The Eulogy of Mr. Acorn, by the Coward Twilight Sparkle

by Obselescence

Rating: everyone
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Comedy, Fluttershy, Twilight Sparkle, Slice of Life
Length: 6048

Twilight Sparkle is officially bored out of her skull. Bored enough, even, to attend a squirrel's funeral. She's never been fond of the late Mr. Acorn, but with Fluttershy in tears, and nothing better to do... well, what are friends for?

Twilight Sparkle is officially bored out of her skull. So bored, in fact, that when Fluttershy asks her to attend a dead squirrel's funeral, Twilight can't help but say yes. She's never been particularly fond of the late Mr. Acorn, but with Fluttershy almost in tears, and nothing better to do... well, what are friends for?

A collaborative work with the ever-marvelous Donny's Boy.

Published 2013-02-05 23:20:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-02-05 23:20:01 UTC

Funeral Rites for a Squirrel

It was a duller day than usual at the Ponyville Library. Things were quiet already, because any good library needs total silence, and quieter still because there was nothing to do. The books had been shelved and reshelved precisely three times, and there was still no news from the Princess about what her next assignment would be, leaving Twilight Sparkle in that strange limbo between a job well done and a job worth doing. The quills and ink had only been reorganized twice, she supposed, but after that... what?

And it wasn’t that Twilight didn’t like quiet. Given the life she led—and the ponies with whom she associated—quiet was a commodity in rare supply. Twilight cherished quiet, and solitude, and calmness, and a library that for once did not smell disturbingly of cupcake frosting. But what Twilight had on her hooves right now wasn’t quiet but a lack of purpose, and that was an entirely different beast. Twilight Sparkle was a pony who needed to be useful, who needed to be needed, and there hadn’t been a single problem or quandary in all of Ponyville for at least a solid week. It was almost enough to drive a mare to daydream hopefully about hydras and parasprites and timber wolves.

She knocked a book off the shelf—Orbital Physics for Foals—and set it back neatly, in the hopes that it would feel somehow fulfilling. It didn’t. If anything, it just made her painfully aware of how far she’d fallen.

“Spiiiiike!” she called desperately, from sheer force of habit. Then she remembered that, no, Spike wasn’t even there. He was out, on one of those gem-hunting expeditions with Rarity he loved so much. Gone for the duration, out of the equation. Frustrated, she sighed and bumped her head against the wall. Boring, boring, boring.

It was just at that moment that salvation came, in the form of a soft knock on the library door. Whirling around so quickly that her rump bumped the bookshelf, Twilight took off for the front door, so happy to have a visitor that she didn’t even mind when she heard Orbital Physics for Foals fall off the shelf for a second time. Well, she minded a little, of course, because the book could have landed in an open position which would ruin its spine and crease the pages, but she didn’t mind quite enough to head back. Instead, she grinned in eager anticipation as she reached the door and yanked it open.

She caught a blur of pink and butter-yellow as the door flew open, and in an instant she knew who her savior was. “Fluttershy!” Twilight squealed, with perhaps a bit more volume and enthusiasm than she’d intended. She winced a bit as the customary squeal of shock greeted her in response, and allowed Fluttershy a moment to catch her breath before continuing. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you right now!”

Fluttershy blinked at Twilight in reply for a moment or two before taking a deep breath. “H-hello, Twilight.” She smiled at the unicorn as she stepped into the library. “How are you?”

Twilight beamed. “Better now that you’re here! Come on in and sit down. Or stand. Or, really, just come in.”

Obediently, the pegasus took a few steps further inside.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Twilight offered, as she closed the door behind Fluttershy. “I can get you a cup of tea. Or maybe you’re hungry? Spike’s not here, and he’s the only one who knows how to bake, but I could try my hoof at something if you’re hungry...”

“Oh, no, thank you, Twilight,” said Fluttershy listlessly, pacing round the floor in a circle. “That’s... That’s very kind of you, but I don’t think I could right now.” She stopped for a moment to rub her eyes, and that was just enough time for Twilight to notice the faintest hint of puffy redness lurking at the edge of the whites.

Fluttershy had been crying.

Immediately, Twilight’s grin dropped into a frown. Fluttershy had been crying. That never meant anything good. “What is it, Fluttershy? What’s wrong?”

“I came over to... to ask a favor.” The pegasus wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I don’t want to impose, and you certainly don’t have to do it, but I don’t know where Rarity is right now and Applejack is out camping with Apple Bloom, and Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie are both at work, and I just didn’t know who else to—”

“Fluttershy,” Twilight interrupted, her tone firm yet kind. “Just tell me. What is it?”

Finally Fluttershy glanced up, and her eyes were watering anew. “It’s... it’s Mr. Acorn...”

“Mr. Acorn, Mr. Acorn...” Twilight wasn’t sure she knew any Mr. Acorns. Unless Fluttershy meant one of her many animal friends. She took a guess. “The squirrel?”

Fluttershy nodded slowly. “He used to visit your tree a lot...”

Twilight thought for a moment. Then she remembered. That furry brown pest that used to break into the Library tree. Chewing through pages, knocking ink bottles over, and hiding nuts in the drawers. She shuddered. Dark days, those had been, until Fluttershy had saved her by taking the little monster home and adopting it.

“Oh,” she said, with a hint of barely-disguised disgust. “Mr. Acorn.” She saw the tears beginning to stream down Fluttershy’s face and quickly softened her voice. “I’m sorry,” she said soothingly. “Is he hurt?”

“No,” said Fluttershy. She shook her head and wiped the tears out of her eyes. “He’s—“

“I could get you some books on squirrel anatomy, if you’d like. Maybe they’ll have something that’ll help.”

“He’s—“

“Or is he sick?” asked Twilight, on a roll. “I don’t know a lot about caring for sick animals, but I’d be happy to—”

“He’s dead!” Fluttershy wailed, and she broke down into sobs.

Twilight’s jaw snapped shut. At a loss, she just stood there and stared at her friend, while the tears flowed down Fluttershy’s cheeks. She blinked stupidly, as her brain tried to process what she’d just heard, and she found herself blurting out, “I don’t think I have any books on that.”

Fluttershy glanced up at her, and something almost like anger flickered in those usually gentle eyes.

Twilight took a step forward. She reached out toward the pegasus with a fore hoof, hesitated, and then pulled it back in. “Is there anything... is there anything I can do?”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she winced at how trite they sounded. At how trite she sounded. But it was too late to take them back.

Fluttershy didn’t seem to mind, though. If anything, she looked slightly relieved. “That’s, that’s what I wanted to ask you about,” she sniffled. “I was just wondering if—if you aren’t doing anything important later—you could come to the funeral and... and help us send him off.”

A few more sobs before Fluttershy got enough control of herself to speak. “I know you didn’t like Mr. Acorn all that much,” she said, her voice carrying that same soft tinge of almost-bitterness that had shown in her eyes a moment before, “but I think it’d mean a lot to him if you came.”

Twilight Sparkle was torn between the dueling urges to deny having disliked Mr. Acorn and to question whether the squirrel really would have wanted her to come to his funeral. Truth be told, as she recalled, Mr. Acorn had chittered quite menacingly at her the last time she’d discovered him sneaking around the Library. Well, as menacingly as a small rodent could chitter.

Angel Bunny, being a lagomorph, was an entirely different matter.

But there was something in Fluttershy’s voice that caused Twilight to shift uncomfortably on her hooves, as though there was an itch somewhere that she couldn’t quite reach, and she found herself nodding. “Of course,” she replied. “I’d be happy to go to Mr. Acorn’s funeral.”

It wasn’t even a lie. Not really. It obviously meant a lot to Fluttershy for her to go, and Twilight never wanted to abandon a friend in time of need.

Fluttershy blinked back at her, seeming surprised, and then a tiny smile appeared on her muzzle. “Thank you, Twilight.”

***

The funeral had been arranged at the edge of the Whitetail Woods, where almost all of Ponyville’s most beloved pets wound up, one way or another. It wasn’t too grand an affair—just a squirrel-sized coffin, a tiny tombstone, some flowers and nuts... all Mr. Acorn could have asked for, Twilight supposed.

“I hope you don’t mind if I’m early,” she said, giving Fluttershy a rose she’d bought earlier from Roseluck. “I didn’t have anything else planned for the day, so I wanted to see if there was anything I could help with before we got started.”

Fluttershy nodded wordlessly and added the rose to the bouquet while Twilight walked on to see the body.

Mr. Acorn looked so peaceful in his tiny wooden coffin. More peaceful, in fact, than Twilight had ever seen him. His paws had been carefully folded over his fuzzy chest, his fluffy tail tucked in beside him. She almost found it hard to believe that such an adorable critter like this could have ever caused her so much trouble.

But, then again, she remembered, parasprites were adorable too.

Fluttershy bowed her head and, after a moment’s hesitation, Twilight did likewise. The unicorn wasn’t sure whether or not she should close her eyes, so she settled on lowering her eyelids about halfway. That seemed like a good compromise.

Fluttershy didn’t move and didn’t speak, and so Twilight didn’t, either. But as seconds turned to minutes, the complete silence became a bit much even for a pony who enjoyed quiet and solitude as much as Twilight did. As surreptitiously as possible, she began shifting from hoof to hoof while wondering just how long this funeral was going to take.

Then, just as she was about to break the silence, she heard it. A low rustling, coming from deep in the woods. Frowning, Twilight cocked her head. As the noise got louder—and nearer—it began to sound a lot like...

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered.

At precisely that moment, a brown bear burst out of the woods, snarling and growling like only a brown bear could.

“Oh no!” Twilight cried. Instantly, her reflexes kicked in. She crouched, coiling like a spring, and her horn lit up lavender as she readied her magic. “Fluttershy, get behind me!”

She threw a crackling bolt of magical energy over the bear’s shoulder as a warning shot, and readied another as it roared in surprise and stumbled backward. “Go on!” she shouted at it, aiming another spell. “Get!”

“No, no, no!” said Fluttershy, diving in front of Twilight and throwing off her aim. “That’s Harry the bear! He’s invited!”

Twilight raised an eyebrow and kept her spell primed. “Harry... the bear?”

“Harry the bear,” Fluttershy repeated. She flew over to where Harry was lying, still shocked from the last spell, and checked him over for injuries. “There, there,” she whispered soothingly, giving his fur gentle, reassuring strokes. “I’m sorry if Twilight scared you.”

She helped Harry up and directed him over to a log that had been set near Mr. Acorn’s tombstone. “You can sit near the front, with all of Mr. Acorn’s other friends,” she said, giving Twilight a sidelong glance. “I know you must miss him already.”

As an uncomfortable heat flooded her cheeks, Twilight glanced away and focused all of her attention on a random dandelion some few feet away. She shuffled her hooves a bit, her shoulders tight and tense, and felt as awkward and out of place as she had back at her very first party in Canterlot.

It didn’t take long for the rest of Fluttershy’s little animal friends to arrive, and Fluttershy greeted each one with a small smile and a brief embrace. Once the various woodland creatures had settled down, gathering around Mr. Acorn’s coffin in a half circle, Fluttershy gently cleared her throat.

“Friends and loved ones,” she began, in a voice that surprised Twilight with its strength and clarity, “we are gathered here today to grieve for our dear friend Mr. Acorn and to celebrate the memory of the time we were able to spend with him.”

Twilight was not at all certain that she had any memories of Mr. Acorn that she particularly wished to hold onto, let alone celebrate, but she respectfully bowed her head nonetheless. It was the least she could do.

Fluttershy took a deep, bracing breath before she continued. “There is so much that we could say about Mr. Acorn—about his generosity, his kindness, his adorable fluffy tail—but I think it might be appropriate for the eulogy to be given by Mr. Acorn’s very best friend.”

There was a smattering of growls, clucks, and hisses that seemed to indicate general agreement with the pegasus’ proposal. Twilight nodded along, as well. Sure. Why not? A eulogy for Mr. Acorn. It was a funeral, after all.

“Twilight... would you please come up to give the eulogy?”

Twilight stopped nodding.

“M-me?” asked Twilight, her face turning an embarrassing shade of maroon. “But I wasn’t... I didn’t even—”

“It’s okay, Twilight,” said Fluttershy, calmly but sternly. “I’m sure Mr. Acorn would have wanted you to.”

Hesitantly, Twilight stood up and took her place by Fluttershy at the front. She looked over her audience of bears and bunnies and squirrels, and her face flushed a shade redder. “Uh...” she began, acutely aware of how many eyes were on her now. Eyes belonging to creatures who really cared for Mr. Acorn. Actually liked Mr. Acorn.

“I, uh... I knew, Mr. Acorn, I guess...” she said. She looked to Fluttershy, begging her silently for a reprieve, but Fluttershy merely nodded at her to go on. Twilight groaned as quietly as she could and continued. “Which is to, uh, say that... I was aware of his existence, at least.”

One of the bunnies sitting near the front narrowed her eyes at the unicorn, slightly but perceptibly.

Twilight could feel beads of sweat prickling on her brow. “What can be said about Mr. Acorn? He was, um, a squirrel. A very good squirrel. As far as squirrels go.” She flinched a bit as a squirrel in the back chittered angrily at her. “Not that squirrels are bad! I mean, it’s bad when they chew on the pages of all the books in the library, yes, or decide to hide nuts in places that were never really meant to hold nuts... but that doesn’t mean...”

By this point, each and every animal in the clearing near the woods looked about ready to stage an armed insurrection. Twilight wasn’t entirely sure she’d blame them if they did.

“Mr. Acorn,” she began again, infusing her voice with a confidence she didn’t really feel, “will be missed by a great many, I am sure. May he rest in peace. The end.”

And with that the entire funeral broke out into a chorus of angry squeaks and booming roars. Clearly nobody had been very happy with the eulogy. Especially not from Mr. Acorn’s supposed best friend.

“I’m sorry!” Twilight shouted, trying her best to scream over the mob of upset animals. “What do you want me to say?”

She was answered by another round of boos and hisses. Twilight didn’t understand much of animal-speak, but she got the gist of it: anything but what she’d actually said. And that was fair. She couldn’t blame them for being upset, but then... how they could blame her?

“Well, I don’t know then!” Twilight yelled, her patience tested past the breaking point. “I’m not Mr. Acorn’s best friend, okay? I didn’t even like him that much! I’m just here because—”

Slowly, calmly, Fluttershy raised a single hoof toward the baying crowd of animals. Instantly the animals quieted, albeit with a few lingering grumbles, and so did Twilight. It was strange how utterly commanding Fluttershy could be, at times. When she wanted to be.

Without turning to look at the unicorn beside her, Fluttershy asked, “Twilight, why are you here?”

“I...” Any answer Twilight might have had to offer shrivelled up and died on her tongue. After a moment of struggling for something to say, something that would set things right, she sighed. “I’m here because you asked me to be here.”

The animals’ eyes were keen, penetrating. Condemning. Twilight did her best to ignore them, instead shifting her gaze to focus on Fluttershy’s face. The pegasus appeared calm and together enough, as far as Twilight could tell, but Fluttershy was still looking straight ahead with a strange and almost frightening intensity in her eyes.

“I see,” said Fluttershy, with a small nod. “And do you know why I asked you to come?”

Twilight bit her lip. “Because... because all our other friends were busy?”

“But I asked you if you wanted to come,” said Fluttershy. “You didn’t have to if you weren’t interested. I just thought you’d want to come and say goodbye to Mr. Acorn with us.”

“Well... not really,” said Twilight, a bit guiltily. “I mean, no, I wasn’t that fond of Mr. Acorn, but you asked, and I didn’t have anything else that needed doing...” Even as she was speaking the words, she realized how horrible and stupid and selfish they sounded. She might as well have slapped Fluttershy in the face.

“I just—no, that’s not what I meant!” she pleaded, as Fluttershy simply stared at her, watching passively with those big blue eyes. “I was just—”

Fluttershy put a hoof on her shoulder to silence her, and sighed a great long sigh. “It’s okay, Twilight,” she said softly. “You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to.”

Feeling as though she’d been tossed into a deep ocean, with that hoof upon her shoulder a heavy weight relentlessly pushing her down beneath the rushing waters, Twilight began shaking her head. “No! I mean, yes! I mean, I do want to be here!” She stared into Fluttershy’s eyes and willed her friend to believe her. “It’s true that I didn’t know Mr. Acorn as well as you do—or as well as all of your animals—but if you want me here, then I want to be here.”

Fluttershy frowned in obvious skepticism.

“Fluttershy, I’m sorry. Okay? I’m really sorry.”

Fluttershy closed her eyes, finally shutting off that fearsome piercing stare. When she opened them again, there was only a kindly forgiveness left. “Well,” she said, “I’m not really sure I’m the one you should be apologizing to... but I accept your apology.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” Twilight squealed, giving Fluttershy a crushing hug. “And thank you too, of course, Mr. Acorn,” she said, giving the coffin a quick nod.

Most of the crowd cheered their support for this new, happy resolution. A few stubborn animals were still growling with discontent, but Twilight ignored them. “Don’t worry, Fluttershy,” she said, slackening her death-grip slightly and giving her friend a chance to breathe. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“In fact...” she said, as her brain began spinning up, processing in an instant all the possible ways to make good on her promise. “I think I know just the thing! Wait here just one second.”

***

Twilight Sparkle was a modest mare. She knew what she did know and, more importantly, she knew what she didn’t know. She pushed her limits—how else would she ever grow, after all?—but she was acutely aware that she did, in fact, have limits. And while she knew she was a pretty smart cookie, during her time at Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns she had met many ponies far more intelligent than herself.

But Twilight was also a mare who knew her own worth—and she was reasonably sure she was just about to be brilliant. At least, that’s what she told herself as she led Princess Luna through the meadows and down to the clearing that marked the edge of Whitetail Woods.

Luna delicately cleared her throat as she followed along. “Twilight Sparkle,” she began, in an admirably hushed tone, “are you quite certain about this?”

“Quite,” said Twilight cheerfully. “It’s going to be perfect. You’re going to be perfect. The woods’ll be buzzing about this one for years. Trust me.”

“Well,” said Luna, somewhat mollified, “if one were to put it that way...” She stopped and thought for a moment. “Still, you said this Mr. Acorn was but a common squirrel, did you not? Do all these funeral rites not seem a bit... excessive, perhaps?”

“That’s what I said,” Twilight laughed. Then, more seriously, “Fluttershy thinks they’re important, though, so we’re going to give her squirrel the biggest, best, and brightest send-off this side of a Pinkie Pie Goodbye.”

Luna nodded. “Of course. For Fluttershy, then.”

As they finally drew near enough that their approach caught the attention of the animals gathered in the clearing, Fluttershy glanced up and immediately froze. Twilight waved a hello, but Fluttershy just stared in response. But that made sense, Twilight decided. Fluttershy probably wasn’t expecting her to return with the Princess of the Night in tow. That had to be it.

Fluttershy bowed to the princess, though her eyes remained on Twilight. “G-good afternoon, Your Highness.”

“Hail to thee, Fluttershy.” Luna gave a small nod of greeting in return and gestured for the pegasus to rise. “Twilight Sparkle has called upon me to aid you in commemorating Mr. Acorn’s passing.”

Twilight grinned proudly. But not too proudly.

Fluttershy’s brows knit together. “That’s very kind of you, Princess, but you don’t have to—”

“Princess Luna would love to help,” interrupted Twilight. She wasn’t going to let Fluttershy’s self-sacrificing tendencies get in Fluttershy’s way. Not this time. “Isn’t that right, Princess?”

The alicorn hesitated a moment, her eye shifting uneasily from Fluttershy to Twilight and back again, before she gave a small nod. “Indeed I would. If you allow me but a moment...”

Luna shut her eyes, and her horn began glowing a gentle blue.

“Um...” whispered Fluttershy, as minutes passed and nothing happened. “Twilight, are you—”

“Just be patient,” Twilight whispered back. “Give it a moment. It’ll be riiiiight about... now!”

Instantly, the sky fell dark, as though it were midnight and not mid-afternoon, and instantly the clearing was full of pandemonium, as animals began screeching in terror and fleeing into the woods.

“No, wait! It’s not anything to be afraid of!” Twilight yelled, as a terrified bear nearly knocked her over in its attempt to escape. “Watch!”

And then, as she spoke, a soft white light began to shine on the woods. One by one, the animals calmed down, as they looked to the sky and realized what was happening. Princess Luna was raising the moon, full and bright, over Mr. Acorn’s funeral. Twinkling stars soon joined the moon above them, and various sorts of oohs and aahs could be heard as they started dancing in patterns across the sky.

“Oh...” said Twilight, as shocked by the Princess’ display as all the animals around her. “Wow.” Quickly, she turned to Fluttershy, hoping her friend had been left as awestruck. “Isn’t this beautiful, Fluttershy? I bet Mr. Acorn would have loved this.”

Fluttershy looked away from the sky long enough for a quick smile and nod, but she said nothing, and her attention soon turned back upward. The performance was nearing its finale, and all the stars were beginning to coalesce into a single giant formation: an enormous constellation depicting—what else?—a squirrel. Mr. Acorn himself.

All of it—the sky, the stars, the quiet calm that had overtaken the clearing—was beautiful beyond words.

“This... this isn’t right.”

Twilight almost didn’t hear it. The words were soft, mumbled. Obviously not meant to be heard, and yet they had not been quite soft enough.

Lowering her gaze, Twilight turned to look at Fluttershy. Fluttershy, however, was still focused on the stars overhead, her eyes tired and her mouth sagging at the corners. Suddenly, Twilight’s belief in her own brilliance wasn’t quite so certain nor quite so ironclad.

Quickly she glanced away, only to find herself locking eyes with Princess Luna. Luna’s face was inscrutable, and Twilight’s chest tightened in response.

The glow from the princess’ horn gradually faded, and as it did, sunlight just as slowly returned to the world around them. Neither Twilight nor Fluttershy made the slightest move or the slightest sound, and even the animals barely stirred.

It was Luna who finally broke the silence, as she bowed her head in Fluttershy’s direction. “I offer my condolences, Fluttershy,” she said, “and I hope very much that the next time we meet, it is under happier circumstances.”

Fluttershy bit her lip before giving a small nod. “Thank you, Princess. I appreciate your coming.”

Luna smiled at the pegasus. Then, turning briskly on her heel, she strode over to Twilight and ducked her head to cross necks with the young unicorn. In a quiet voice, the princess whispered, “I shall take my leave of you now, Twilight Sparkle, as I do not believe I am the one who can give Fluttershy that which she seeks.”

“But, but, but...” Twilight stammered. She sighed and looked back at Fluttershy, who had started drawing little circles in the dirt with her hoof. “All right, Luna,” she said. “Go on. I’ll talk to her.”

Luna nodded and, flapping her wings, flew off into the bright blue sky.

Twilight took a deep breath to steady herself. “Okay, Twilight,” she said to herself, “you can do this. Just ask her what’s wrong. Just ask her what’s wrong...”

Fluttershy barely seemed to notice her as she walked up, still tracing patterns in the earth. They’d started to coalesce into the crude image of a squirrel, Twilight noticed. Just like the stars Luna had arranged in the sky. But then... why hadn’t Fluttershy loved that? Wasn’t seeing Mr. Acorn in bright, shining stars even better than seeing him traced in the boring brown dirt?

Gently clearing her throat, Twilight began, “So.”

The pegasus seemed to flinch a bit but still didn’t look up.

“Fluttershy, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Fluttershy finally lifted her head, and Twilight nearly took a step back when she saw the reproach in her friend’s eyes. But almost as soon as Twilight had seen it, Fluttershy was glancing away again, her eyes darting nervously around the clearing.

“Well,” said Fluttershy, her voice soft but with a hint of something sharper beneath, “it is a funeral...”

Twilight nodded briskly. “Right! And I read everything I could about proper funeral procedures! I mean, not to brag, but a Night in Day royal memorial hasn’t really been done for anypony since Star Swirl the Bearded, let alone a squirrel, and I have to say—”

But whatever Twilight had been about to say died upon her tongue, as Fluttershy suddenly burst into tears. “Oh, you just don’t understand!”

“What is it I don’t understand, Fluttershy?” asked Twilight softly, putting her hoof on her friend’s shoulder, “I keep trying and trying, but if you don’t ever tell me what you want me to do for you...”

“S-see?” Fluttershy sobbed, fresh tears streaming from her eyes. “Y-you still think it’s about m-me!” And crying all the while, Fluttershy suddenly flew deeper into the woods, zigzagging this way and that through the trees, faster than Twilight could ever hope to catch her.

“Fluttershy!” Twilight called out, as Fluttershy became little more than a tiny yellow dot through the thickets. “I’m sorry!”

She turned to all of Fluttershy’s animal friends, glaring at her with accusing, angry eyes, and felt a pit growing in her stomach. Just as before, she knew exactly why they were mad at her. Only now, she couldn’t blame them for blaming her. She’d been a terrible friend, and they knew it. She knew it.

“Okay, everyone,” said Twilight dejectedly. “I... I guess the funeral’s been postponed for now. We’ll call you all back when things have been worked out.”

She watched the animals as they wandered off, one by one, muttering at her in their animal-talk, chittering, growling, and squeaking in disgust as they scurried past. She wasn’t in much of a mood to argue with them over it. She didn’t deserve much less than every bad word a bunny could muster, after the way she’d acted.

Eventually, the last bear lumbered off, leaving Twilight entirely alone at the edge of the forest. Abandoned by the lowliest mouse and the biggest of beasts and the most timid of pegasi alike. Feeling almost like crying herself, Twilight sat down on the nearest stump and fell into a slump. Well... she realized, looking at Mr. Acorn’s still-open coffin. Not entirely alone.

It was such a tiny little coffin. That made sense, of course, because Mr. Acorn had been a regular-sized squirrel, and squirrels were only but so large. But even so, Twilight couldn’t remember having ever seen a coffin quite so small. Where did one go to buy such a tiny coffin, anyway?

“Maybe she built it herself,” muttered Twilight.

Mr. Acorn, unsurprisingly, did not answer.

Sniffling a bit, Twilight leaned forward in order to get a better look at the coffin. The wood was rough and unsanded, and the sides had been left simple and plain. Actually, the coffin was little more than just a box, but Twilight didn’t suppose that Mr. Acorn was really in a position to care much about how elaborate his coffin was.

And, if Twilight were to be completely honest with herself, she’d have to admit that he probably didn’t care about a Princess-officiated Night in Day ceremony, either.
.
She’d cared, though. She’d wanted so badly to show Fluttershy, no matter what it took, that she could give this stupid dead squirrel the best funeral ever...

You still think it’s about me!

Twilight frowned.

“What did she ever see in you anyway?” she asked Mr. Acorn, more out of frustration than anything else. “I mean, all you ever did was make a mess of things and ruin my library...”

Even as she said that, though, she knew it wasn’t true. There had been more to Mr. Acorn than being the Menace of Ponyville Library. Somewhere, even if she’d never seen it. That so many friends had seen fit to come to his funeral told her Mr. Acorn would be dearly missed. For what, she didn’t know, and maybe she never would, but she could at least grasp the fact that, for Fluttershy and a whole gaggle of woodland creatures and... maybe even a Mrs. Acorn, the world was a bleaker place without this little squirrel in it.

“Right,” said Twilight, after thinking about it a bit harder. “Stupid question, I know. She saw a lot more than I ever could have.”

For what seemed like hours, she sat there in silence. Only Mr. Acorn, long since dead, was there to keep her company as the sun began its slow downward arc over the horizon.

“I haven’t exactly been the best guest at your funeral today, have I, Mr. Acorn?” she said at last, smiling ruefully. “Threatened all the animals, gave the worst eulogy of all time, and put everything on hold for a fancy light show... And after everything I did to you when you were alive... No, you probably aren’t too happy with me.”

Twilight glanced over to the woods, where a bawling Fluttershy had disappeared amongst the trees. “And, I guess,” she said, the smile disappearing from her face, “Fluttershy can’t be all that happy with me either.”

She wondered briefly as to when Fluttershy would be coming back. One never could tell with that pegasus. Sometimes, when she bolted, she’d be gone for a mere half an hour or so. But sometimes—according to Rainbow Dash, at least—she had disappeared for entire days after such an episode.

Twilight set her jaw.

“Well, all right, Mr. Acorn,” she told the coffin. “Looks like it’ll be just the two of us for a while.”

***

“Twilight?”

With a noise somewhere between a grunt and a groan, Twilight rolled over. She wasn’t entirely sure what time it was, but given how bone tired she felt, it couldn’t be morning yet. Ignoring whoever was calling her name seemed the wisest course of action. Or at least the course of action most likely to allow her some extra shut-eye. At any rate, it was probably just Spike looking to get a midnight snack, which he shouldn’t have anyways.

“Twilight.”

This time, the voice was accompanied by a hoof on her shoulder, gently shaking her. Reluctantly, and with a heavy sigh, Twilight pried open her eyes. She blinked in confusion. Before her, instead of the expected floorboards of her bedroom loft, there was a blanket of soft grass. Above her shone Luna’s moon, huge and bright, with a thousand lesser lights twinkling alongside it.

“What?” slurred Twilight through a mouth that felt as though it’d been stuffed with cotton.

Groggily, she lifted her head and almost immediately found herself staring directly into Fluttershy’s gently furrowed face.

“Twilight, have you been out here all night?”

“Um...” Slowly, Twilight got to her hooves, stretching in an attempt to straighten out her aching back. “Carry the two, divide by sixty...” she muttered. “I think so?”

“Oh...” said Fluttershy quietly. “Well, you didn’t really have to do that. I mean, I’m sure Mr. Acorn would have understood if you’d gone home and slept in your own bed, where it’s warm and safe and—”

“Actually, Fluttershy,” Twilight interrupted, “that’s what I’ve been wanting to talk to you about...”

Fluttershy said nothing, but looked at her imploringly, silently urging Twilight to continue.

“I think I figured out what you were trying to tell me earlier,” said Twilight. “How it wasn’t about you. And you were right. It wasn’t about you.” She took a step toward Mr. Acorn’s coffin and smiled tiredly at the squirrel laying within. “It was about Mr. Acorn. It was always about Mr. Acorn, except I was too stupid to understand that.”

She turned to Fluttershy, staring earnestly into her big green eyes. “I’m sorry, Fluttershy,” she said. “I got so wrapped up in trying to make everything nice for your sake that I forgot you were doing it for Mr. Acorn’s. Could you ever forgive me?”

Fluttershy stared back at her and bit her lower lip. “Do you still... I mean, I know you didn’t really like him all that much, but...”

“That’s...” Twilight took a deep breath. “That’s true. I didn’t. But I think I’d like to learn what you—you and all of his other friends—did like about him.”

“Really?”

Twilight allowed herself a small grin. “Yes, really.”

Fluttershy smiled back. It was a small smile, slight and tentative, but it was a smile. “And no Princess Luna?”

“And no Princess Luna,” Twilight laughed.

For a painfully still moment, Fluttershy stood there silently, eyes shut deep in thought. Then, without warning, she threw her hooves around Twilight and embraced her in a spine-crushing hug. “Oh, thank you, Twilight!” she said, squeezing all the air out of Twilight’s lungs. “I knew I could count on you.”

“Always... glad to help, Fluttershy,” Twilight gasped, worried her ribs would crack any moment. “Why don’t you... go and get all the animals back... together... so we can do things... right this time.”

“Of course,” said Fluttershy, breaking off the hug, and giving Twilight’s skeleton some much-needed relief. “I’ll get right on that.”

As Fluttershy walked off to gather all of Mr. Acorn’s friends again for the funeral—the real funeral—Twilight took one last look back at Mr. Acorn, lying peacefully in his shabby wooden coffin, and smiled. Being needed, she decided didn’t always mean bending the very laws of heaven and earth, plus calling in a few royal favors. Sometimes, maybe, it was enough just to be there, when called. The magic of friendship, after all, wasn’t so much about the magic as it was about the friendship.

And, if it hadn’t been for Mr. Acorn, furry little menace and scourge of her library, she might never have figured that out.