What Lurks in Yonder Gloaming

by Carnivorous M.

Rating: teen
Tags: Tragedy, Adventure, Derpy Hooves, Diamond Tiara, Pinkie Pie, Slice of Life, Twilight Sparkle, Lyra, Gore, Original Character, Apple Bloom, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Fluttershy, Octavia, Spike
Length: 8377

When terrible nightmares lead to disappearances, Twilight gathers a team to discover the truth.

During a rash of mysterious disappearances, a horribly-injured, gibbering colt staggers into town, attacking everyone in sight. When Acting-Psychiatrist Twilight Sparkle is assigned to treat him, she begins to feel the pull of a stranger, darker world, hidden in the shadow of our own. In an effort to discover the truth, she gathers together a group of similarly-affected ponies to delve the secrets of the Dream Highways, and perhaps, in the process, turn aside fate.

(First version; will be revamped and re-written as much as needs be once it's finished. Desperately needs a beta-reader or two. There will also be pictures and whatnot later, once I get around to finishing them.)

Published 2012-01-17 01:52:54 UTC
Last updated 2012-01-24 22:17:22 UTC

Prologue

Running through the dark, panting, his heart beating so hard in his chest.

Clip-clop, clip-clop.

His dark blue eyes, normally set in a calm, inquisitive expression of polite interest, are now stretched wide with terror, his pupils dilated so far as to be barely visible. They dart left, right; it makes little difference, for the only thing to see is an endless expanse of blackness, punctuated here and there by dim silhouettes. He doesn't care about the indistinct shapes. He can tell at a glance (although he isn't sure how) that they're not going to chase him, and he has no concentration to waste on them.

Clip-clop, clip-clop.

He can hear his own ragged panting, the sound—just slightly out of time—of his hooves beating against the ground. He has no idea what he is running on, other than that it is cold and smooth and glassy, and he doesn't spare a thought for it. All he cares about is fleeing, all he can feel is deep, stark, gibbering fear.

Clip-clop, clip-clop.

His wings are folded tightly to his sides; he doesn't think to fly, and somehow he knows that it won't make a difference to try. He can't hear it, can no longer feel its searing, freezing, scouring breath on his flank, and somehow he knows that it must be far, far behind him, but he knows it is hunting him; and it fills some deep, irrational part of him with an awful dread to know that it is taking its time, waiting for him to tire, somewhere in that black, silent void.

Silent but for the sound of his panting, and the occasional sob, and the sound of his hoofbeats, always a split-second too late.

Clip-clop, clip-clop.

He doesn't have any idea what's going on. He has vague, foggy memories of a bright, beautiful, winding city built into a mountain; he thinks he remembers a job, stamping and carrying papers through a crowded, lively building with large windows, ponies of all sizes, shapes and species milling about through the cheerful chaos.

He thinks he remembers a face. Dark gray coat, delicate features, pale green eyes. He feels scraps of memory, vestiges of emotion and friendship associated with that face. Maybe he could remember more, if he tried. In this place, however, all that exists is the running, and the darkness, and the gnawing, aching fear.

Clip-clop, clip-clop.

He runs, and runs, he doesn't know how long. And then, when he thinks that he can run no longer, he feels a deep, echoing shiver through the void, and he knows that it has come for him.

Adrenaline renews its assault on his exhausted body as the terror that has been driving him reaches new heights. He lets out a whinny, although he knows he should save his breath; the sound is swallowed up before it reaches his ears. Even the telltale vibrations in his jaw and throat are silenced. He speeds along, faster than he would have ever thought possible, the screams of his abused muscles drowned out by the screams of his instinct to run.

Clip-clop, clip-clop.

It's getting closer. He doesn't look over his shoulder; he doesn't need to. He can feel its malice, hear its breathing in some deeper part of him than his ears. It's catching up to him, and he can't keep on this way. The wings fear has lent to his hooves begin to fade (some irrational, disconnected part of his mind thinks that that's hardly fair, as his own wings aren't working), and he begins to lag.

He thinks that he probably would have run himself to death if he hadn't tripped over his own hooves, one tangling in front of the other and sending him crashing to the cold, hard floor. He is carried another foot or two by his own momentum across the smooth, glossy-feeling surface, before sliding to a halt.

The creature is standing over him. Lying on his side,unable to move any further, his flanks heaving and glistening with sweat, he sees it out of the corner of his eye. The light, such as there is, is dim and strange, and he can't make out much; but what he sees is horrible. The misshapen silhouette of a head, covered with gruesome-looking spikes that seem strange to his eye, a mass of feathers rising up behind it. Its eyes glitter with a dim light of their own, and although he can't seem to focus on them, he knows that there is something horribly wrong with those eyes.

It looks at him, and speaks in a voice that whispers and moans and shakes the entire void around him. He doesn't understand it, and yet he has the strangest feeling that he should be able to. He stammers something, or tries to; once again, the sound is silenced. The creature seems amused. It tilts its head and looks at him for a little bit longer. Then, without warning, it picks him up—he doesn't feel a touch, so it must be magic—and turns him abruptly over on his face. More deep, mournful whispering, increasing in volume as it goes on. It becomes louder and louder, until he feels as if it is shaking his very bones to shards. Light begins to glow, a strange, sickly light that is quickly absorbed into the blackness, which begins to pulse. His fear begins to take over again, and he starts to struggle—

–And screams, long and loud, as a horrible, sickening pain rips into his back. His silent cries are soaked into the darkness, strengthening it as much as the light does. He feels something give, and tear, and come away from his shoulders, and he nearly passes out then and there. The light and the whispering continue, growing more and more intense as he screams and screams, and he can feel his mind beginning to be drawn into it.

And then, suddenly, it stops. It takes a minute for the light to fade from his vision, which is quickly filling with black spots. When it does, the void and the monster and the sad, vague silhouettes are nowhere to be seen. He is lying on a hill, beneath a tree, surrounded by moonlit grass swaying in a gentle wind, the scent of flowers heavy in the air around him. It is beautiful.

He doesn't care. He wants to get away from this place, even if he doesn't know where it is. This is a place of danger, and he knows it. Everywhere is a place of danger. He can tell, because there is blood all around him, and what safe place is covered in blood?

Slowly, he staggers to his hooves, nearly passing out from pain and fear and blood-loss. Yes, that's what he should do. It worked for a while, didn't it?

He laughs once, a wet, sick, shaky laugh.

And then, he starts to run.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the void, the beast stands perfectly still.

He doesn't know what happened. All was going well, and then the colt had just… vanished. Ponies tend to vanish in this realm, of course, to shift from one place to another. But not this place. This is his place, his lair, and others don't simply leave against his will.

It is a dangerous thing, whatever it is that has happened. His realm is tied to him, and he can feel the raw power still coursing through it, looking for a victim. He needs to do something with it, or else he might begin to lose control. And that would never do.

He stares into the darkness, and the silence, and the shadowy forms in the distance.

Then, he turns, and makes his way further into the void, to prepare.

Clip-clop, clip-clop.

What A Wonderful Morning

Chapter One: What a Wonderful Morning

Today, reflected Twilight, had not been a good day so far.

She had been woken up several hours before her usual rising time by Spike, who had for some reason fallen asleep on a shelf, and then rolled off and landed on her (and she had a darn good reason for falling asleep in the library! If her sleep-fogged mind could only remember what it was). Twenty pounds of heavy, spiny, hard-edged baby dragon squishing the air out of one’s lungs is hardly a pleasant way to start the day, and it got worse from there.

After her rude awakening, she tucked Spike back into bed and tried to return to her own, with no avail. In the past week, she had become so used to blocking out all tiredness immediately upon waking that, once awake, it was nigh impossible for her to go back to sleep.

So it was that she wandered into the study to make her checklist, trying to decide in her befuddled brain whether defenestration by first-story window would be a reasonable punishment for Spike (and knowing that it wasn’t), and quickly discovered that they were out of parchment.

Out of parchment, she fumed on her way to the store. Really? Really? It was on last Tuesday’s checklist! I checked! But apparently just making sure it was on the list wasn’t going to be good enough. Putting off the nervous breakdown accompanying those words with the rationale that she would take care of it later, she walked into the Quills and Sofas store, pasted a cheery smile on her face, and rang the bell on the counter.

She stretched her fake, sugary smile a bit wider when the owner, a pale brown stallion with a slick, dark-brown mane, edged through the doorway from the backroom, a sofa perched precariously on his back. “Gooood morning, Davenport! How are things at the good ol’ Quill and Sofa?”

The stallion started to reply, only to yelp as the sofa tilted and nearly came crashing to the floor. Moving more by her reflexes than her slowed, muddled mental processes, Twilight caught the imbalanced furniture and lowered it carefully to land on its four legs. The grin became a little less forced as the sparkle of magic faded; it eased her bad mood to be of help to somepony, at least.

She was quite shocked when Davenport, startled by the magic and attempting to compensate for the expected weight of a sofa, lost his balance, tripped, and hit the hardwood floor face-first.

“O-oh my goodness! Are you okay?” Worried, she peered over the countertop at Davenport, who groaned and hauled himself to his hooves. “That didn’t hurt too much, did it? I mean, at least the sofa’s alright, and…”

He gave her a look, and she shut her mouth with an audible click. “I’d like to buy something,” she squeaked.

He sighed and shrugged. She could just hear the unspoken ‘oh well, better hurry up and get her out of here.’ “Well, we got quills and sofas, ma’are. Which’ll it be?”

With an effort, she pushed aside her embarrassment. “Well, I’d like to buy some parchment,” she said brightly, and immediately regretted it.

His face took on the hunted look of one who knows the conversation that’s coming next, and has had it many, many times.
“We don’t sell parchment here, ma’are. We sell quills, and sofas, and that’s it. It’s why we’re called the Quill and Sofa Store.” He explained this slowly and carefully, as if to a small foal of below-average intelligence. He seemed wary, hoping against hope that just once one of these types would understand, buy something the store actually stocked, and leave him alone.

She felt a bit guilty; after all, how would she feel if ponies started accosting her in the street, asking her to do random weather-predictions and read their minds, regardless of the number of times she told them she didn’t do that sort of thing? Celestia only knew that she had had plenty of that in the months shortly after graduating the School for Gifted Unicorns. She shouldn’t bother him with it. She should leave him be, let him have his peace, and go on her merry way, just as he was most likely silently hoping she would.

After all, she thought, I can keep track of the things I need to do today in my head.

There was a moment of deathly silence as she contemplated that scenario.

“…I’ll pay extra?”

His mouth set in a grim line, and despair covered his features. So be it. “Ma’are, we don’t sell parchment here. It’s not on the list.” He pulled a slip of paper from the pocket of his blue vest. “We have a list.”

She glanced at it. Large, emblazoned gold letters boasted to the world, DAVENPORT’S QUILL AND SOFA STORE! Below that, in smaller letters, were the words WE SELL: QUILLS AND SOFAS!

“See? No parchment,” he said flatly. “You’ll have to try somewhere else.”

Her ears drooped. “Well, I mean, I could… surely you have some back in the business area? Please? I’ll pay double the price for it!”

“With all due respect, ma’are, no you won’t, because we’re not selling any,” he replied.

She bit her lip. “But I need this—” she blurted, and stopped. A thought occurred to her. “Can I just… borrow some, then?”

Twilight saw the wheels turning in his head. Borrowing wasn’t the same as selling. He didn’t sell anything other than quills and sofas, mainly on principle, but he had plenty of parchment stocked up to keep record of his business with. Sure, used parchment doesn’t return well, but that didn’t matter as long as he could get her out of the store as quickly as possible, and without breaking company policy.

Faster than one could say ‘What do you say?’ (which she was about to), he disappeared into his office. She heard drawers opening and shutting, and then the sound of paper shuffling. The office door opened, and Davenport emerged, carrying a large bundle of parchment. “This enough, ma’are?” There was desperation in his voice.

She beamed. “Yes, it is! Thank you so much!” She hesitated. “Do you want me to help you move sofas later, in return?”

The hunted look came back, full force. “Don’t need help with my sofas, ma’are. Please don’t go telling ponies that I give out parchment. Safe journey, have a nice day.” With that, he turned and hastily retreated into the safety of the back room.

Uncomfortably, Twilight loaded the parchment into her saddlebag and headed for the door. She paused on the doorstep, grinned, and gave a little bounce of victory before continuing on her way.

Outside, she shivered and blew on her hooves. Autumn was almost over, and winter was on its way in. On her right, a thin, tranquil forest rose into the air, the light of dawn just beginning to show over the treetops. To the left, she could see Ponyville off in the distance, frost glittering on its roofs and streets, firelight glowing through the windows of every house in sight. With a smile, she trotted down the path, enjoying the mysterious, uniquely wonderful smell of autumns and early mornings.

She was trotting along, narrowing her eyes to keep out the rising sun, when her reverie was interrupted by something snatching at her saddlebags. Startled, she jerked away and turned to look behind her. The road was empty; there was nopony in sight. Blinking and shivering in the frosty pre-dawn air, she turned and continued on her way.

It was several minutes down the road before she noticed a small, light weight clinging to her back, tiny claws digging into her coat, and something being lifted with great care from her saddlebags. She whipped her head around just in time to see a small, white shape with large ears darting off the path, several large pieces of parchment held in its mouth. At this point, most ponies would have (likely against their will) said something along the lines of ‘Awww, it’s a wittle bunny! Look at him go! Isn’t he just precious?’ Such is the nefarious, hypnotic power of bunny rabbits.

Unfortunately, Twilight was now entirely too upset at the thought of losing her hard-earned parchment to care. “Hey! Get back here!” When the fluffy little rabbit ignored her completely and continued to run away with her would-be checklist, the high-strung annoyance she had been suppressing all morning broke loose. Feeling the edges of her mane and coat begin to smolder and catch fire, she gave an entirely un-fillylike roar of rage and ran full-pelt after it.

The rabbit, looking over its shoulder and seeing that its cuteness had little effect (but it did have a little; she was bursting into flames without foaming at the mouth first, at least), ran much faster, ducking and weaving. It was extremely fortunate for the rabbit that it decided to do so, because at that moment a fireball blasted through the thin scattering of trees, scorching the earth where it had been a split second ago.

The chase lasted for several minutes, straight through to the other side of the forest and onto the rolling pasture, ending when the rabbit crested a hill. Twilight attempted to follow suit, only to trip over the lump at the top and come crashing down, rolling to the bottom of the hill. After a few seconds, her inner ear rebalanced, and she hauled herself to her hooves with a groan.

The first thing she noticed was that the rabbit was standing about a foot away from her face, glaring at her, its stubby paws crossed. The second was that the parchment she needed—needed needed needed parchment—was lying on the ground in front of it, soaking up the dew. She was about to grab it when she realized that, standing next to the rabbit with worry on her face, was none other than Fluttershy.

“Oh my goodness,” fretted the yellow-coated pegasus, her eyes wide. “Oh, I’m so sorry! You see, I needed some parchment to write a letter to Princess Celestia about something I learned yesterday, but I forgot, and I started to do it this morning, but I needed something to write it on, and I asked Angel to go get some for me, and…”

She gave the rabbit, which Twilight now recognized as Angel, a reproving glance. “I didn’t mean for him to steal it. Angel, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Angel transferred his glare to Fluttershy. Then, he pulled back one of his stubby paws and let it fly forward through the air, making an explosion noise out of the corner of his mouth as he imitated a blooming fireball. Fluttershy looked shocked, and Twilight cringed, waiting for a lecture on Why One Shouldn’t Throw Fireballs at Fluffy Little Bunnies, However Annoying and Sticky-Pawed They Are. “Angel! Why would you want Twilight to explode? Apologize right this instant!”

Angel turned his nose up, shook his head, and pointedly turned his back, crossing his paws once more. Twilight sighed, trying to reign in the jumpy, irrational anger still twitching around inside of her. “It’s alright, Fluttershy. He doesn’t have to apologize to me. I’m just…” She dragged a hoof down the side of her own face. She was too tired for this. “Here, you can go ahead and have some parchment. I’m sure that reporting on the progress of our friendship is much—much much much much—” Her mostly-calm demeanor fractured, and her eye twitched. “Much much much much much much much—“

Fluttershy looked more concerned than ever, and a little confused. “Ah… Twilight? Are you okay?”

“—Much much much more important than my checklists!” There, she had managed to say it without twitching. Much. She beamed, a little too widely, grabbed her share of the parchment, and ran back up the hill towards the road at a worrying speed. Fluttershy stared after her for a minute, turned away warily, and began to give Angel a few pointers on manners.

It didn’t take too long for Twilight to reach the library, thankfully without further incident. Spike was still snoring in the bedroom-observatory, although he had managed to twist and flop out of his basket and onto the floor. Her annoyance receded slightly, and she smiled as she tucked him back in. She darted into the study, pulled out the much-contested parchment, and gave a smile of satisfaction and contentment. Now she would finish her checklist in peace. The daily ritual to sharpen and focus her mind would continue unimpeded. She could no more be stopped from writing her checklist than Celestia could be stopped from raising the sun!

She reached for a quill pen.

One half an hour and a hasty, awkward second visit to the Quill and Sofa Store later, she returned to the library yet again, this time carrying a saddlebag full of quill pens. The first item she wrote on her checklist for the day was ‘Make sure that Spike isn’t just crossing things off the list so he won’t have to keep carrying it around.’

Another hour and a half later, she dotted the end of the last item just as her stomach let out a ferocious growl. For the third time that morning, she made a foray out into town, looking for Horte Cuisine’s Diner. Her mind wasn’t in the best of working order at the time, however; as a result, she walked around the town multiple times in the attempt to find the diner.

Finally, she stopped in front of Sugarcube Corner, thoroughly lost, and decided that banging her head against the brightly-colored wall would do her some good. It wasn’t as if it would make a large difference to her current level of brain-function, because if she was lost in a town as small and familiar as Ponyville, her sense of direction had most likely gone out to lunch.

After a minute or two of self-pity, she decided that the best thing would be to just see if she could find a nice, sugary pick-me-up inside. Sighing and grumbling at the world in general, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The tinkling of the bell over the door alerted Mrs. Cake, who had been finishing the morning’s baking in the kitchen. She trotted up behind the counter, wiped icing from her hooves onto a napkin, and beamed. “Why, good morning, dear, so nice to see you! If you’re here to visit Pinkie Pie, she’s still asleep, bless her heart, she stayed up all night baking a delivery of cakes that are supposed to go straight to Canterlot this morning!” When she paused to take a breath,she heard a nearly-inaudible murmur. “Oh, what’s that? Did you want anything, dear?”

Twilight said it again, a bit louder; even then, Mrs. Cake only caught the tail end of it. The unicorn’s voice was tired and ragged, and she sounded quite pitiful. “…have any coffee?”

“Oh, of course, dearie! Carrot can’t wake up in the morning without a cup or two, don’cha know, so we always keep a pot on just in case—” Twilight yawned heavily, so hard that her eyes watered. Mrs. Cake smiled understandingly. “Okay, dear. Coffee’s coming right up!” With that, she trotted back into the kitchen.

Twilight waited in the front room, her baggy, dark-circled eyes wandering. Although it hadn’t been very enjoyable so far, she had to admit that it was a beautiful day. Outside, the sun glittered over the frosted grass; leaves rustled, showing off their red-and-yellow autumn clothes to anypony who cared to look. The sun, just warm enough now to feel comfortable, shone through the window, tinting the sugary colors of the shop buttery yellow and rosy pink.

She sighed as birdsong began to filter through the air; and, slowly, she began to relax. Maybe the world at large wasn’t out to get her. Maybe she was just tired and stressed and overreacting to everything. She smiled happily as a cardinal landed on the windowsill, tilting its head to the side to observe her. “Good morning, little guy,” she cooed, her voice still slurred by lack of sleep. “I hope you’re having a better day than—“

She was cut off when the cardinal, without warning, made a nasty face, accompanied by a fairly rude gesture. She fought the urge to throw another fireball, and balefully watched it fly away. Then Mrs. Cake came in from the kitchen, a fresh, hot pot of coffee dangling from her mouth by a handle on the top, and all else was forgotten.

One might think, looking on these events and then at the unicorn’s haggard, stewing expression, that Twilight Sparkle was a grouchy, bad-tempered, and mentally-unstable pony with a trigger-happy attitude towards magic. Not so (except possibly the bit about the unstableness). She was not usually trigger-happy, or rude, or unable to find her way around a tiny town built around a central hub, or prone to trying to roast cute little bunnies.

In fact, she was the bearer of the Element of Magic, and as none of those things are terribly conducive to friendship, they generally didn’t fall to her. Usually she was kind, understanding, intelligent, friendly, and held in the thrall of baby bunnies like anypony else. However, one might forgive her her lapse in good attitude in light of the early hour, and the extremely depressing and taxing job she had taken on.

She looked carefully back over her checklist as she drank her coffee. “Let’s see… I’m supposed to see Berry Punch around noon Tuesday, Peanut Marmalade around four Wednesday, Dinky Doo at six Thursday, Apple Bloom at eight Friday…” She felt a pang of sadness at the reminder of the Apple Family’s loss. “Lyra at ten-thirty Monday…”

She frowned. “Monday? That doesn’t make any sense, we made the appointment for sometime this week—” She noticed the ‘This week!’ scribbled hastily beside Lyra’s schedule. “Oh. Right.”

She looked out the window again, suddenly worried. “Mrs. Cake?” she called plaintively.

The older mare’s head popped back around the doorframe, the sun softening her blue coat and frosting-shaped mane. “Yes, dear? Do you need more coffee?” she asked.

“Well, maybe, but, ah… would you happen to know what time it is?” Twilight inquired nervously, hoping that it wasn’t too late to get to the appointment (although it still felt far too early).

Mrs. Cake glanced at the clock on the wall and beamed. “Oh, it’s about six-thirty, dearie! Got somewhere to be?”

Twilight sighed softly. She had a few hours, but she needed to go home and sleep before the appointment, or she’d be completely useless. “Yes. Yes, I do."

She tried to take another sip, only to be met with an empty cup. "And, um… could I maybe have that second cup of coffee?”

A Depressing Job

Twilight Sparkle is dreaming.

She is dreaming that she is a filly, running through a sunny, grassy obstacle course with several other foals. One of them always sticks close by her, and even though she can't place a name to the other filly, and knows deep down that she doesn't know her in real life, she also knows that they are best friends, and that they had decided to run the obstacle course together. She doesn't know why they're running the obstacle course. She just knows that it's fun, more like a playground than anything else.

The whole thing is very surreal, in the way of dreams. Everything seems slightly distorted, as if viewed through a fish-eye lens; she and the other foals are pegasi one second, then unicorns, then earth ponies, then alicorns, then scatterings of the four. Sometimes she sees everything through her own eyes, and sometimes she looks down on the action from some higher, out-of-body vantage point. Sizes, distances and proportions are all completely malleable; she tries to hide behind a large clump of trees, but upon realizing that they are too small, she jumps into the shadow of a lone brick, which conceals her perfectly.

She giggles and laughs and has so much fun running around and pulling stunts that would leave her exhausted, sore, and most likely injured in real life. It's almost perfect, with one exception. In the distance, at the very southern edge of the playground, is a fringe of trees that look--wrong, somehow.

They don't look distorted, they don't change size and shape and direction. The angles of the branches make them look more like normal trees than the strange, twisting, knotted puzzle-trees on all the other borders. She stops and stares at them once or twice, and they stay exactly the same, in exactly the same place.

They are real, and it makes her very uncomfortable indeed.

She does a pretty good job of putting it out of her mind and focusing on the game, and they run and play for what feels like years. Finally, though, they decide they are done, and when she realizes that it should be very late, the sky darkens, and it is nighttime. The group--about fifteen foals in all--stick around for a while longer, talking about their lives. Although she knows, somewhere in the back of her mind, that she'll forget them quickly upon waking, for now she feels as though she knows them all intimately, has known them forever, will always know them.

After a while, one of them stands up and excuses himself. He says that he needs to go home for the night, or his family will be worried about him. Amid cheerful goodbyes, he skips over to the unsettlingly realistic trees, slips between them, and is gone.

And, after that, more and more of them stand up and say that they need to get going. Just one or two at a time, but it eventually adds up. Finally, she and her partner, her best friend, are left alone in the starry circle of woods. The obstacle course has long since vanished, although she isn't sure when it happened.

The filly stays, and they talk for a long time. Eventually, though, her friend says that she needs to go home, too. Twilight is suddenly deathly afraid of being in this place all alone, and begs her to stay. She begins to cry, so hard she can barely breathe, even if she isn't sure why. This place is a haven of safety and happiness, where foals gather to play; what could possibly be frightening about it? All the same, she is scared, and she doesn't want her friend to leave.

The other filly talks to her for a few minutes, tries to calm her down. Then, when that doesn't work, she asks why Twilight doesn't want her to leave. Twilight says that she's not sure where her own home is, or whether she has a home even, and she doesn't want to stay here. The filly asks if she wants to come and stay at her home for a while, until she knows where her own is; Twilight accepts, overjoyed.

Then her friend starts to walk towards the out-of-place trees. All of her misgivings come back, and she is suddenly very, very worried. Her friend stops at the treeline, looks over her shoulder, and asks is she coming or not? Numb, Twilight nods. The other filly steps through the trees, not looking back, and disappears.

Biting her lip, Twilight steps up to the trees. Surely they're not that bad, she thinks. Her friend lives right through on the other side, so it can't be that bad. She isn't comforted, however, and it takes all her willpower, but she finally musters her will and slips through the trees.

"Twilight?"

She opened her eyes.

The first thing she saw was a purple-and-green shape hurtling through the air toward her. She yelped and tried to dodge, but it was too late. For the second time that morning, a twenty-pound bundle of scales, spikes and claws fell directly on top of her with a large amount of force. Unfortunately, this time he landed directly in the middle of her stomach, instead of slamming into the side of her ribcage.

Gasping for air, curled up into a ball and definitely awake, she saw Spike dizzily stand up from the splintered section of floor where he had landed after bouncing off of her stomach. Panic filled his voice. "Oh, geez! Twilight, are you okay? I didn't mean to hit your stomach like that, I was trying to wake you up so you wouldn't be late and you wouldn't get--"

"It's fine," she wheezed, rolling from her back to her belly and standing up on wobbly legs. "Just don't do it again." He nodded, although he still looked worried.

She stared vacantly into space for a few seconds, slowly recovering her lost air. Then something clicked. "What was that you said about being late?"

Five minutes later, she was very much awake indeed, the pain in her stomach and ribcage quickly receding as panic took over. Lifting several things at once with her magic, she scrubbed at her teeth, combed out her mane, and went over her checklist. Meet with Lyra at 10:30 a.m., she read. A quick glance at the clock told her that it was five minutes after ten. She had overslept, and now she had less than half an hour to be ready and make her appointment at Lyra's house.

"Oh, this isn't good at all," she fretted, working at an unruly tangle. "Spike, why didn't you wake me up earlier?"

"Hey, it's not my fault!" he replied defensively. "I'm not the one who sleeps like a log!"

"You've slept through parades, late-night Pinkie Pie parties, and Derpy Hooves crash-landing through the window," she pointed out as she worked the brush through her mane.

Caught off-balance, Spike paused and shrugged. "Well, I guess I did. But she was a quiet crashlander, and anyway that's not the point!" The baby dragon pointed an accusatory claw at her. "I was trying to wake you up for forty minutes straight! I tried yelling, tickling you with a feather, poking you, playing that party horn Pinkie Pie gave me, slapping your face; nothing worked!"

Twilight became aware of a stinging, sore patch of skin on her cheek in roughly the shape of a baby dragon's paw. "Thanks for that," she muttered.

"So," he continued, as if he hadn't heard, "I took drastic measures." He crossed his stubby little arms for emphasis and did his best not to look nervous.

She sighed and rubbed grit from the corner of her eye with a hoof. "I'm glad you woke me up, Spike, but please try to use less physical methods in the future." She smirked. "After all, other ponies aren't going to believe me when I say that I got these bruises from having a baby dragon fall on me. Twice."

Obviously relieved, he rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, it's only a matter of time until they find out about your illegal underground boxing ring." He moved over to the desk and starting organizing papers.

Twilight chuckled and went back to her morning grooming. Before long, she was finished making herself look presentable; as an afterthought, she slipped on a businesslike purple vest to cover the bruises on her ribs and stomach, did her mane back in a neat bun, and slipped on her psychiatrist glasses. She didn't really need them, but she felt they were important to maintain the image.

"I'm headed out!" she called over her shoulder as she headed for the door. Spike grunted in acknowledgement. Taking a deep breath, she shoved the door open and walked outside, feeling a tad bit less unprepared for the day with another few hours' sleep under her saddle.

In the light of dawn, she had seen the very smallest stirrings of early-rising ponies beginning their day. Now, as she emerged from the path that led between the town and the library, she saw that the street--although not as crowded as usual--was still loud and lively and busy. The frost had melted, leaving wet cobblestones, damp earth, and sodden roofs behind, but nopony seemed to mind. How could they? There was barely a cloud in the sky, a brisk, invigorating chill permeated the air, and the sun shone brightly over all. The weather team had done their job well today, and in spite of recent happenings the residents of Ponyville were determined to enjoy it.

She trotted down the street, her hooves joining the chorus of clip-clopping that echoed up and down the square. To either side, ponies went about their business, be it work, play, visiting, or simply wandering around. Sounds of cooking could be heard from many of the stores, and delicious smells permeated the air: sweet, rich baked goods, fresh, sharp-scented vegetables, and numerous other creations to tempt customers.

Her stomach made a noise like the final, rasping gurgle of a dying animal, and she realized that she hadn't yet had anything to eat that morning. She was starting to feel light-headed, and had to make an effort not to drool at some of the food she saw in the windows, but what about her appointment? She couldn't afford to be late, not on her first day! She set her vision to a narrow strip in front of her, and continued on her way. Not three seconds passed before the smell of a fat, freshly-baked apple tart wafted directly across her path and practically smacked her in the face.

Two minutes later, she dashed down the street, five less bits in her pocket, eating a steaming tart as she went. Well, hay, she thought, I can't do my duties properly on an empty stomach.

Before long she was in the suburban area, hopefully near where Lyra lived. The two of them had moved from Canterlot to Ponyville at about the same time, and they had been sort-of friends before that, but they didn't know each other very well, and she had only ever seen Lyra around town. i]Bench Street, I think she mentioned once that she lives on Bench Street. A glance at the sign coming up on her right told her that this was Stickshoe Avenue. If she remembered correctly, Bench Street was a couple of streets to the west. Screeching to a halt hard enough to leave sparks on the road, she turned to her right and cut through somepony's yard, coming out on Mule's End Lane.

She nearly ran right into at least four other ponies while crossing the street. Babbling apologies as she raced past, she craned her neck back to look for the clock tower. There! It said 10:27; there was still time! Triumphantly bursting onto Bench Street, she slowed to a stop as a thought occurred to her, filling her stomach with dread.

Which house was Lyra's?

Biting her lip, Twilight scanned the street for some sign of which house belonged to whom. She saw an electric-green colt come out of one; that was one off the list. Just five or six more to go in the next--she glanced at the city clock again--minute and a half.

Her heart sank. She wasn't going to be on time. A pony, one of her oldest (if not most well-acquainted) friends, needed her to provide comfort for her troubled psyche, and she was going to get there late. Absolutely wonderful.

She was about to begin the wretched, humiliating task of going door-to-door to find her patient, when a sound caught her attention. It wasn't a loud sound, or a sharp sound, or an insistent one; in fact, it was barely audible over the noise of a busy morning neighborhood. She found herself straining to hear it, and when she realized what it was a smile of relief stretched across her face.

From the second story of a graceful, pale-green house at the end of the street, somepony was playing a lyre.

Making a final, mad sprint to cover the remaining distance, she climbed up the stairs to the porch, straightened her vest, glasses, and mane, and tapped the door with her hoof at exactly ten-thirty.

The gentle, lilting melody of the lyre stopped. There was silence for a moment or two, then the sound of hooves on stairs. Another five seconds or so passed, and then the door opened on a sight that shocked her terribly.

Circumstances being what they were, she had expected her friend not to be in good shape, but nothing like this. The mint-green unicorn's eyes, normally a vibrant yellow, were tired and bloodshot, circles and bags marring the skin beneath. Her mane, tail, and coat were an absolute mess, and she smelled like she hadn't washed in days. She looked sad and exhausted, and the sight of a friendly face didn't seem to make her feel any better.

When several seconds of awkward silence went by and Lyra didn't say anything, just stood there and stared, Twilight cleared her throat softly. "Um... h-hi, Lyra. I think we have an appointment."

More silence.

"Ah... may I come in?" Nothing. She shifted uncomfortably. "Lyra, it's okay to say something. It's me, Twilight, remember?" she offered tentatively.

More staring; then the glazed look in the other unicorn's eyes cleared slightly, and she nodded. "Okay." Her voice sounded rough and hoarse, as if she had been crying her eyes out. She probably had been crying her eyes out, judging by her red, puffy eyes and the tearstains on her face.

Twilight took a deep breath, steeling herself for the next hour, and tried a smile. "Thank you." Lyra's lips twitched in a mockery of a polite smile. With a shiver, the acting-psychiatrist stepped through the doorway, past her friend, and into the house.

At one time, the living room had apparently been a fairly neat and orderly place. She could see a few telltale signs of the clutter that came from daily living, but beneath that it had a certain structure to it. Now trash, dishes, and other miscellaneous items lay scattered everywhere, and there was a musty smell as though the windows hadn't been opened in a while. A chair lay in pieces on the floor, looking suspiciously as though somepony had smashed it against the wall. The blinds were open, so at least it wasn't terribly dark, but that also meant that the sad state of things was that much more visible.

Well, thought Twilight, that's a good thing. Mess, physical or emotional, needs to be out in the light, not hidden away somewhere. She congratulated herself on her little burst of psychiatric wisdom, and then felt ashamed of herself as she watched her old friend staring listlessly at the dust motes floating in the sunlight.

She cleared her throat a second time, to get Lyra's attention, and then a third time, choking on the rank, dusty air. "If you want to come sit down, we can get started. Want to sit down?" For a moment, Lyra didn't respond. Just as she was about to speak again, the other unicorn turned away from the window, crossed the room (heedless of the various items of clutter in her way), and plopped down on the sofa. She sat in an odd position, her chin tucked to her chest, her back curving with the contours of the sofa, and her legs sticking out into empty space.

Trying to gather her thoughts, Twilight picked her way through the mess and lifted a chair over to sit close by the sofa. "Alright, then. I understand you wanted somepony to talk to, so you asked for my help. Is that right?" She spared a moment of focus to summon her notebook and pencil from their customary place on her desk.

Lyra sat silent for a minute. "No. I didn't want a shrink. Carrot Top and Derpy were worried about me, so they signed me up." Her voice was dull and slurred, although she spoke matter-of-factly.

There was a pause. Then, a pencil scratched over paper. "I see. Well, I don't want you to think of it as being signed up for a shrink. You've had a traumatic, stressful experience, and you need somepony to talk to about it. Carrot Top and Derp--" She caught herself, and used the mailmare's proper name. "--Ditzy Doo thought so, and I'd say they were right. That's why I'm here: to help."

She waited for Lyra to say something. After another awkward silence, when she was fairly certain her patient wasn't going to give a reply, she coughed and continued. "You're feeling sad and angry right now, correct?"

Lyra nodded.

Doesn't take a psychiatrist to figure that out, she thought, casting another look at the shattered chair. "Why do you feel that way? Don't worry whether there's any of it I already know, just be honest."

Another minute passed, with Lyra twiddling her hooves. She opened her mouth as if to speak, stopped, hesitated, and spoke. "Because Bon Bon is missing."

Pencil moved across paper, and silence fell again. Twilight was about to ask another question when Lyra, who seemed to be thinking hard, continued to talk. "I'm sad because she's gone, and I don't know what happened to her. I'm mad because she was one of the first ones to go missing, and they say the Royal Guard is on it but they still haven't found her, and I haven't seen them trying." She trembled. "I'm sad because she's my best friend, the closest thing I have to a sister and the only pony who I feel like actually listens to what I say, and I don't know if she's okay or if she's even alive. Maybe she got kidnapped, or maybe something in the Everfree Forest got hungry and went exploring." She looked like she would have cried if she had the energy left to try. "I'm mad because everypony keeps asking me if I'm okay, and coming over to my house and bugging me and telling me they're sorry." Her eyes flicked upward at Twilight in a baleful glare before dropping again. "I'm mad because I had a dream that something was going to happen to her, and I didn't do anything about it."

The pencil had been scratching nonstop while she talked, as Twilight listened. It stopped abruptly, scratched out a few more words, and then stilled again, poised to write. "What happened in the dream?"

Now that Lyra had started talking, she hardly needed encouragement; it was as if a dam had broken. The pencil scratched away. "I-I had this weird dream where I was back in Canterlot, at my old house. Except everything was kind of weird, you know? Like something was wrong. I didn't figure it out until later, but my house was right in the middle of the city, instead of off in the Northwest District where it's supposed to be. There was something else, too, like somepony was following me around." She shuddered, almost imperceptibly, and glanced nervously at Twilight. Twilight nodded supportively, and she seemed to calm down a little before she continued.

"Then I heard Bon Bon saying something, and she sounded really close by; but I ran around the corner, and she wasn't there. I kept on looking for her for I don't know how long, but it was always the same. I could never catch up to her. I couldn't hear what she was saying, but she sounded kind of upset." She stopped, and bit her lip, as though she didn't want to say what had to be said next.

"Go on," Twilight said gently. "It's okay."

Lyra took a deep, shivering breath and went on, having to visibly force herself to talk. "I-I kept trying to listen, and I went around the city in circles for a really long time. Then, I heard her scream really loud. I ran around the corner as--as fast as I could, because it was coming from inside the house next to me and I thought maybe I could get inside and help. I ran around front, and I opened the door, and went inside. There was nopony there, and I realized that it was my house, and I was back where I started. Then I went to the door to go back outside, and it was--it was--" She sobbed. "It was black, just a black hole in space like somepony tore the world away, and I saw her, and she didn't--didn't look right, there was something wrong with her but it was her--oh Celestia--"

Tears welled in her eyes, and she curled up into a ball. She didn't notice that the pencil had stopped its scratching, and she barely noticed when a pair of hooves surrounded her in a hug. "Shh," whispered Twilight, "it's okay, it's okay."

As she sat with Lyra for the next forty-five minutes, and held her, and listened to her cry, one thought ran through her head many, many times. I am not good enough for this. I'm just an acting-psychiatrist with almost no training. I'm in way, way over my head.

When the hour was up, Lyra straightened up and scrubbed at her face with a hoof. Her eyes looked redder and more swollen than ever, but she didn't look nearly as hopeless and apathetic. Twilight wrote her out a recipe for a type of tea that would help her sleep and give her energy, told her that she needed to go outside for a little while every day, wished her a nice day, and walked out the door.

At the library, she was writing up her notes and trying not to think about the fact that her next appointment was in less than twenty-four hours when a knock came at the door. She opened the door to see Nurse Coughdrop standing on the wooden, stumplike stairs, out of breath and looking extremely worried. She spoke quickly, informing Twilight that a new patient had just been received at the medical center, and that she was needed. So saying, she went away as hastily as she had come.

Feeling entirely inadequate and emotionally drained from her taste of Lyra's loneliness and depression, she did her mane back up in the bun, straightened her vest, tucked her notebook and pencil into her pocket, and trotted out the door.