A Dash of Inspiration

“Thank you for letting me have a look around Sweet Apple Acres, Applejack.”

“It’s the least Ah c’n do, Mr. Nimbus. We’re all worried ‘bout Scootaloo.”

“I realize the Guardsmen already checked here, but . . . I suppose I just need to see it for myself.”

“Hey now, don’t go talkin’ ‘bout it like she’s gone or sumthin’ – Ah’m sure we’ll find some clue to where Scootaloo is. Th’ Guards’re trained an’ all, but they ain’t got a parent’s way a’ thinkin’ ‘bout things.”

“. . . Yes, perhaps you are correct. Which way is the treehouse?”

“Thataway. ‘S a fair walk.”

Rainbow Dash drifted lazily upwards from the realms of sleep to the brightness of the waking world. She hadn’t yet opened her eyes, but she could still perceive a few things – the soft warmth of sunlight on her face, the slightest hint of a breeze flowing in through the treehouse windows that carried the vague sweetness of apples. There was a steady pattern of breathing coming from just beside her, accompanied by a warm form pressed against hers.

Dash lifted her eyelids halfway, taking in the world visually. From where her head lay on the treehouse’s rug, she saw a bright golden rectangle that could only be a window. Celestia’s sun beamed through the glass, gilding it with light and refracting yellow brilliance onto the interior of the treehouse. The wood of the walls and ceiling, already a dull orange, were brightened to a pleasant ochre.

The blue pegasus’s eyes wandered, looking at the details of the one-room structure – a table off to one side over there, a shelf along one of the walls here, the small black circles of nail heads in the floorboards wherever she looked.

An orange and purple shape beneath her wing.

Scootaloo was pressed into Dash’s side, with blue feathers covering her from neck to flank. Her breathing was still the slow, steady pulse of sleep, so Dash took care to be subdued in her movements as she lifted her head and stretched out her legs along the floor.

I can’t even remember the last time I slept that well, she thought as her brain gradually sped up. Her eyes drifted back down to the diminutive figure beside her, and Dash couldn’t help but smile at how peaceful Scootaloo looked.
Looking at her now, you’d never guess what she’s been through.
The smaller pegasus had curled Dash’s wing around her like a blanket, which Dash just then realized. Mentally bracing herself for the pain to start, she was surprised to feel none. Surprise was replaced by confusion – then, cautious hope. Looking over to her other side, Dash considered her folded wing. It didn’t seem any different, but it no longer carried a dull ache with it as it had in previous days. She tentatively extended the limb, ready to quiet a pained intake of breath if necessary.

Her preparation proved unneeded, as her wing reached its full extension without fault. Dash sighed softly as she worked muscle groups neglected for a week. The simple, base pleasure of stretching her wing out was immense, and Dash felt her eyes close in bliss as she contracted the muscles controlling her wing. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed the act until now. Somewhere at the back of her mind was a nagging thought about how odd it was that she had recovered that quickly, but Dash couldn’t bring herself to focus on it.

Eventually, the tension in Dash’s wing completely melted away and she looked back at Scootaloo – still asleep. It seemed that being kept at full extension for the night had alleviated whatever tension Dash’s other wing might have had. That was fine with Dash; Scootaloo needed her sleep after what she’d been through.
I’ll stay like this maybe another half hour or something. Then I’ll wake her up, we’ll have some apples and head back into town.
Dash was just lowering her head back to the rug (her makeshift pillow) when she heard voices drifting in through the treehouse’s front doorway.

“And this is the Crusader treehouse?”

“Yep. Th’ three of ‘em fixed it up real nice.”

“This is their hoofwork? I must say, I’m impressed.”

“Ah know what y’ mean – it was a sorry sight when they first got to it.”

Dash could recognize Applejack’s voice easily, but the other one escaped her. It was familiar, sure, but she couldn’t put a name or a face to it. Dash lifted her head back up and craned her neck, trying to see who was talking. She caught a glimpse of a dark grey coat and a purple mane, which was enough to jog her memory. Her mind filled in the missing eye colour and cutie mark (dark amber and an envelope respectively), and the image was complete.
Mr. Nimbus? What’s he doing here?
Before she could think about that query very much at all, there came the clunk-clunk of hooves on the wooden ramp leading up to the treehouse’s entryway. Dash had fully woken up now, and she realized that Mr. Nimbus might not appreciate seeing his daughter side-to-side with her. The words of the Court missive flashed through Dash’s mind, and she winced with the memory. Pushing it aside as best she could, Dash gathered her hooves under herself and made to stand up. Before she could, a dark grey head topped by a purple mane appeared at the entrance of the treehouse.

Mr. Nimbus walked forward a few cautious steps, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the lighting inside. Dash was frozen in place, suddenly and acutely aware of how awkward it looked for her to be lying next to Scootaloo with her wing wrapped around the younger pegasus. Nothing untoward had happened the previous night, of course, but even Dash had to admit that would seem difficult to believe in her current position.

Mr. Nimbus suddenly stopped walking – indeed, he had stopped all motion short of breathing. Silence stretched out for what seemed to be an eternity as the two pegasi stared at each other, Dash doing so with an expression of complete neutrality and Mr. Nimbus with an unreadable face. It quickly turned readable, however, as his brows angled inward in anger and his breathing became more forced. His chest felt tight with stress as a hot flush of adrenaline coursed through his system. He was having difficulty believing the sight before his eyes was actually real and not some fabrication of his stressed mind.

But, no. It was her. Perhaps it was some parental instinct, or perhaps he was finally registering the sensations his body was receiving. It hardly mattered – what did matter was that it was her, his daughter, his little Scootaloo safe and sound after being missing for more than thirty-six hours.

Something was off, though. Scootaloo (his dear Scootaloo) was orange of coat, not blue. Mr. Nimbus saw that her usual orange coat was covered by a blue wing that obscured her real colours. The grey pegasus’s eyes drifted slightly upward, and met wine-red ones – the owners of the treacherous feathers.

Rainbow Dash cleared her throat awkwardly.

“Ah, um, hi Mr. Nimbus,” she said, standing up and disentangling herself from Scootaloo. He said nothing in response, only looking at Dash with hard eyes. Scootaloo, however, had been jostled awake by the motion and now yawned her way out of sleep. She stretched lazily, rolling over onto her side. When she hit Dash’s hooves instead of her side, Scootaloo opened her eyes and blinked slowly.

“Thanks for that, Rainbow Dash. The sleep really-” her voice cut off as she noticed the room’s third occupant, who continued to glare at Dash. “Dad . . .”

“Scootaloo.”

The orange pegasus was silenced with a single word, flinching slightly at her name. Mr. Nimbus was slightly taller than the average pegasus, and years of flying an unforgiving mail route in every kind of weather imaginable had left him with a layer of solid, working man muscle. His size and power made it all the more intimidating to hear him speaking in such a low, calm voice, as though nothing at all were amiss.

“Applejack is outside at the bottom of the ramp. Please go and wait with her. I have some things I need to discuss with Miss Dash.”

Dash winced at the honorific, but said nothing. She had wanted to talk to Scootaloo’s father as well, and she didn’t necessarily want the filly to be around for it. Scootaloo rolled onto her hooves, standing up facing her father.

“Look, Dad, I’m sorry about-”

“Scootaloo, it’s okay,” interrupted Dash, putting a hoof on Scootaloo’s shoulder. Mr. Nimbus inhaled and exhaled deeply when she did, controlling himself with a significant amount of effort. “Your dad and I have some stuff we need to talk about, and it’d be best if we got it out of the way.”

“But, but,” Scootaloo stuttered as she turned to face Dash.

“It’s okay. I know what I’m doing.”

Scootaloo tried to speak once more, but could not find the words. Her face fell into an emotionless mask, and she trudged out of the treehouse and down the ramp. Applejack’s voice drifted in from outside, astonished at Scootaloo’s appearance. The two pegasi were now alone in the treehouse. They stood facing each other, legs out slightly for balance in a slight gesture of mutual aggression. Silence reigned for a long moment, interrupted only by Applejack’s questions and Scootaloo’s mumbles from the bottom of the treehouse ramp.

Dash spoke first.

Scootaloo walked slowly down the wooden plank and onto the ground, her head tilted forward to stare at the dirt. She stopped and plopped backwards onto her haunches when an orange shape entered the right side of her peripheral vision. Applejack had been sitting respectfully on the grass outside, waiting for Mr. Nimbus to return. To pass the time, she had been chewing a sprig of wheat and trying unsuccessfully not to think about what she would do if Apple Bloom were the filly missing.

The earth pony was brought back to the material world by a scuffing sound slightly behind her and to her left. She turned, smiling sympathetically.

“Find anythin’, Mr. Nim-” was all Applejack managed to say before she nearly choked on her wheat sprig. After a couple of hacks, she spit it out and rubbed her eyes in disbelief.

“Scootaloo?” she managed to stutter. “I-izzat really you?”

“Yeah,” Scootaloo replied weakly. Applejack was, at the moment, too much in shock to notice Scootaloo’s posture or the tone of her voice.

“Blazes, girl! Why on earth’re y’ here?” she asked, managing to regain control of herself. Scootaloo repeated her part in the conversation with Rainbow Dash the previous night, answering Applejack’s questions when she was interrupted by them. They conversed in this way for a couple of minutes. Scootaloo’s demeanour didn’t improve, though Applejack tried to be as positive as possible when she did speak. When Scootaloo had finished talking, Applejack sat for a moment and collected her thoughts before responding.

“So lessee if I got this straight: y’ felt guilty ‘bout what happened t’ Rainbow and y’ felt worried about getting’ a new teacher, so y’ wanted somepony t’ talk to.”

“Yeah.”

“But y’ felt the Crusaders wouldn’t wanna talk t’ y’ and yer father filed the complaint in th’ first place, so y’ couldn’t talk t’ him, either.”

“Yeah.”

“So y’ hid out at th’ treehouse until yer father got worried an’ sent some guardsmen out lookin’ for y’, who y’ hid from. Then Dash found y’ last night, an’ here we are.”

“Yeah.”

At that moment, there came a piercing cry from the treehouse. Applejack immediately stood up and started cantering towards the base of the ramp. Scootaloo shot past her, a blur of orange against orange. As Scootaloo pounded up the ramp and into the treehouse proper, she saw the cause of the noise.

Rainbow Dash lay on her stomach, legs sprawled out before and behind her. She writhed without purpose on the floor, and her face was contorted into a mask of agony. Her wings were fully spread and stuck up almost vertically from their bases on her back, and quivered slightly whenever she moved. Dash was moaning in pain, fruitlessly trying to say something past the tears in her eyes.

“Dad, what . . . what . . .” Scootaloo searched for words, but they failed her. Her father stood impassively over Dash, his own wings stretched to their own impressive span. Applejack had meanwhile thundered up the ramp herself and was now crouched down by Dash, trying to talk to her.

“Rainbow, what happened? Say somethin’, please!”

“. . . wings . . . open . . . too far . . .” she clutched at Applejack, begging. “oh gods please applejack it hurts so much help please”

“Dad, do something!” exclaimed Scootaloo. “She’s in pain!” Her father only snorted bitterly and turned to leave.

“I can see that. Come along, Scootaloo, we’re leaving.” There was no trace of emotion in his voice. Scootaloo looked up at her father, unable to believe her ears.

“But, dad! She, she-”

“She is getting what she deserves. We are leaving.”

There was a quiet, still moment wherein Scootaloo processed and analyzed what she was hearing. Applejack, her father, Dash – they all seemed muffled. The quietness and stillness persisted, as Scootaloo found herself darting forward. Then she was pressing on Dash’s sides, moving the wings ever so slightly this way, so as not to aggravate them further. A little pressure here, a subtle twist there, and the wing rolled back into place with the soft grinding of bone. Scootaloo did it again for the other side, dimly aware of her father’s angry voice behind her. When she had finished, time resumed its normal pace and the sound of voices faded in.

Scootaloo felt herself being pulled backwards, heard her father say thank you for your time or something to Applejack. Then, she was walking away from the Crusader treehouse with her father and he was talking, words gradually filtering in.

“I swear, sometimes I do not know what to do with you. I just hope you come back to your senses by the time your new instructor gets here.”

“Hells’ bells, Rainbow! What else goin’ on on mah farm that Ah don’t know about?” said Applejack, quite fed up with being two steps behind everypony around her.

“Look, Applejack . . .” Dash managed to croak, trying to move as little as possible. Her wings had returned to their normal folded position, but sang red with pain.

“First, Scootaloo hides out at th’ Crusader treehouse ‘cuz apparently she feels she can’ talk t’ th’ Crusaders about what she’s goin’ through. Then, Ah let Mr. Nimbus poke aroun’ the farm f’r some peace ‘a mind after the Guards a’ been through here, but Scootaloo’s apparently here now, an’-”

“Applejack, would you just calm down?” Dash asked, holding up a hoof in surrender. “I’ll explain what happened, okay?”

Dash explained to the best of her ability the events of the past, interjected with the laborious process of struggling to her hooves. By the time she had explained everything properly, she and Applejack were walking back in the direction of the main farmhouse.

“. . . and here I am talking with you,” Dash finished. “As to why my wings got all messed up? Well, from what I understand, it’s an old pegasus reflex – make yourself seem bigger, more intimidating.”

There was a slight pause.

“We didn’t exactly have the friendliest of conversations.”

Applejack was silent for a solid twenty seconds before saying anything.

“Rainbow, Ah . . . Ah don’t even know what t’ say . . .” she began.

“Then don’t say anything. I’ve probably already thought through any conversation we might have. Honestly,” Dash said, casting a tired look over at her companion, “I’m more angry than anything. I mean, my wings were nearly healed. Now, I can barely move them and this time I don’t have any hospital-grade painkillers in my system.”

Applejack contemplated some things silently for a moment. Then:

“Painkillers?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. The hospital staff gave me some when I checked out yesterday to help me adapt to life in the real world and stuff.” She paused. “Gods, was it just yesterday I checked out? It feels like it’s been two and a half months.”

“Y’know, Ah might be able t’ help with that,” Applejack said with an even look at Dash. Dash returned with a look of surprise.

“It . . . really? How?”

“Well, as y’ may a’ noticed,” Applejack explained, gesturing grandly with a foreleg, “Sweet Apple Acres ain’t what y’ would call close t’ Ponyville General.”

“Right.”

“So if ever there’s an injury or somethin’ like that, we either gotta fix it ourselves, ‘r make it work ‘till the docs get here.”

“So you have painkillers just lying around,” Dash said flatly.

“Not quite. Granny Smith was a herbalist in her time, and by ‘stension the farm’s doctor. If somepony needed fixin’, it’d be her that did it. If she couldn’t, she’d ease the pain ‘till the doctors from town came a-runnin’ on in.”

“Granny Smith? Really?”

“Oh yeah! She still has this big ol’ pantry full ‘a herbs an’ poultices an’ stuff – I reckon we could spare a few for a friend.”

Rainbow Dash’s face lit up a tad, and she seemed a bit less tired.

“Just like that? I . . . thanks, Applejack.”

“Thank me when yer wings start feelin’ better,” said Applejack with a jovial shove of Dash’s shoulder. Dash inhaled sharply and flinched away from the impact. Applejack made to apologize, but Dash cut her off with a grin.

“Where’s that pantry of Granny Smith’s?”