. Dinky was set back on her seat again, her foreleg pinned to the hoofrest. "Now this is fer yer own good."

After this was over, Dinky would learn to have a lot more sympathy for Applebloom whenever the latter complained about having a sister who was too rough with her.

"There, all finished," said Rarity, wasting no time clopping away. "Now time for my next patient."

Victim morelike, thought Dinky, pitying whoever it was going to be.

"Ow, ow, ow. Sis, stop! That hurts!"

"Hush now, Sweetie Belle, darling," Rarity droned kindly, busying herself over Sweetie's repeated instances of 'Ow'. "Be a good foal like Dinky, and be — " she grunted " — still. Come now, Sweetie," she said a little more forcefully and sing-song; again, she grunted. "It will get infected if I don't do this — properly. Whew."

The familiar slap of cream came on another of the Crusaders. "Ouch, hey! What the hay, Sis?"

"Now co-ome on, Applebloom," drawled Applejack, like she was bored and done with this. "Time's a-wastin'. Ya heard what Rarity said."

Whining and moaning, Applebloom wriggled her little legs to push Applejack away, while Applejack evaded and dabbed; Applebloom bucked, but Applejack blocked and dabbed with all the deftness of a master fencer, one whom her student was simply no match for.

Now that the sting on her eyes was fading, Dinky could see her surroundings more clearly. She was sitting on a chair that sat atop a thick stainless steel rod that protruded from the ground. Across from her was a mirror with an arch of blurry white orbs over it. Sweetie Belle was on her immediate left, Applebloom on Sweetie's immediate left, and snickering on Dinky's right was Scootaloo, who said, "Heh, heh, heh. Well, I'm glad I'm not them. What the — Hey, hey, HEY! No. No, no, no. Not the face, not the face, not the — "

Dinky privately giggled to herself.

There was something about the vanity, though; maybe it was the haze in her eyes? In any case, she roamed a hoof over her flank.

"What is it, Dinky?" Sweetie asked, blinking in rapid succession. Then she coughed, her lungs filling up with the fumes wafting from Applejack's direction.

The mist was wafting menacingly towards Sweetie and Dinky; the latter was already wincing in anticipation.

Like the billions of stars in the night sky, the spray glittered in the room. Even if Dinky did want to open her eyes again, she wouldn't. Applejack was still being tough with Applebloom; by the sounds of it, Rarity was still treating Scootaloo with all the gentleness of a minotaur.

"Aha!" said Rarity, sounding like she had a hoof up; a lightbulb might have been shining above her. "I know just the thing!"

A drawer slid open, and was slammed carelessly shut.

At Carousel Boutique, nopony was safe, especially Scootaloo, from whom Dinky was starting to learn new swears.

Somewhere up in the clouds, Rainbow Dash was probably putting down her seventy-third reread of Daring Do and the Sapphire Statue to poke her snout about. "What's that sound?" she would say, before deciding it was nothing, shrugging, and returning her attention to the book.

Somehow, sometime later, it stopped.

Something that sounded like a large fan came on: The buzzing, the rush of air that was blowing the mist out of the door, and finally the relent of the dreaded lemon vapors. The sharp odors were fleeing out the door that Applejack was holding open.

The fan shut off; Applejack let the door fall back into its hinges and walked back to her ward.

Applebloom was still whinnying cutely and flailing her legs about. "Ah don' wanna, Ah don' wanna, Ah don' wanna!"

Dinky and Sweetie Belle exchanged grins; they were thinking of the time they had to give Opalescence a long-overdue sponge bath.

"And voilà! I now pronounce you…" Rarity said, bowing before Scootaloo; the mist was clearing dramatically, its color assimilating into clarity, its sharp odor and sting becoming but a faint ghost of a memory. "Fabulous!"

"Well, shoot!" said Applejack, "if ya had time to trussy her up like tha', ya coulda helped me with this one!" She pointed down at Applebloom, who was still whinnying, "Ah don' wanna!" while wriggling her little legs to push away Applejack, even though it had been minutes since Applejack stopped.

"Well," Rarity shot back in a dropping tone, "excuse me if I care for the fashion of our future generations! Hmph!" Pointing her snout up, she trotted around to the front of the chair. "I simply must say: That Rainbow Dash shall indeed owe me her gratitude after she's seen what I've done to… this — " Folding her forelegs over the hoofrest, she adopted a face of shameless interest before saying in a baby voice, " — poor widdle filly's mane."

She had punctuated each of the last six syllables with a tap of Scootaloo's chin.

Dimples cratered Dinky and Sweetie Belle's cheeks.

Pouting, Scootaloo crossed her little cute forelegs. "What are you two looking at?"

Sweetie spluttered. "Nuh-thing," she said, very interested in the ceiling, while Dinky was enjoying the leathery texture of her cushion.

"Ah don' wanna, Ah don' wanna, Ah don' wanna — "

Applebloom gasped, finally realizing it was over.

Opening her eyes, she turned her head in the direction of Scootaloo and puffed in her cheeks. Whether Applebloom's eyes were watering with the last remnants of lemon mist or with the same contagion that Sweetie and Dinky were having a poor time fighting, it was hard to tell.

Then Dinky, Sweetie Belle, and Applebloom finally burst out laughing. Their faces were red and suffocated; all three of them were pointing at Scootaloo.

Dabbed onto the eyelids was mascara that was the same light-purple as Rarity's. How Rarity had managed to make what little hair the mane had into only a slightly less voluminous facsimile of her own was a complete mystery. The rosiness in the cheeks burned over her actual blush. "It's not funny," said Scootaloo, finally slapping Rarity's hoof away.

And Rarity held it to her mouth, transfixed upon the little orange filly in sheer adoration. She moaned; and then she bit her lips, eyes sparkling, to bite back a squeal that was just waiting to shatter glass.

Just then, bright orange rhombuses, the logo on her doors, bespeckled her flawless white complexion. Rarity blinked a few times, seeming to be coming out of a trance. "Oh, my," she said, blinking the glare from her eyes; squinting, she visored her hoof over her face. "It's getting to be a bit dark, darlings. My, where is that Rainbow Dash when a pony needs her? Much too busy napping, I suppose."

She gave a disapproving snort.

After two beckoning stomps, she trotted to the door. "Come, Applejack! Together we shall walk these fillies home!"

Dinky was wondering which Canterlot knight Rarity had robbed of their chivalrous tone.

Deciding that it was about time for her to leave the comforts of air conditioning behind, she leapt off her seat. She landed, but wobbled a bit; angry buzzing pins seemed to sting at every one of her limbs.

"Can ya walk?" Applejack asked.

Stamping the numbness from her legs, Dinky looked up and nodded; as did the Cutie Mark Crusaders.

Green sparkles seized the folds of a clean white rag and guided it into a water tray; the rag dunked itself twice and flew on its way. But then it paused; a snoozing white cat was raising her paw vaguely, as though to catch something, maybe her favorite toy mouse. The seconds that followed were suspenseful: Sweetie watched, anxious sweat budding on the side of her head. Then the floor thumped, resting on it the flat of a paw, over which the dampened rag soared. Shaking a sheen of yellow dew off herself, Opalescence snuggled her head closer to her forelegs to continue her nap.

The rag went to rest on an orange hoof. Without letting her eyes leave the fussy cat, Scootaloo wiped Rarity's additions off her face.

As she did so, Applebloom spoke with Applejack.

"So what were ya doin' here, anyway, Sis?" Applebloom asked.

"Oh, ain't nothin' too special. Just an outfit fitting fer somethin', because apparently, I can't just march into the royal chapelroom in the buck-nude," she grumbled.

"Royal chapelroom?" Sweetie said, both her horn and eyes shining now. "You don't mean — "

"Buck-nude?" Applebloom said, nonplussed while Dinky laughed at the imagery.

A freshly smeared rag was dropped to the floor.

"Maybe 'nother time," Applejack chuckled, walking the four to the door as Scootaloo messed up her hair, a tongue stuck-out, "but for now… Let us — " Applejack poked her snout up. " — tarry not, for that there evenin' — she waxes, and the day — " She draped a helpless hoof over her forehead as she led the girls outside. " — She wanes without us. Come, come, no dawdling, girls. Let us make that there way ta-wards that yonder maiden of faintin' and fancy-talk, see!"

And then she pointed outside at Rarity, whose surprise at being addressed thus flattened to annoyance.

Chuckling giddily, Applejack raced across the lawns of Carousel Promenade with Dinky and the Cutie Mark Crusaders giggling and galloping closely behind her. The grass was cast into half-darkness; it was stiff and warm, with the heat of a nearly full summer's day. Now, the sun was ready to nest onto the horizon; it seemed to wink at Dinky, who had to blink it away.

Dinky had heard Ditzy say once that the residential squares nearer Carousel Promenade were too expensive for them to live in, due to the fact that it was so high-class. She was looking at one of the aforementioned squares now, thinking that it was more a long rectangle with houses on either side; each house had its front door facing the long street. It was there where Rarity was currently standing, seemingly alone. There was an impatient air to the hoof she was tapping on the pavement; her puffy face was getting scarier as Applejack and the fillies approached. Shadows encroached upon Rarity from behind in criss-crosses.

From those shadows approached a figure.

Applejack gasped. "Who's there!" she snarled, hastening her hooves. "Don't y'all take another step, varmint!"

Dinky and Scootaloo squinted at the hooded figure. "Zecora?" they ventured.

Applebloom was shaking her head slowly. "That ain't Zecora."

What's more, the figure was still striding casually towards Rarity, who was backing away from them now.

"You asked for it, creep!" Applejack bellowed, leaping clean over Rarity, her head aimed to tackle.

But she missed, and she knew it, as she slid far and fast across the pavement. Her snarl was pointed up at the figure, which had taken to the air between her, and Rarity and the fillies.

The figure had ascended to heights too high for an earth pony to attain.

They slammed back onto the cobblestone street, right in front of Rarity, whose horn was alight.

"S-stand back," she said, "I-I'm warning you…!"

Behind the figure, Applejack was scraping up dust with her hoof, her bull-like eyes dead-set on her target.

The figure stood, unabashed, their head raised as though to appraise the unicorn and fillies.

Metal clinked on cobblestone.

"Applejack!" Applebloom shouted.

"Everypony!" Sweetie added.

"Move!" they said.

Applebloom, Sweetie, and Scootaloo tackled Rarity from the side, sending her tumbling far away from Dinky's line of fire.

From the periwinkle horn burst a swirling ball of wind.

The air rumbled, briefly wavy and billowy as the ball drilled through it.

"Whoa, nelly!" Applejack said as her hooves screeched to a halt.

The cloak was blown straight off.

Everypony gasped.

Digging his hooves into the street was the stranger. From his bowed muzzle rumbled an angry growl.

Green skeins of energy were gyrating around a periwinkle horn. Magical winds compounded over each other, overlapping and intertwining in arcs and hissing prominences. The force of it made the golden mane shine more as it whipped about. It took Dinky all the strength the could muster to keep her hooves from sliding backwards.

She fired again.

The stranger winced only for a second before disappearing behind an interlocked pair of wings.

And then he was being pushed back, no matter how much his hooves protested to the street pavement, by a radiant orb of wind. Whish whish whish whish, it went, as it ground against the folds of his shuddering wings.

Gnashing her teeth, Dinky summoned more energy and roared as fiercely as she could.

Hair-thin streams brightened into existence, and they were spinning into the wind orb like tides into a whirlpool. The flux of magic was all too palpable, not to mention conspicuous: Long bands of green were unfolding out of the magical orb like glowing petals of a flower.

Dinky stalked forward, a growl on her face, a glow to her horn.

"You get 'em, Dinky!"

"Show that loser who's boss!"

"Don't give up!"

The cheers of the Crusaders were her strength; they were the reason why she was able to put one hoof in front of the other, against the powerful push that her own magic exerted on her. A line of sweat streaked over the side of her face; ignoring it, she focussed onto a leyline. The taste of victory teased her tongue. Enticing her further was the image of the intruder being sent hurtling so far away that he would be nothing more than another speck in the many-hued sky.

All the ponies' eyes were on her, their breaths held in hopeful suspense; Dinky could feel it as she marched on.

But then, a sound awakened her:

The distinct clink of a cracked window. Doors were banging desperately, in and out and over again, like a mad-pony was trying to get in. A scream wrung her ears.

Why was it getting hard to breathe? she wondered breathlessly, now sweating more out of anxiety than out of strain.

Wincing, Dinky heard her. "Miss Rarity!?" she said.

Her connection to the leyline snapped in two.

Her horn faded as the rest followed suit.

The unknown pegasus's wings exploded with a thunderous boom.

Threads of wind raced frenetically about. Windows were shattered, and the ponies looking through them were sent into throes of panic. Houses were being slashed across their faces, bricks cascading loose from the resulting scars. Cracks appeared spontaneously on cobblestone. Ugly craters kissed the doors, the resulting splinters of wood hovering airborne for a fleeting second before being spirited away by the chaotic storm of energy. A cowboy hat flew off.

Sheltering the Crusaders with the wide side of her body was Applejack, who gnashed her teeth, wincing at and watching the magical backfire as it was dying down; the worst of the storm was over. "AJ! AJ!? Wake up!"

Dinky was watching it all, like she was a million miles away from her own eyes. She could hardly think. She could hardly move. As much as she tried to remember where her legs were and how to move them, she could not get them to budge; they felt like tree roots binding her stubbornly to the spot she was barely aware she was at.

It never seemed to end.

And yet somehow, it did.

For a long while, the only thing Dinky was aware of was her thumping heart.

Something within her awakened.

Gasping, finally herself again, Dinky cried mutely about: for Sweetie Belle, for Applebloom, for Scootaloo, whipping her mane about to see where they were. All the while, she had the feeling that even if they were in plain sight, she wouldn't see them.

The stillness, the silent remains of the destruction were eerie.

Nopony seemed to remain in the twilit street.

Nopony else except for her and him.

The stranger was observing the smoke and destruction, seemingly with great interest. "Ah, I am most impressed. You truly are his," he said, facing Dinky, whose eyes widened: The stranger was thin and tall; his muzzle was long, curved in a slight hook that could only mean one thing.

Dinky was pointing with a shaking hoof. "Y-you…! Y-you're Haissanian!"

Eyes locked, amber into a striking shade of yellow. The Haissanian strode forward, his brown tunic swaying. The sun glimpsed at him midstep; had it not done so, Dinky would have thought his coat to be black, instead of an extremely dark shade of green. The closer he got, the more Dinky could see the scaly texture of his wings; the crinkles in his eyes were not kind, like the ones in Mrs. Cake's, but shrewd.

Dinky thought she was hallucinating the voices of the Crusaders.

"You stay away from her!" shouted the voice of Applebloom.

"Yeah, get outta here, Long-Snout!" came the voice of Scootaloo.

"If you do anything to our little sister…!"

Folding a wing over Dinky, the Haissanian held Dinky up, scrutinizing her in what little remained of the day.

His feathery grip was constricting her.

She did not squirm. She did not struggle. All her senses were numb. Nothing was making sense anymore. Why was Dinky seeing two, no three of the Haissanian? Feeling as though even her magic had deserted her, she felt her head slump over.

"Indeed you are his, little foal," spoke the Haissanian; his voice was like how she imagined Dr. Caballeron's was, but way less rapid, and smooth with all the unctuousness of a snake. "But something is not quite right. You have fallen flat of, how you say… expectations." Pausing, he poked his snout close to her ear. "I sense great power within you, Daughter of Al-Qafzah al-Ula, power that is gone to waste. These foul Equestrians… they hold you back! You can be better than them, all of them, even that shameless tyrant! All you must do… is come with me."

"Not on your life, creep."

The vise-like grip shook open as though stung by flame.

Dinky was released.

In the hooves of her savior, she felt the warmth of the grey chest against which she was nestled. The familiarity of it revived her senses: tingles were spreading throughout her body; color was seeping back into her pupils. She blinked, her heart seeming to rise as she recognized her at last. "Mommy!"

But Ditzy did not acknowledge her; she was too busy staring hard at the Haissanian, who Dinky angled her head to see was still stumbling backwards from the blow that had been dealt.

Recovering, hissing his hate, the Haissanian wiped the corner of his mouth. His eyes flitted up, to Dinky, then to Ditzy, who held Dinky closer to herself while fixing him with a defiant stare. The Haissanian matched that stare with a bemused smirk. "Ah, if it isn't the concubine."

Dinky winced.

The Haissanian's snout was being smacked back and forth. With each blow, it jiggled and curved in ways that Dinky suspected were not meant to be curved or jiggled. He was being backed towards the outer wall of a house. His invisible assailant stopped, as though to give him a moment to catch his breath. He understood that as his cue to spread his wings and leave.

Snap.

Snap.

Snap.

So went a piston that slammed him flat against the street, over and over again.

The Haissanian shakily held up a hoof, as though to beg for mercy. Ragged breaths hissed in and out of his snarling teeth; his eye was swollen; the wings he had tried to spread were crumpled and crooked, not unlike the swatted fly that Ditzy seemed to be eyeing him as.

It wasn't over.

Thrust back onto his unwilling legs, he took more blows, as though he were a magnet for the assailant whom Dinky could see only by their shadow. And that shadow continued to strike, zooming from side to side; each time it blipped over him, his face was decorated with new bruises.

For once, Ditzy did not avert Dinky's eyes, which were drawn to a group of shadows waxing in from the east.

"Miss Ditzy! Miss Daring!"

"Miss Twilight!" Dinky called out.

A final flurry of punches sent him staggering towards a wall. A kick to the chest slammed him against it; his head recoiled and was about to droop down. But then his chin flew up, shadowy specks arcing high between the Haissanian and the silhouette whose body was still completing the arc of its backflip-kick.

A barrage of goldenrod blurs bulleted into his stomach, and, blowing a steady breath, she flew up and whipped the monochrome bangs out of her sweating face. She hovered over him, forelegs crossed. "Anything else you wanna say about my sister, you rotten Haissanian?" Daring Do asked in a low, measured voice.

Nopony relished at the sound of his whimpers.

Miraculously, one of his eyes was spared. It found Twilight, galloping up fast to the scene, flanked by a shadowed entourage. It found Daring, who pounded her hooves together and cricked her neck. It finally fell on Ditzy, who was still holding Dinky; she drew back, defensive.

A bestial grin curved his lips. "Ciao."

Pop.

A red flash stung Dinky's eyelids.

And the Haissanian was gone.

Curses and hysterical screaming echoed oddly in the streets. Ponies were trotting to a halt. Questions were raised, concern was moaned. Wailing and panic were exploding throughout the street, having been dormant for as long as the Haissanian's visit.

Was it the red flash of a pegasus teleporting out of sight? Or were her ears ringing again because she just couldn't handle any more? Only the beat of her heart was real to her. She found herself staring ahead without really seeing. When she blinked, the sun was almost gone. The rays of it shone on scorch marks, exactly where he had lay.

He might have exploded into thin air.