A/N: Revised 7/17/12
The sunny sky beat over the small town that, on a normal day, would be very desolate. But today, the town was abuzz with activity.
This was the day of Appaloosa's Slam-down Showdown, an annual festive day consisting of music, dancing and lots of cider. All along the streets, a sea of canvas marked the location of an impromptu market place. In between the tents, a flock of ponies made their way from stall to stall. This year was especially exciting as it was the first time the neighboring tribes of buffalo, having recently begun trading with the town, were taking part in the festival. Some tribe members had even set up their own stalls, allowing the Apploosians to sample some of their tribal recipes.
In the window of the town hall, a light blue Pegasus gazed out upon the activity outside. He had never been to this town before, and was intrigued by the vast difference between the community get-togethers of Cloudsdale and Appleoosa. The air-shows and festivals in Cloudsdale were very fast paced compared to the townsfolk he had a brief conversation with as he was going into the town hall. They had seemed to be a fairly close-knit bunch of earth ponies.
He had not had a chance to go explore the shops, as the team had just arrived in town in the early morning for the performance. They had just had another performance in Manehattan two days ago, so they had to race across the good part of northern Equestria to arrive on time, and so they didn’t have time to take part in the festivities.
Most notably, the second day of long celebration was to end with a stunning performance by Equestria’s most famous non-military flying group, the Wonderbolts.
“Hey Soarin! You gonna get in here or what? We are set to go in ten minutes.”
Soarin turned his head as the sound of his best friend and team leader, Spitfire. She had her flight suit draped over one of her wings; her goggles were on her forehead, pushing back her amber-yellow mane.
“Oh, all-right.” He said glancing back toward the festivities one last time then pushing himself away from the window and following Spitfire towards room that had been set aside for them to change in the town hall, their hooves making a dull thud on the slightly creaky wooden floor.
“You ready for this, Soarin’?” Spitfire said, not bothering to look over her shoulder.
“What do you mean, exactly?” he said, not quite sure what she was referring to.
“That new trick.”
Ahh.
She was referring to the Double Barrel Sideswipe, a maneuver she and Soarin had been practicing for this day. It was a very difficult maneuver, one that required intense concentration, on both participants. The pair of them had been practicing it since the Grand Galloping Gala a month ago.
“I’m ready for it, but how about you?”
“Well, I mean, we’ve practiced it over a hundred times, right?”
“Yes, of course.” She turned back, but still didn’t look completely satisfied.
When they reached their changing area, most of the team had just arrived as well, unpacking their flight suits, or doing some warm-ups before the show.
Soarin unpacked his flight suit and goggles. He did not bring much to performances, unlike Spitfire who brought tons of hair gel. But the look of her fiery orange red hair gelled up in a mockup of a flame definitely seemed worth the effort, he thought.
In no time at all, Spitfire's voice rang out amongst the chatter of the team, “All right, I just wanted to wish everyone good luck, mostly for myself and Soarin’. There’s clear sky’s out there, so no worries there. Everything seems to be in place; is everyone ready? Yah? Ok then, here we go!” And with that, the team quickly followed her.
They filed out of the town hall, lining up behind the building. Behind them, they could hear the cheer of the crowd.
The crowd suddenly went silent, and sharp male voice spoke,
“Mares and Gentle-colts! It gives me great pleasure to present to you, the finest fliers in Equestria, the renagade rouges, the...”
It was the usual introductions that came with all airshows, but the next few sentences of the introduction were lost to the team, as they had been given their cue to start.
All six Wonderbolts launched themselves into the air. Soarin felt the adrenaline course through his system as he bent low to the ground, flared his wings and launched himself into the late afternoon sky. This was his passion, and he enjoyed every single minute of it. They all took off at the same time, and leveled out as soon as they were high enough in the air.
“Communications check. All wings report in.” came the voice of spitfire in his ear as they raced away from the town, preparing for a low pass to start the show off.
“Soarin here.” he said, his voice magically broadcast to the other members, a benefit of having a unicorn as a show technician.
“Thunderhead, good to go.”
“Starfire, standing by.”
“Nightingale, let’s Rock!”
“Skystream reporting.”
They were closing fast to the town square.
“Streams on,” Spitfire said.
Soarin brought his hoof to his side, above the slim disk that he slipped into his jumpsuit before the show. Bringing his hoof above the disk slightly, he slapped it sharply. A loud crack signified the activation of the iconic thunderstorm and lightning trail that the Wonderbolts were famous for. Glancing behind him, his mane slightly blocking his view due to the speed of which he was flying, he saw the dark gray cloud trailing behind him, occasionally highlighted by the bolts of lightning that coursed through it.
Around him, he could hear similar cracks as the other Wonderbolts lit their respective streams, forming an arrowhead of light behind them.
They passed over the town, the thundercloud and lightning smoke trails creating a cheering from the spectators.
“All right, time to give these ponies a hell of a show. Let’s bisect and break off!”
At once, Thunderhead, Spitfire and Soarin formed into a simple triangle formation as did Nightingale, Starfire and Sky Stream. They pulled, away from the ground, climbing high above the city. When they were high enough, the two sets of Wonderbolts split apart, heading in opposite directions.
The group Soarin was in began to form a line, getting ready for their next trick. For the spectators below, it would look like each team of 3 would be passing right next to each other. But in reality, they would be quite a distance from each other. In part this was for safety, but mainly it was due to the angle at which the spectators below would see them. By one group passing slightly higher and further away from the other, it gives the illusion that the two groups were passing only a hair’s width from each other. A nice visual in any air show.
They switched up the groups many times during their performance, at one point splitting up and flying solo, doing special tricks that they practiced on their own. Soarin did a full backflip while heading straight downwards. He managed to glimpse Spitfire pull off an impressive series of corkscrews.
He could tell the crowd was enjoying themselves. He would glance downwards, and see the awestruck faces of colts and fillies as they saw the Wonderbolts race across the sky.
After a bit of flying, the team started to halt their maneuvers in preparation for the show stopper.
“Ok Soarin...” Spitfire voice announced, “Get ready for the Double Barrel.”
This was it, he thought. Taking in a large breath, he twisted his neck to the side, eliciting a small crack as he readied his muscles.
He broke off from the group. Whizzing past a large barn silo, he headed away from the town center. He continued out farther past the outskirts of the town. He knew that Spitfire had also done the same thing, heading in the opposite direction than him. Once he was out far enough, he made a vertical U-turn, faced the town and sped towards it, gaining an impressive amount of speed in a short amount of time. The scene before him started to turn into a blur, his mind focusing on the stretch of sky before him and the little speck of blue in the distance that was Spitfire. The rest of the team had stopped performing, and were now flying slowly in a circle close to the town. It was his and Spitfire's show now.
He could see that they were closing distance to each other fast, maybe a bit faster than during practice runs, but that was ok. Soarin’ knew that he would get a signal from spiffier when it was time to bank left hard, and sail right past Spitfire who would be banking right.
“Now!”
He pushed his right wing up and his left wing down, forcing the air to rotate him so that he was perpendicular to the ground. Spitfire and he were now parallel relative to themselves. This move would put them very close to the other, much closer than the regular squad pass. Soarin could see the form of her cutting through the air.
*Snap!*
Soarin’s flight goggles flew off his face, the band holding them together had snapped, sending them flying off behind him. The blast of air against his eyes caused him to shut them out of instinct. And for that brief moment, he was totally blind.
The next thing he knew was a hard and sudden change in direction. Had been knocked off course, still blind but scenting that he was spinning out of control. Remembering his training, he managed to stabilize himself, and was able to slow down enough to manage to open his eyes to gaze upon...
... The rapidly approaching barn silo.
With a crash Soarin plummeted through the wood roof, landing forcefully on a pile of hay that had been stacked in a corner of the circular room. The impact knocked the breath out of him, leaving him motionless on the ground. His vision was blocked by the strands of hay that he landed in. He managed to spit out a few that had landed in his mouth. He also noticed the distinct metallic taste of blood along with the hay strands. He could still feel all of his limbs, though he found it impossible to move anything. Through his groggy mind, he came to the conclusion that he did not break anything, but his left hoof had taken the full impact, and was throbbing badly. Soarin could feel his head thumping in time to it.
A smell caught his attention as he realized to his horror that his stream was still activated. The emergency shut off had failed, and the sparks of lighting had caught the hay on fire. The glowing amber flames danced along the corners of his vision. He painfully reached along his side to get the manual shut off button, but a quick search told him it had fallen out the pocket it rested in. He had no way to shut it off. He knew he had to get out of here and quick. He tried to move his injured leg, but the pain it caused him inhibited him from standing. But then, Soarin felt a glimmer of hope as his hoof bumped against the unmistakable outline of the stream button. Smashing it with his forehoof, the smoke and lightning shutoff immediately, but unfortunately his reprieve was short lived.
The fire it started was quickly spreading, having gone from a tiny speck to an intimidating wall of flames in only a few seconds. Fueled by the bales of hay, the fire was quickly engulfing the building, rapidly closing in on the injured Pegasus, like a predator closing in on its prey.
Soarin resorted to shuffling along the floor of the barn silo, trying to get the trapdoor open as quick as possible. But the smoke and fumes from the inferno was starting to take its toll on his consciousness. His mind was starting to go blurry, and his vigor was stating to fade as his mine began to succumb to the fumes. The last thing he remembered before he fell unconscious was the bang of the trapdoor bursting open and the silhouette of a pony above him, and the sensation of being dragged, and then his mind went black.
The next images that flashed throughout his head were a blur. Images of him being carried inside somewhere blurred with a giant table that was full of various pies. He could almost taste a juicy pumpkin pie in his mouth.
“Mm... Pie...” he thought, not really aware what was real or not.
Soon after, his mind went black as he fell into a relaxed sleep.
He opened his eyes and looked around. He was laid on his side in a bed, wrapped up in what appeared to be a plaid blanket. The room he was in was dark; the only light a strip coming from a closed window.
A quick test of his right wing told him that it had been wrapped up in a splint. It was not too tight, he thought, but it was tight enough to cause him a little discomfort when he tried to move it.
The door opened a crack, letting a bar of light shine directly on his face, blocking his view of the pony.
"Golly! He's awake already!" a stallion’s voice with a distinctly western accent spoke.
The door closed for a moment, then swung wide. Spitfire was the first to rush in, hugging him forcefully. The rest of the team then entered.
"Oh thank Celestia you’re ok! I’ve been worried sick."
“What happened, exactly?” His mind was having a hard time remembering why he was in this place.
“Well, it seems as if your goggles broke,” Thunderhead, the jet blue Pegasus chimed in, “You were blinded and-“
“-You managed to nick me in the wing.” Spitfire concluded. “You were going slower than me, so you got the worse of the impact it seems.”
Upon closer inspection, Soarin noticed that she too was injured, abet not as badly. She had sustained a minor bruise on her wing where she clipped him. She was carrying it lightly; the upper feathers had been ruffled.
“Afterwards, we watched you spin out of control into that barn silo. We tried to go through the hole you made, but there was too much smoke for us to see through.”
Glancing out the window, he saw the sun just starting to rise in the sky. "How....How long have I been out?"
"About a day." Spitfire replied. “You’ve been drifting in and out all this time. Moaning and making sounds."
Soarin blushed. Hopefully I did not say anything about what I was thinking. But the slowly widening smile on Spitfire's face confirmed his worst fears.
“Wait... so how did I get out.? I remember someone comming for me before I blacked out.
"That was mah self." The western voice spoke up. Spitfire moved out of his vision to allow him to glimpse the pony who spoke.
“Howdy. Name's Braeburn. Pleasure to meet yah." he said as he stepped into the light of the window.
His eyes were the first thing he noticed. His light green eyes matched his own but more yellow, and contrasted with his pale, golden coat. Like Spitfire, he had a light yellow mane, but the color was less intense. He was a tall-built stallion, not too muscular, Soarin noticed, looking perhaps a bit too closely at the lean body. He could almost be a flyer with that body, Soarin remarked. Braeburn had the most impressive smile on his face. It stretched almost across his entire face, and caused Soarin to feel warm inside. Soarin realized that he was still staring at the pony, and averted his eyes, feeling slightly embarrassed.
“Yea, when y'all fell out of the sky, ah saw that you was in trouble. I raced up the stairs and found you about to take lil’ nap, just inches away from the blazin’ heat.”
“Lucky he found you in time,” Spitfire said.
All right let me through,” a noticeable Canterlot-accented voice spoke. As the group around Soarin parted, he was greeted by Doc, the ‘Bolts’ personal doctor. The lime-green unicorn walked right up to Soarin and levitated a large stethoscope against Soarin’s neck. The cold instrument caused a chill to run up Soarin’s body. After a few moment‘s Doc removed it and the surrounded the Pegasus in a soft green glow.
Soarin felt like his entire body was touched by the magic, as the doc did a standard examination.
“Hmm... Well,” the unicorn said, after removing the magic,” You seem to have come out all right, though I would not recommend you doing intense flying for the next few days. And also you don’t really need this anymore, so… “The splint that held his wing steady magically undid itself, the fabric unbinding itself from his wing and flowing back into the Doc’s Saddle pack. With his wing freed, Soarin stretched it out slowly. It was still pretty sore, but otherwise he could move it fully.
“Ok, you're all set.” And with a swish of his tail, he exited the room. Doc had always been few of words, Soarin thought.
Yes, and because of your accident, I want you to rest for the next few days,” Spitfire said, “We can do the performance today without you.”
“Are you sure?” Soarin asked, “Because-“
“No,” Spitfire stated, “You’re injured. You can’t be doing any stunts for a while.”
Soarin thought about it. Though she had a point, he certainly didn’t want to be cooked up in bed for the rest of today.
As if reading Soarin’s mind, Spitfire added,” If you won’t stay in bed, than just promise me you won’t overexert yourself. There is a festival in town. I’m sure you two can find something to do there.”
Soarin thought about this. Well I could always… hang on. Soarin reread what Spitfire had said...
“You… two?” Soarin looked at Braeburn.
“…Ah volunteered to look after yah. The lass though it ought to be wise to have someone look after y’all, and to help you not get bored.”
He looked back at Spitfire, but her expression was unreadable. She was not looking directly at him, and her emotionless eyes told Soarin nothing.
“Is that ok?” she asked.
“Yeah, I guess.”
The clock tower struck the hour, the bell tolling eight o’ clock in the morning.
“Well, we all have a busy day ahead of us.” Spitfire spoke to the group at large. With a shuffling of hooves, the Wonderbolts filed out of the room, Spitfire lagging behind.
“Good day, Soarin,” She said with a wink before exiting the door, leaving the two stallions alone together.
What was that about, Soarin thought as he struggled to wiggle out of the comfy bed, making a mess of the sheets as he did so. He turned toward Braeburn who was busy remaking the bed he had just gotten out of.
Braeburn spoke up after he finished, “So, ah bet y’all are hungry for some chow. I know of a good place in town to get some.”
“That sounds good. It beats being caught up in here all day.”
“Ok, now ah just be a min, got to get mah hat.”
After a moment, he returned with a large cowboy hat, his mane being pushed back by it.
Seeing Soarin looking at it he plumped it up a bit, “Ah had this here hat since ‘bfore we settler ponies moved out here. Don’t go nowhere without it.”
The morning air was chill to Soarin as he exited the house. The smell of the outdoors was noticeably moist. It had apparently rained last night. The water had soaked into the dry cracked earth, causing the ground to suddenly sprout life. All along the edges of Braeburn’s house were little cream colored flowers. They gleamed with the dew of the morning.
“Well would you look at that!” Braeburn exclaimed, bending down to sniff the fauna. The ol’ Dessert Lilies are back! Guess they wanted a bit of the ol’ festival cheer too! And it had rained late last night, as well. What a nice surprise. A rainstorm out here is a rare and special occurrence.”
As they got to the main part of town, Soarin glanced at the Silo that he crashed into a day earlier. It was completely destroyed. Ponies were busy scraping through the debris, seeing if anything could be saved, but most of the wreckage had been cleaned previously. Seeing the charred remains of it gave Soarin a shudder.
“Wow. You pulled me out of that?” he asked, indicating the remains of the silo with his hoof.
“Heck tootin’! ” Braeburn said, “Of course, the fire got much worse as soon as ah got ya’ out of there. The local pegasi helped us by bringin’ in water from the clouds, along with a few of ya ‘Bolts. But it seems like the ol’ Silo threw in the towel this time. And none got hurt too bad, apart from you, o’ course.”
They continued walking into the town center, where the festival was about to start up again. Most of the stalls were closed at this early hour, but they could see a few that were just opening for the day. Braeburn made a beeline to a stall set up right near a teepee, a small slender buffalo was outside, cooking food in a little fire pit that was set up under the shop canopy.
“Howdy, lil’ Strong Heart.” Braeburn said as he approached the buffalo.
Stong Heart looked up from her cooking as the two stallions approach her.
“Hi Braeburn, how ya doing? Who’s your friend?” she asked looking at the blue Pegasus before her.
“This is Soarin, the Wonderbolt that had the unexpected meetin’ with the ol’ grain silo last night.”.”
The buffalo put a tiny hoof to her mouth, “Oh my, and you can walk fine after that?!”
“Yep, almost good as new.”
To show this, he spread out his wings, flaring the long light blue end-feathers out.
His wingspan was almost the length of himself when fully extended. It was one of the things about him that he took pride in.
“Anyway,” Braeburn continued. “We came here for a bit o’ breakfast, buffalo style. So what do y’all have?”
“Well, our traditional breakfast cornbread served with a bit of smoked bacon. To add to the taste, I have added my own spices. To be honest it tastes better than without it. My father says it muddles the flavor of the dish, but the other tribe-members love my version.”
So they ordered two of the traditional breakfast.
Sitting down at a table, they were brought their meal. To go with When it was placed, Soarin grimaced. The pale color of the food made him less enthusiastic to eat it.
“Oh, it tastes better than it looks,” Braeburn whispered so as not to offend Strong Heart.
Going with his advice, Soarin took a bite of the bread. The moment the bread touched his tongue he could tell that the spices were a necessity as without the spices he could tell the dish would be bland.
“So, how long have you been a Wonderbolt?” Braeburn said, attempting to strike up a conversation.
“Oh about 3 years. Mostly it goes by fast, what with all the training, air shows, and guest appearances.”
Braeburn munched on his bacon. Soarin had already ate his bacon, but was still hungry.
“So do you have anymore bacon?” he asked the bufallo.
The buffalo shook her head, “I’m afraid that my father has not come from the camp to resupply me for today. I’m terribly sorry.”
Braeburn looked at his bacon strip in his hoof, then held it out to Soarin, “Here, y’all take my piece.”
“Oh, no,” Soarin refused, “I couldn’t do that.”
“You are under my care,please take it will ya?”
“Oh all right” Soarin said, as he took a large bite out of the crispy bacon strip.
After they finished their meal, and saying goodbye to Little Strong Heart, they headed to the more busy areas of the festival.
“Well, we have to get going if we’re going to get a feel of the Slamdown showdown in one day!” the stallion said happily.
Not waiting for Braeburn to respond, Braeburn pushed Soarin with his head, leading him into the festival.
“Dagnabit! I had that one!” Braeburn said.
“Maybe a little lower, it is getting too much air,” The Wonderbolt suggested.
Braeburn grabbed the small ring in his mouth again. This time he decided to push for accuracy, not power. Twisting his neck, he pulled back then released. The sailed through the air, then landed squarely on the neck of a cider bottle.
“Yeehaw! Great shot, Braeburn!” The game master said.
Returning with a bottle of cider, the game-master gave the bottle to Braeburn. It was a large bottle to give out as a prize, but Soarin chalked it up to the different culture of town.
“And how about your friend give it a try.”
“Yeah, you should try Soarin, have ya’ ever played Ring Toss b’fore?”
“Not really,” he replied. In truth, he had seen it played before when he went to carnivals as a colt, but had never actually played it himself.
Grabbing the red ring in his mouth, he stepped up the line that marked where he had to stand, and threw it as hard as he can. It land far short of the bottle.
“Maybe give it a bit more air!” Braeburn said, chuckling at his comment.
This time Soarin did not hold back. Grasping the ring firmly in his mouth, he twisted his head fast and forcefully.
Perhaps a bit too fast.
A sharp pain lanced across the width of Soarin’s neck. Dropping the ring, he grasped a hoof to the pain, letting out a grunt. Apparently the crash yesterday still had a few moments of pain it had to deliver.
Slowly he became aware of a new feeling on his neck. A foreign hoof gently forced his own aside and continued to establish a smooth massaging rhythm directly on the spot that a moment ago had caused Soarin discomfort.
Braeburn continued to rub his hoof into the soft nape of his neck.
“Easy there partner, don’t strain yourself too hard.”
Soarin noticed that his wings, that has for a second ago been neatly tucked in, had flared out, causing the end-feathers to brush against Braeburn’s coat. Braeburn seemed to not notice, still concentrating on his impromptu spa treatment. Soarin tried to will them to go down, but his efforts were futile.
Eventually, Braeburn ceased his ministrations, removing his hoof from the Pegasus's neck. Soarin could still feel the earth stallion’s soft touch on his coat.
“Well, I’d say you gave it your best,” Braeburn said with a smile. The red ring had not landed on the bottle, but rather landed two feet behind the table. This brought a laugh from Soarin.
“Let’s try something that will not cause you to hurt yourself, again.” Braeburn said as he led the Pegasus to another stall.
The day’s events were winding down. Braeburn had taken Soarin’ to almost every part of the Showdown. While they didn’t spend a lot of time on any one place, it was enough to give the pegasus a good view on life in Appaloosa.
They decided to get away from the center of town to get a better spot above the town. Braeburn led the pair to a spot on the top of a large hill.
“This is a spot I found to be a good place to sit back and relax. Ah’m betting that we’ll get a fine spot to view the air show, and the fireworks too.
Soarin took a look around. A single tree stood at the peak of the hill, its branches providing a surprisingly decent amount of shade from the setting sun. Looking behind him, he could easily glimpse the entire town before him. Up on the hill, the town looked so small and far away, almost as the trip up the hill had somehow transported the pair of them into a different plane of existence.
As the settled down, a gust of wind brushed past them, followed by a loud crackle of lightning. The Wonderbolts, only five of them now, shot past them and climbed straight up in the air in front of them. Soarin could tell that Spitfire had changed their flight plan. They were doing more acrobatics rather than fast blown stunts. And strangely, they group were now performing their trick slightly off center of town. Directly above them.
The pair of them lay down on the grassy ground, facing up at the pegasi in the air above them. Their performance was drastically different from yesterday, where then it was fast, intense moves. Tonight however, they were more like exotic dancers, with the sky as their stage, dancing to the beat of the slowly darkening night. The two stallions on the ground were silent, preferring to sit back and relax, not ruining the show with idle conversation.
Soon after the Wonderbolts were done, the sky was peppered with random explosions of bright light. There were a multitude of colors and an array of shapes to the fireworks.
Looking over at the Western pony, he could see that he was slowly falling asleep. His hat had fallen over his eyes, blocking his vision.
Soarin, with bravado caused by the fireworks, sized the opportunity to reach out slyly and pluck Braeburn's hat off his head.
“Hay!” The stallion woke up, jumping to his hooves.
Soarin threw the cowboy hat on his head and proclaimed, “If you want it back, you have to defeat me!", he said playfully.
Acting at once, Braeburn tacked Soarin to the ground locking his hooves around the other stallion, forcing him into a playful wrestling match. Soarin had the advantage of wings, attempting to use them to gain a height advantage Braeburn. But the earth pony had the advantage of his strength from years of applebucking and was able to, after a short while, overpower the pegasi. The rolled to the side the hill, bumping and when they stopped moving, Soarin was on top of Braeburn, the former with a playful smile on his face. They both could tell that the tone of the moment had changed. Braeburn ran a hoof over Soarin’s cheekbone. It was not a rough touch like it was a moment ago, it was soft. Gentle. Loving.
Almost instantly Soarin’s wings fluffed open, the Pegasus’ reaction so sudden that it caused a puff of air to blow over the two.
“Oh?” Braeburn said in mock surprise, “Enjoying mah touch aren’t we?”
Soarin was slightly taken aback for a moment, until Braeburn replied,
“Ahh don’t worry. I know you pegasi and your wings.” He said with a wink. Soarin blushed even deeper.
“Ya know, until now I was not quite sure you swung this way,” the earth pony said,
“But now I am glad I took the risk”
“Risk? What ri–!”
But his words were cut of as Braeburn leaned up and locked lips with the Wonderbolt. If Soarin’s wings could been more rigid they could cut steel.
Soarin felt the same way he did when he was performing, the almost surreal touches of the earth pony’s soft lips sening Soarin into a virtual skydive. Braeburn started the same massage he did when his neck was hurting, but this time he focused on the Pegasus plumage, starting where his wings met his spine to the tips of his end feathers.
Eventually his hooves gave out and he collapsed upon the yellow pony, there proximity only making the feeling stronger. Braeburn’s muscular but slim arms locked over the light blue Pegasus. To them, the outside world was subdued, the sound of the wind died down. As if nothing else in the world mattered right now.
Braeburn ran a hoof through Soarin’s mane, his gentle touch causing Soarin’s to shudder in pleasure.
After breaking the kiss, Braeburn and Soarin looked at each other.
“That risk.” Braeburn said, a little out of breath.
A lone wolf’s howl broke the silence of the moment. Braeburn took a look around their vicinity. The night sky carried the howl through the desert.
“It’s getting’ dark out. And out here in this desert it gets mighty cold out after dark. What say you to returning home?”
Soarin looked out at his surroundings.
The sun had already set, but there was still a retreating glow in the west.
He looked back at Braeburn, the stallion’s green eyes showing signs of fatigue.
“I think I’ll stay here... with you.”
“Ya sure? It gets awfully cold at night here.” Braeburn said.
“I think we can keep each other warm, in a way.”
Braeburn smiled, saddling up next to Soarin on the ground, cradling each other, just the two of them in the crisp cool night.
* * *
The early morning sun beat down on the two ponies as they walked along the trail heading back towards the town. The dry breeze whipped past both their manes as the trotted along the dirt road.
“So y’all are leaving so soon?”
Soarin signed as he looked back at the town. “The Wonderbolt’s performance is over, and we have to get back to Cloudsdale.”
Braeburn thought about this for a moment.
“Ya know, Ah must admit when you were still knocked out in mah house, I think I started to get a liking to you. If you don’t mine me asking, does your team captain know that...?”
“Know that I’m a coltcuddler?”
“Yeah.”
“Spitfire and I had a conversation about a month ago, in which I told her that I'm a coltcuddler. But I still have not managed to tell the team.”
“What about you?” Soarin decided to rebound the question.
“Well, heh” Braeburn said looking at the ground, “I usually tend the apple orchard by mahself. ‘corse I get help now and then, but for the most part I live a quite life. ‘except when our family reunion comes around.
They continued walking towards town. The winds started to kick back up, forcing them to cover their eyes to block the sand that had been blown.
A particular strong gust of wind blew Braeburn’s hat off his head, causing it to land in a desert fern by the trail.
“Golly, that happens to me too often’ ” the earth pony groaned as he dived into the bush to retrieve his hat.
“Good Golly!”
“What?”
Braeburn came back up, hat on his head and holding a tattered object in his mouth.
Upon closer inspection Soarin recognized it as his flight goggles. They were a little battered from the fall yesterday and the yellow band was broken, but otherwise they seemed fine.
“They must have landed in the bush when you crashed. Ah bet you can get these repaired at the tailor’s ship in town if you want.”
Soarin looked at the disheveled, worn goggles. These goggles he had since the first time he ever flew as an official Wonderbolt. He certainly did not consider them lucky, but he wore them every performance. The color had become a little faded over the years, but he tried to keep them as close to pristine condition as possible.
“Braeburn, you keep them,” he said as he pushed them back, “To remember our first meeting by.”
The earth pony took them in his hoof, turning them over and examining them as a jeweler would to a precious gemstone.
“If it was not for these goggles, we would have never met, I reckon.”
Braeburn eyes had stared to water, but not from the desert. He walked up to Soarin and gave him a big hug, which the Pegasus returned.
“Ya know,” Braeburn said through Soarin’s deep blue mane, “I’m heading to mah cousin’s farm in Ponyville in ‘bout a week for a little family reunion, tain’t too far from Cloudsdale. And... I would like to invite yah.”
Soarin stopped walking. “Yah mean, like a... date?”
“Yah, I guess. And to meet mah family.”
“Sure, Soarin replied, “We’ll be doing an air show in Ponyville in about a week, so thats perfect..”
“Ok... So I guess its goodbye till then.” The Earth pony said, trying his best not to display his sadness.
Seeing the state of his partner, Soarin gave him on last peck on the cheek.
“Well... Goodbye.”
As Soarin’ walked back to town alone, he glanced back at Braeburn. He was standing still, watching Soarin disappear over a slight hill in the path. When he could no longer see him, he faced forward and did not look back.
As he returned to the hotel where the Bolts’ were staying, he saw that Spitfire was already awake, sitting on the porch of the town hall. She was clearly relaxing, hooves above her head. She was having a drink from a bottle of cider, and he watched him approach.
“Were you waiting for me?” he asked his captain when he got to the town hall.
“Maybe.” She replied with almost mischievous smile. He could see that she had just woken up. Her mane had strands of hair going out in all directions, and he saw she had bags under her eyes.
“Anyway, we have all wrapped up for this gig, and we plan to fly back to Cloudsdale ASAP. Doc has already left on the train, so maybe he can finally arrive at the same time as us.”
“That’s good.”
After a few moments, Soarin asked, “I must ask you, why did you insist on having Braeburn accompany me yesterday?”
“What do you mean?” Spitfire said in a seemingly innocent tone.
“Also,” Soarin stated, “that you seemed to plan out the air show to do an almost private show for us.”
“Ah yes, well...” Spitfire said with a glimmer in her eyes which matched her smirk, “In my opinion, a team captain must not only look out for the health of her or his team members, but also for their welfare. If you know what I mean.”
And that was all she said before heading back inside, leaving Soarin alone. He looked back into the direction he had come from. There was no one to be seen, apart from the early festival-goers.
Turing back, he went into the town hall to pack up his belongings.
He went into the locker rooms with a mellow expression. Grabbing his flight suit, he instantly searched for his flight goggles, only for him to realize a moment later that they were not there.
After the whole team had packed up, they went outside, getting ready to finaly leave the town. As they exited, they were met with a group of ponies giving them a light applause. Most were colts and fillies, who had dragged their parents out to say goodbye to the team.
Waving back, the team lined up in single file, behind Soarin and Spitfire.
Without and command, the team lifted off simultaneously into the air, to the cheer of the crowd.
As they began to fly off in the general direction of Cloudsdale, Soarin looked over at Spitfire.
“Hey Spitfire!” he yelled over the roar of the wind rushing past them, “Do you think we can do a few passes over the town before we leave?”
Spitfire thought about this for a few moments before she agreed, seeing Soarin’s intent.
With a command to the rest of the team, the group backtracked in the air, reversing direction. As they passed over the town, Soarin scanned the town, looking for Braeburn.
After turning for their final pass, he had no luck in locating the stallion.
And as the passed the town one last time, Soarin finally spotted the single yellow earth pony on top of the hill with the tree off to his right. Soarin could not see his face, but the pony had on his flight goggles. He was waving his hoof in the air, waving goodbye to the Bolts. The felling he had was sated as he saw the outline of Braeburn. Finally content with leaving, he happily led the team, along with his captain, off into the sky.
A/N:
This was intended to be a nice sweet story, however I realize the potential for this story to be expanded, but I want to see how it is being received before I make a decision if I continue this tale.
Anyway, please read and review! Constructive Criticism is always welcome!
~dr64
