Transcendence

by Corejo

Rating: teen
Tags: Drama, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Rainbow Dash, Original Character, Scootaloo, Sad
Length: 65297

Scootaloo learns the wonders of flight.

When Scootaloo moves to Ponyville, she meets a certain cyan pegasus who becomes her idol. Things go well until a pivotal event causes her hopes and dreams to come crashing down around her. Broken and betrayed, Scootaloo must learn to accept her reality and embrace her inner strength with the help of her father and two best friends.

[Now with a super awesome reading by Neighrator Pony.]
[This story's sequel can be found here.]

Published 2012-01-26 14:23:52 UTC
Last updated 2015-04-19 23:47:31 UTC

I - Ponyville

Transcendence

Ponyville

An orange stallion made his way through the outskirts of Ponyville, merrily taking in the sights, sounds, and smells around him. Ponies of all kinds filled the open streets and skies, and youthful laughter could be heard as foals of blues and greens and golds scampered every which way, enjoying their annual freedom from warm apparel. Older ponies took a more passive approach to appreciating the new season. Some spruced up their homes while others deferred to watch the young ones play, and revel in their days of youth.

Birds returned to the town in flocks of all colors of the rainbow. They chirped from newly budding branches that arched and intertwined above, while squirrels chittered and scurried about blooming gardens and fields of fresh grass. The stallion couldn’t help but smile; Spring had arrived, and it had arrived magnificently.

In a burst of excitement, he gave his wings a few beats before recalling what slept so peacefully on his back. He smiled over his shoulder at a little filly curled up in a ball. She let out a soft yawn, and the stallion chuckled quietly before returning his gaze ahead.

“We’re almost there, Scoot.”

The sun shone warmly upon Scootaloo, wrapping her in an embrace no coat or blanket could ever challenge. She breathed fully of the lush, Spring-filled air as she awoke from a soothing dream. Another yawn escaped her, and she stretched out the last bits of weariness, earning a playful grin from her father.

“I see you’re finally awake,” he said. She smiled in return.

They passed through the main square, toward the other end of town, and Scootaloo caught her first glimpse of the scampering foals. She watched the colorful swarms dance before her like a kaleidoscope, yearning to hop down and join in on the fun.

“We’re here,” her father said.

Scootaloo turned her attention to a squat, one-story house before them. Two bay windows flanked either side of its large oak door, which stood out against the peach-colored walls. A “SOLD” sign stood beside the door, as well as an important-looking mare in a collar.

“Good afternoon, sir,” the mare said. While her father politely returned the greeting, Scootaloo’s mind drifted to the foals. She had never left Fillydelphia before, let alone travelled to an entirely new town. Would her father let her to play with these new ponies?

She fantasized meeting these other foals and join their games. She saw herself run up to them and introduce herself. They would be thrilled and play for hours on end before she would run home to her father. With a patient smile, he would listen to her retell the day’s events and how the other foals had accepted her as one of their own.

In her stupor, Scootaloo noticed a streak of color above. The world returned in an instant, and her eyes shot upward. She searched the skies with rapt attention, scanning for the dash of color that had momentarily disturbed the cloudless sky.

Seconds passed in intense anxiety before the streak bolted overhead. Her eyes were riveted as she watched it race across the sky, and her mouth hung agape. Seconds, minutes, maybe even hours passed as Scootaloo sat enthralled.

Soon, she realized the colorful blur was not something, but rather somepony. For a split second, it stopped mid-flight and gave her a full glimpse of the one that captivated her so.

A lean, sky-blue pegasus mare hung far above, a disheveled rainbow mane and tail clinging in stark contrast. Wings flapped rhythmically as rose-colored eyes gauged their surroundings. In an instant, she shot over the nearby rooftops, a faint rainbow trail in her wake.

The image seared into Scootaloo’s mind like a cattle prod. All thoughts of making friends evaporated under its white-hot intensity. Still hypnotized, she continued to gaze into the empty sky. What she had witnessed within a fraction of a second engraved itself upon her mind for eternity.

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

Scootaloo knew that Celestia raised the sun. She always had—having learned it in school—but hardly cared. The sun came up. The sun went down. Simple. She didn’t normally care about the who’s, how’s, and why’s. But at this moment, she cared quite a bit.

Celestia could shove it; it was too damn early.

Scootaloo pulled her covers over her head to defend herself from the sunlight shining through her bedroom window and return to the comforting darkness of sleep, and the dream she had been torn from. The dream itself was not merely a dream, but a memory—a fantastic memory that Scootaloo had kept to herself for almost a week, burning in her mind as fiercely as the day she had witnessed it. A rainbow-maned pegasus looping and diving through the sky with incomparable finesse—she had never seen anything like it.

Her mind slowly eased back into nothingness, but fate had other plans. The sun’s blinding light returned in force, causing her to squinch her eyes in pain. She flailed dumbly for her blanket but only felt the abrasive chill of an early spring morning upon her flank. Instinctively, she peeked open her eyes to discern the sudden change in her surroundings. The instant her eyes came into focus, she turned her head and saw a pair of light-orange ones not two inches away.

“Boo!”

Scootaloo shot into the air and off the far end of her bed with a loud thump. She shook her head to clear the dizziness before rising to face her assailant. Wings flared, she bent her head low as she set her face with a deadly glare, ready for action, but then screwed it in dismay upon realizing who it was.

The pegasus on the other side of the bed possessed a striking resemblance to her. His face contorted in an attempt to contain his amusement, tears welling in his eyes. He belted out a powerful laugh and fell on her bed, unable to keep his balance.

Scootaloo gave her father an indignant stare, then returned to the comfort of her bedding.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he said as he wrestled her out of the blanket. “You’re getting up now.”

“But it’s Saturday!” Scootaloo whined, dangling from her father’s grasp in a futile effort to escape.

“I don’t care if you want to sleep in or not, we have work to do.”

She wanted to ask why, but knew better than to talk back. It was Saturday for crying out loud! Why did she have to get up so early?

Her father apparently read her mind and answered as he left the room. “We still have lots of things to do around the house. The movers finally brought the last of our belongings in a few minutes ago. We might be moved in, but we're far from finished making this our ‘home.’ Come on.” Scootaloo let out a loud huff, but complied.

She followed her father into the hallway, and while they walked toward the front room, she glanced up at him. He moved with a commanding gait, something that always amazed her. His cutie mark, a pair of silver wings connected at the base, caught her eye, and she smiled at the thought of his many bedtime stories—the fantastic feats of daring and skill. It was still crazy to think he used to be a Wonderbolt.

“Hey, quit daydreaming and help me with this.”

Scootaloo snapped to and followed, glancing about at the towering stacks of boxes that crowded the room. There were quite a bit more than she remembered. Moving is weird.

The two may have lived in Ponyville for nearly a week, but since her father was always busy with his new job at the mayor’s office, the many boxes scattered throughout the house had remained untouched. To her disappointment, the arrival of the weekend signalled two days of organization rather than relaxation, but getting her hooves on all of her knick knacks and toys was strong motivation.

Too young to foresee her current predicament, she hadn’t labeled any of her own boxes as her father had warned. Knowing there were a total of three, she haphazardly tore through the nearest boxes, setting hers aside as she found them.

“Would you mind not leaving these boxes everywhere?” Tyco asked as he danced through the maze she had created, a large box with the word ‘Kitchen’ written on it balanced on his back.

“Uh huh,” she replied, pushing those that were not hers against the wall. She then dragged hers to her bedroom one at a time.

Once all three boxes were in her room she rifled through them, eyes alight with excitement. Her bed, dresser, and nightstand were already placed in their desired locations by the movers, leaving only the few things within the boxes. She knew exactly where she wanted everything, which allowed her to unpack quickly and return to the living room to help her father.

Around two o’clock, they stopped for a late lunch break consisting of apples her father had bought from a kindly farmer pony at the marketplace. Having worked all morning without breakfast, Scootaloo tore into them ravenously.

“Slow down, no one’s gonna take it away from you,” her father said, earning only a brief, innocent smile from Scootaloo before she devoured another apple in record speed. “So, how’s school been? I’ve been so busy down at the mayor’s office that I forgot to ask you all week.”

At this, Scootaloo took a serious pause from her meal. Her first week of school had been better than her previous education in Fillydelphia, though still fairly uneventful. Her father had been waking her early every morning on his way out the door to review the previous semester’s curriculum. Simple stuff. Basic math, science, and geography came to her easily enough since it covered everything she had already learned. She would finish her work quickly, leaving plenty of time to mill about the house, bored.

“Don’t leave the house. I’ll be back to take you to school at lunch,” he would say. Not like she actually could leave the house, the handle of the front door being too high to reach. Regardless, he would return at noon, true to his word, to escort her to class during his break.

The two always took the quickest path to school, which was straight through the marketplace. The various stalls held little interest for Scootaloo, but one particular pawn shop never failed to capture her attention.

The store itself was well-known for its assortment of random trinkets, baubles, and contraptions, but none of them mattered to her. In the store’s window display, she would set her gaze on one thing and one thing only: a scooter. After watching other foals in Fillydelphia ride them, she had always wanted one.

Once in class the only problem Scootaloo had was a colt that sat behind her. Brown-coated with a dirty blonde mane, he made a habit of using his size to bully everypony in the schoolyard during recess, particularly her. Being the new filly in school seemed all the reason he needed to make her day much less enjoyable.

Despite that, she was accepted readily enough by the rest of her class and the ever-bubbly Cheerilee, but she hadn’t made any actual friends. None of her classmates seemed interested in getting to know her. Still, being relatively ignored was favorable to the constant bullying she went through in Fillydelphia.

“Owwrite.” She replied through a particularly large chunk of apple, deciding against the flood of questions she was sure to drown in if she gave any sort of negative answer.

Her father looked taken aback. “Alright? That’s it? And don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Scootaloo finished her apple and glowered at him, receiving a stern glare in response. Faltering under his gaze, she looked out the window.

To her surprise, a group of foals ran by their house, playing with a kickball. Her eyes lit up, and she eagerly looked to her father, who was also looking out the window. A smile on his face, he turned to her.

“You wanna go play with your friends?”

What kind of question was that? Of course she did!

He let out a light-hearted chuckle. “Go have fun, I can finish the rest by myself.”

Scootaloo didn’t need a second invitation. She rushed to the door in a burst of energy and struggled to reach the knob, but was too short. After a short fit of laughter, her father opened it for her. Forgetting to thank him or say goodbye, Scootaloo raced off into the distance after the group of foals.

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

Scootaloo raced down the streets of Ponyville. She looked left and right for the foals but saw no sign of them. Which way did they go? Surely they had come this way.

She passed by a carriage roped around a fencepost and realized she had been here before, but it felt different. Never before had she been outside without her father. He wasn’t towering over her as he always did, escorting her from point A to point B. She was struck by the realization that she could go wherever she pleased in this new town and see all the point C’s and D’s that awaited.

The liberation Scootaloo felt quickly gave way to a cramp in her side, so she slowed to a walk. There were many ponies about in the streets, all chatting and sampling wares and trotting in and out of shops and waving to one another. Was every pony in this town so pleasant? It seemed much better than Fillydelphia. Continuing down the road, Scootaloo strained her ears for the sound of laughter, which she soon heard above the rooftops. It led her over a bridge and around a rather ornate fountain, where she then saw them out in a field.

Her mind did a back flip. She found them! She raced to meet them, her heart beating fast in excitement.

“You stupid idiot!”

Scootaloo stopped short.

“Why can’t you do anything right!? You always ruin everything!”

She recognized the voice and the colt it belonged to as the one that sat behind her in class. He was shouting at a unicorn filly, one she also knew from class, that sat crying over a deflated ball between them, her mouth moving to form apologies he clearly didn’t care for.

Scootaloo bit her lip. Should she do something? She thought of how the colt bullied her every day. If she did anything, it would only make it worse for her.

While thoughts of running streamed through her mind, the colt’s voice became louder, angrier. He raised himself to his hind legs and stomped on the ball. The filly stumbled backwards and dropped to her stomach, holding her hooves above her head in terror.

Scootaloo gasped, then fixed him with a deadly glare. Nopony deserved to be treated like that. Heedless of the repercussions, she charged with all her might. Shoulder met ribcage in a sickening thud, uprooting the colt from the earth.

They tumbled across the grass, and before he had a chance to yelp, she sunk her teeth into his hind leg. A sharp pain stabbed her just below the eye—his other hind leg, she realized after blinking away the tears.

In a flash, he stood and dove atop her, one fore hoof pinning her by the throat, the other raised high to strike. She kicked him hard in the stomach and sent him over forwards before rolling to her hooves, ready to return the favor. To her surprise, he was already mid-lunge, and she felt his skull crack against her own.

The world blurred and slowed for a moment. He was again pinning her to the ground, his hoof coming down like a hammer on an anvil. Once. Twice. It rose for a third, but a crack of lightning struck the earth beside them with the force of an explosion to send him tumbling away.

“This fight is over.”

Her vision returning, Scootaloo saw a sky-blue peagsus. The mare’s rose-colored eyes danced between her and the colt, the power they held evaporating any remaining will to fight. They shifted to the foals standing to the side.

“Go home.”

Without hesitation, they and the colt scattered.

Scootaloo staggered to her hooves, then shook her head to clear the dizziness and ensure she was seeing clearly.

The mare smiled at her. “You roughed him up pretty good. If you woulda fought any harder, I would’ve had to stop you from beating him up. Heh, it was kinda cool.”

Scootaloo didn’t respond. She did indeed see the pegasus from a week ago standing before her. Awe numbed the pain of her injuries.

“You alright, too, Sweetie Belle?” the mare asked the other filly.

“Mhmm,” she responded with an appreciative nod, wiping tears from her face.

“Right. Let’s get you home. I know Rarity’ll go nuts when she hears what’s happened. I’m Rainbow Dash, by the way,” she said to Scootaloo, “Best flier in all of Equestria!”

Scootaloo listened attentively to every word she said. Rainbow Dash. With a name like that, she had to be—definitely looked it. A cool smile like that couldn’t be lying. Especially after the way she took care of that bully.

Rainbow Dash led them through Ponyville. “Sorry I didn’t make it to your ‘Welcome to Ponyville’ party last week. I wanted to stop by, even if it was only for like ten seconds, but we had some craaazy weather scheduled for that day, and Pinkie Pie just couldn’t wait ‘til the day after. She’s like that some-er... all the time...”

Scootaloo smiled weakly. Pinkie Pie. That had to be the crazy pink one’s name. Better not forget that one. Wanting to hear Rainbow Dash speak more, she asked, “So, where are we going?”

“Carousel Boutique. It’s a... fashion shop.” The last two words rolled off her tongue as if they tasted sour.

“Yeah!” Sweetie Belle piped. “It’s where I live with my big sister, Rarity.” She smiled a wide smile, one Scootaloo returned.

They soon arrived at a building that lived up to its name. The checkerboard roof and lacy trim and stenciled window trims. She wanted to throw up.

Rainbow Dash knocked on the front door. “Hey Rarity, open up!”

“Juust a secooooond!” a voice sang from within.

Within moments, the door swung open to reveal a white unicorn with a mane that curled and coiled in all sorts of marvelous ways to shine with every hue of purple that ever existed. Vaguely, Scootaloo recognized her from the ‘Welcome to Ponyville’ party—very girly, if she remembered correctly.

“Why, afternoon, Rainbow Dash. Is there something you—” Rarity gasped at the sight of Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle. “Oh my goodness! Are you two alright? What in Equestria happened!?” She particularly eyed Scootaloo. “We must simply get you two cleaned up straight away!”

Rarity swept them into her boutique, and Rainbow Dash followed.

“Rainbow, what are you doing?” Rarity asked.

“What? I’m coming in to help.”

“No you’re not. You’re going to go get this dear’s father and bring him here. Oh, he must be worried sick!”

Rainbow Dash saluted. “I’m on it.” She turned to leave. Scootaloo watched her go before a polite cough came from behind.

“Now tell me—Scootaloo, was it? How ever did you get in such a mess?”

Scootaloo fidgeted at the sight of scissors, bandages, and a washcloth floating toward her in Rarity’s magic. “Uh, yeah, well, I was with my dad, and we were—”

“Hold still, dear. I can’t help if you keep moving around like that.”

The command caught her by surprise, and she complied, though she still eyed the floating supplies warily. “We were putting stuff away in our house, and I saw everypony playing outside, so he let me go play, too.”

“Oh, still moving in?”

“Yeah.” She flinched as the washcloth rubbed her cheekbone, right on the bruise left by the colt’s first kick. “My dad’s always at work except for the weekend.”

“Mmhmm. I remember him saying that he was working for the mayor. Busy job that is.”

So she was at the party. “Anyways, he let me go play, and I found that mean kid from class yelling at Sweetie Belle.”

“He was a jerk!” Sweetie Belle added. “I didn’t mean to pop his ball.”

Rarity smiled as she flexed Scootaloo’s wing to rub the washcloth beneath it, not looking up from her task. “Now now, Sweetie Belle, let Scootaloo finish.”

Scootaloo tugged her wing back to its folded position, disliking the feeling of it being opened against her will. “Well, he was bullying her, and that made me mad.”

“So you fought him?” She snipped off a bandage and wrapped it tight around Scootaloo’s leg.

“Yeah—”

“Yeah!” Sweetie Belle cut in. “I heard her tackle him, and then she was like BAM! And he was like OOF! And then I looked up and saw them fighting and Scootaloo was winning!” Sweetie Belle rambled as her big sister finished the last bandage around Scootaloo’s forehead. “But he’s bigger than-uf so e wz bbl’t bt’r-up, too but she was so tough, she didn’t give up!” Sweetie Belle finished her sentence, undeterred by the damp, glowing towel that cleaned her face. Rarity laughed as she disposed of the washcloth.

“My, it must have been quite the surprise to have one of your friends from school save you.” She gave Scootaloo a thankful look, and the two fillies exchanged smiles.

The door at the front of the boutique opened, and they turned to see Rainbow Dash and Scootaloo’s father walking in.

“Welcome to Carousel Boutique, Tyco,” Rarity happily greeted him.

“Thank you, Miss Rarity,” he replied kindly. ”It’s a pleasure to meet you again. Your friend Rainbow Dash filled me in on everything that happened. I trust my daughter has been agreeable during her visit?”

Though he added the last statement without changing his tone, a shiver ran up Scootaloo’s spine. She fidgeted and averted her eyes.

“Oh, of course!” Rarity exclaimed. “She’s been an absolute angel, and you should be proud to have such a brave young girl as your daughter.” Hearing Rarity vouch for her boosted Scootaloo’s confidence and forced a smile onto her otherwise worried face.

“Glad to hear it.” Tyco turned to Scootaloo. “Let’s go, Scoot.”

Scootaloo fell in behind him and glanced over her shoulder to see Sweetie Belle beaming back at her. She returned the smile as she and her father walked out the door.

She had made a friend.

Her smile stayed with her on their walk home, though she refrained from looking at her father, nervous of what he may think about what she had done. When they neared their home, she risked a glance and saw him staring down at her quizzically.

“What’s the matter with you?”

She quickly looked back at the ground. “I... I was worried you’d be mad at me.”

“Mad?” Tyco laughed. “Why would I be mad?” Confused, Scootaloo stopped in her tracks and gawked at him. “Rainbow Dash told me everything that happened. It takes a lot of courage to stand up to somepony twice your size for a stranger. And like Rarity said, I am proud to have you for a daughter.”

Scootaloo smiled. Not only had she made a new friend by standing up to the bully, but her father was genuinely impressed. Her walk changed to a skip as enthusiasm spread to her legs, only to remind her of the injuries she bore.

While unlocking the front door to their home, Tyco paused, smirking. “Oh, I almost forgot, I finished unpacking everything in the living room and decided to take a break.” He turned to smile at her. “I got you a present.”

The door swung open to reveal their living room. The boxes that previously occupied the room had been flattened and placed in the corner with those from earlier that morning, allowing her to view the room in its entirety. It abounded with the many things that had decorated their previous home, giving it the same, significant feeling.

“Stay here and close your eyes,” Tyco said.

Scootaloo shut her eyes tight in anticipation. Hooves shuffled into the hallway, then returned with the sound of cardboard sliding across carpet.

“Okay, open them.”

Scootaloo did so and beheld a box covered in bright, colorful wrapping paper that clashed with the earthy décor.

“Whoa... Is that for me?”

Tyco nodded. “I was going to keep it as your birthday present, but after what you did today, I think you earned it.”

Scootaloo raced to the box in a flash and tore at the wrappings. “A scooter! Cool!”

Tyco laughed. “I saw you eyeing that thing every day since we moved here. I thought you’d like it.”

Scootaloo gave her father an ear to ear smile, which was returned with a conservative one of his own. “Can I go show it to Sweetie Belle? Can I? Can I?”

“No, it’s going to be dark soon.” He looked out the window at the setting sun with a calculating expression. “You can show her tomorrow.”

Scootaloo’s smile deflated. She looked at the scooter and its chrome finish. It looked so cool. Sweetie Belle would think so, too.

“Ehh, you know what? Why don’t we both go.”

Surprised, she looked up. The genuine smile on his face said nothing less than what she hoped. She nearly tackled him in a hug, causing fits of laughter from both. Out the open door she raced, scooter under hoof, her father barely able to secure a helmet to her head. She beat her wings for speed and began racing circles around him after he locked up the house.

He laughed at her excitement. “I wish I still had your energy. Come on, let’s go show your friend.”

Scootaloo smiled. She had the best dad in all of Equestria.

[Author’s Note: I would like to thank the ever-insightful cotton-based lifeform Belligerent Sock for his review of this chapter.]

[Onward and Upward!]

II - First Flight

First Flight

Few things could wake Scootaloo early. If she wanted to sleep in, she slept in. But today, Scootaloo didn’t want to, despite how early it was; today was special.

She leapt out of bed, ran to the hallway, and toward the living room, where her scooter waited beside the front door. Walking it outside, she gave its well-worn frame a smile as it squeaked with every turn of its wheels.

“Just one last ride,” she said to her friend. She started her wings and took off.

Two years to the day it had been since it first served her, and it had served her well. Scootaloo thought of everything that had happened since her arrival in Ponyville: meeting Rainbow Dash; the return of Princess Luna; wrapping up winter; and most importantly, her two best friends, Applebloom and Sweetie Belle.

It was to Applebloom’s house she currently rode. Though she always knew how to brighten Scootaloo’s day, it was not so much to see her as it was Rainbow Dash. According to Applebloom, she would be moving clouds over all of Sweet Apple Acres.

Scootaloo was on a mission. For two years she had known Rainbow Dash, but never found the courage to ask her to teach her to fly. What if she said no?

A bump in the road sent Scootaloo off-kilter and a bolt to come loose from the scooter’s axle. She compensated with a burst of her wings, then stared at the bolt as it disappeared in the dust behind her before turning ahead knowing there was no going back. Especially since the large barn of Sweet Apple Acres appeared around a bend of apple trees, big and red.

She laid her scooter and helmet beside the barn door before looking to the sky to see nothing but endless blue. A sigh escaped her. Of course she was too early. Rainbow Dash always slept in on Saturdays, something she should have remembered before waking so hurriedly herself.

“Scootaloo, is that you?” came Applebloom’s voice from behind.

Scootaloo turned to see her friend emerge from around the corner, wearing the smile that always made her day. Though she had seen it many times before, Scootaloo’s eyes gravitated toward the dark red toolbox on Applebloom’s flank. It always made her long for her own cutie mark, especially after Sweetie Belle got hers, too.

“What in tarnation are you doin’ here?” Applebloom asked.

“I remembered you said Rainbow Dash would be here today, so I was gonna see if she could help me finally get my cutie mark.” She looked at her flank and frowned.

“But Scoot, you’re amazin’ on your scooter. You sure your talent ain’t sumthin’ to do with that?”

Scootaloo rolled her eyes. “I’ve been riding around on that thing for two years, Applebloom, and I still don’t have my cutie mark. There’s no way it’s my special talent. Besides... I’m not that good at it.”

Applebloom gave her a level stare.

“Applebloom, y’out here?” Applejack rounded the corner. Her expression was of curiosity, which changed to surprise, then quickly to a smile. “Well I’ll be, if it ‘aint Scootaloo. How ya been?”

Scootaloo bounded toward her, a huge smile on her face, wings buzzing. “When’s Rainbow Dash getting here?”

“What? Oh, uh... well I’d reckon that’s her right there.” She pointed a hoof at a quickly growing blur on the horizon.

The streak of blue took form as the one pony Scootaloo wanted to see most. Rainbow Dash swooped toward the ground and pulled upward into a twirl before landing amidst them. Her eyes were closed in her too-cool attitude, and her grin matched it. She ran a hoof through her mane, cocking back her head as she did so to half-lid her eyes at Applejack. “I heard somepony needs a little help with her gardening.”

Scootaloo mouthed a “wow.” Rainbow Dash was so awesome.

A slight tilt of Applejack’s head preceded an arched brow. “An’ I heard somepony else needs help wakin’ up on time.” Her voice was flat, almost irritable. But how could anypony be irritated by something as cool as that?

Her mouth moved to form more words, but they were soundless. Scootaloo’s mind had shut them out to become a torrent of things to ask Rainbow Dash but didn’t know how. She sat rigid, a bead of sweat forming on her brow. Finally her mouth opened to speak, but she was cut short by a gust of wind that knocked her over backwards. A quick shake of the head and a glance at the sky told her that Rainbow Dash was already hard at work. She sighed at the lost opportunity to ask.

A hoof gently rested itself upon her shoulder. Scootaloo turned to see it belonged to Applebloom, who wore a soft smile and gave a gentle, reassuring shake.

“She’ll be done real quick. You can ask her then.”

Appreciative, Scootaloo smiled back. She really did have the best friends she could ever ask for.

Looking back to the sky, she watched the remainder of Rainbow Dash’s meshing of clouds into a dull, grey blanket. When finished, Rainbow Dash landed beside Applejack, and the two snickered together.

Scootaloo felt the sudden nudge of Applebloom’s hoof against her back. She clenched her teeth, eyes widening. “Wha-what are you doing?” She dug her hooves into the ground in resistance.

“C’mon Scoot, just go ask her already! You wanted to shoot us out of a cannon, but you can’t ask her to teach you to fly?”

“B-but that was different!”

Applebloom huffed, then, after a moment, approached Rainbow Dash. “Hey, Rainbow Dash, I just wanted to let you know that Scootaloo has somethin’ important to ask you.”

Scootaloo shot upright in dismay. Traitor!

“What’s up?” Rainbow Dash asked while walking toward her.

“Uh...” Scootaloo’s mind floundered, and she glanced at her hooves. Applebloom slid to her side to gave an enthusiastic nudge and nod of the head. “Well, uh... I kinda wanted to ask you if you’d, um... teach me how to fly.” Her face screwed into a half-wince as she looked up at Rainbow Dash.

Rainbow Dash blinked once. “Wait. You want me to teach you... how to fly?”

Scootaloo shrank to the ground. She had been dreading denial all morning. Now that it was happening, it hurt more than she thought possible.

“I get to teach somepony how to fly? This is gonna be so awesome!”

Scootaloo perked up. “Y-You really mean it?”

“You betchya, pipsqueak,” Rainbow Dash gave a powerful grin. “In fact, why don’t we start later today? I know just where to begin. Go home and psyche yourself up, I’ll meet you by the fountain where we first met in an hour.”

At that moment, Scootaloo’s smile couldn’t have stretched further if it had tried. She dashed to her scooter, mounted it, and was off in a blur. Turning her head, she saw Applebloom and Applejack waving, Rainbow Dash still grinning. She waved back before leaning into her race home with renewed vigor. A wide grin swept across her face, and her mind clouded with a swirl of thoughts revolving around one thing: learning to fly.

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

Prisms danced in the mist of the marble fountain where Scootaloo sat waiting. It was warm for a spring morning, something she was grateful for. If it were any colder, she didn’t think she would be able to wait any longer without freezing. Actually, she could have for Rainbow Dash. But the thought was unnecessary as the sound of flapping wings and landing hooves caused her to turn.

“You must be excited if you’re here this early,” Rainbow Dash remarked. Scootaloo nodded her head vigorously, forcing Rainbow Dash to smile. “Alright, lets get going! Think you can keep up with me on that rusty, old thing?” She pointed at the scooter, her smile changing to one of more mischievous design. Scootaloo read her expression and returned it. She hopped on the scooter and beat her wings in challenge.

“Hah! That’s what I like to see!” She bent low to the ground. “Ready? One... Two... Three!” A surge of wind sent Scootaloo back on hind wheels and furiously beating wings to stay upright. Back on all four, she was off in her own whirlwind of dust.

Rainbow Dash led her west over the river and through the streets of Ponyville, rolling through the air and laughing all the while. Now and again, Scootaloo would spot her glancing over her shoulder, a hint of surprise and approval both in her eyes and the smile that flashed beneath them. Rainbow Dash sped forward to thread the opening of a hitched vegetable stall and immediately turned to watch.

Scootaloo knew what she wanted. Intent on succeeding, she angled to meet the stall, leapt, and buzzed her wings for air time. “Perfect” came to mind when she landed on the other side. The pony towing the stall yelled something at her, but his voice was quickly forgotten when Rainbow Dash laughed and looped back into the race.

They blazed a trail into the country that quickly led them to the foot of a mountain. A very big mountain. Scootaloo had only seen it from Ponyville, never having a reason to stand where she did and gawk at its stature. It had the illusion of tapering to a point.

“Wait here while I go look for a way up,” Rainbow Dash said. She zipped around the far end of the cliff face, which left Scootaloo alone with her thoughts.

Finally flying! Surely this would be exciting. Rainbow Dash always knows how to do everything awesomely!

Rainbow Dash reappeared around the other side of the mountain and landed beside her. “Oooon second thought, I’ll just fly you up.”

Before Scootaloo could comprehend what was happening, she felt herself lifted off the ground. She landed on a soft, warm surface that seemed foreign, yet distantly familiar, and her helmet slid down over her eyes. Upon removing it, she realized that she was on Rainbow Dash’s back.

Rainbow Dash readied her wings. “Hold on tight.”

Scootaloo did, and was met with a sensation she never thought existed. The upward force of lift off pressed Rainbow Dash’s back into her stomach. An odd weightlessness that came and went with each upstroke of her wings carried Scootaloo out of her comfort zone, yet into a far more wonderful one.

The ground fell away into the distance, the cliff face followed in tow, and the summit became clearer every second. Turning about, she saw the road they had followed and the surrounding forest losing its detail.

“You know, for a little squirt, you’re kinda heavy,” Rainbow Dash said between breaths.

Scootaloo frowned. She didn’t want to be a burden. “Oh, uh, well, we can practice somewhere else if you want.”

“Hah! You say that like I ain’t tough enough.” True to her word, Rainbow Dash’s strokes became more powerful. Startled, Scootaloo gripped tight to her neck, but once used to it, relaxed. Rainbow Dash’s movements were rhythmic, fluid like a lullaby. Already lying down, she closed her eyes and wrapped Rainbow Dash in a hug.

“Hey, we’re here.”

Scootaloo looked around to see they were on a circular, rocky plateau. The peaks of nearby mountains jutted above its far side in jagged points. Struck by the loneliness of her surroundings, she hopped down to let it sink in. A strong, frigid wind swept through her skin as she looked over the edge of the cliff. Far below, the road they had followed formed a hairline sliver amidst the vast landscape. Scootaloo’s eyes shrank to pinpricks.

“Rule number one: always keep your cool,” Rainbow Dash said.

Easy for her to say. Did she realize how far up they were?

“Rule number two: flap your wings rhythmically and efficiently. Only exert yourself on the downward motion, don’t waste your energy buzzing your wings like you do when you’re on your scooter.”

A lump formed in Scootaloo’s throat as a small puff of cumulus drifted lazily below.

“Today we’ll just work on your ability to glide, so learn to spread your wings and get familiar with using them for flight.”

“Um, Rainbow Dash? I’m not so su—”

“Rule number three: have fun!!!”

Scootaloo felt a sudden jab at her flank and the sound of her hooves scraping rock. Weightlessness enveloped her, and her bowels rose into her stomach. Mind caught up with reality while body went rigid.

She was falling.

Adrenaline surged through her as she thrashed about. She gasped for breath, her heart racing in fear of the distant earth that rose to meet her. The wind roared in her ears as she screamed in terror. She shut her eyes, afraid of the inevitable.

“What the heck are you doing?”

Scootaloo opened her eyes to see Rainbow Dash falling beside her, forehooves crossed in indifference.

“Stop freaking out. Calm down.”

Scootaloo nodded after the message sunk in. Tremors still ran through her, but she relazed her body and concentrated on her purpose. Slowly, she tucked into a passable nosedive. Rainbow Dash followed suit.

“Good. Now what?”

Scootaloo probed the question. She was falling faster than ever, yet she suppressed her instinct to panic, determined to remain calm. Her thoughts landed on the answer as she opened her wings. But it felt different. She spread them wide, away from her body, slicing the air around her rather than holding them open behind herself like she did on her scooter. As awkward as it felt, it seemed right.

She craned her neck back, slow and steady as she watched Rainbow Dash with unblinking eyes, and her body naturally followed. Wind filled the underside of her wings, spreading her feathers to their fullest. Rainbow Dash again mimicked her. A wide smile grew on her face as quickly as the wind’s roaring faded. “What’re you staring at me for?” She spread her hooves out below.

Scootaloo looked down at the earth, and her heart nearly stopped at its majesty.

Green farmland stretched out in the valley below like a patchwork quilt, treelines and tiny wooden fences sewn between them. Rivers and streams and lakes spilled into and across its seams and stitches, twinkling in the brilliance of the sun. They trailed off like little threads of silver to disappear beneath misty-blue mountains that stood tall and proud at the edge of the world.

Overhead, clouds drifted like silent sentinels of the sky. Their edges were wispy, little hands reaching out for her to grasp and call friend.

A light breeze kissed her cheeks and swept through her mane. Its chill filled her lungs fuller than ever before.

Her smile spread from ear to ear. At that moment, she could have died happy.

Scootaloo landed on the path in a fluttering canter, the feeling of weightlessness lingering in her limbs. They wobbled beneath her as she circled about to take in the sights and smells of the the trees and lush grass that lined the path.

The excitement in her chest trembled its way to her mouth, which failed to contain it. She leapt into the air. “Yes!”

She closed her eyes to listen to her heartbeat. It was loud in her ears like the beating of timpani drums. Steadily, it faded, and she drew a long sigh. Though she welcomed the feeling of firm ground beneath her hooves, she turned to look at the mountain, wanting again to feel the sensation.

Rainbow Dash landed beside her. “Nice job, Scoot, you’re a natural.” Pride gleamed in her eyes, and also her smile.

Scootaloo couldn’t help but blush. Hearing those words come from Rainbow Dash herself was a dream come true.

On the high of triumph, she looked back at the mountain, at its peak that sat high above the world, and smiled. For it was hers.

[Author’s Note: Thanks to Belligerent Sock for his great review of this chapter. Rarely can it be said that a sock was ever as helpful (and docile) as this one. I may be spending too much time on Tumble-Dry Low, but his sock-based humor is starting to rub off on me...]

[Onward and Upward!]

III - Feathers and Foul Faces

Transcendence

Feathers and Foul Faces

The next few weeks of Scootaloo’s life were exceptionally busy. Mornings started with school, followed by homework, followed by flight training. Rainbow Dash’s methods were often unorthodox, but she was also a fan of more common training models—namely those that start at the crack of dawn. Scootaloo wasn’t too happy about that.

Regardless, she rolled herself out of bed one morning and trudged for the front door. Once outside, she was greeted by the hum of cicadas and the aroma of dew upon the grass. Fog hung in the air, light and welcoming, which she breathed in deeply before shaking off the last bits of weariness and taking flight.

The large oak tree they always met beneath looked grander than normal with the first slivers of sunlight outlining its silhouette. As usual, Rainbow Dash leaned against its trunk, an absent expression on her face. Scootaloo wondered what she thought about in those idle moments spent waiting.

Whatever she had been thinking, Rainbow Dash was quick to forget it and give a preppy smile. “You ready?”

Scootaloo saw ringlets beneath her eyes. She must have been up earlier for her own workout. Not wanting to keep her from the sleep she needed, Scootaloo replied, “Of course,” though her tone matched the fatigue she felt in her wings.

“Heh, sore huh? You’ll get used to it. That’s why we’re adding morning practices. Nothing like good old endurance training!” She pumped her hoof in the air, nothing but joy on her face.

Scootaloo gave her a fake smile. Training more so the normal training stops hurting? Did that even make sense? Despite Rainbow Dash’s exhaustion, the attitude in her voice seemed to say so. If Rainbow Dash could do it, so could she.

“Let’s get to it!” Rainbow Dash said, and was in the air heading north at a brisk pace before Scootaloo could nod.

Scootaloo sighed. Starting a workout was always the hard part, but she had to. With that in mind, into the sky she flew.

She caught up with Rainbow Dash and slowed to pace her. After a moment, she glanced at her to see if they were indeed flying the fastest they would all morning. It wasn’t anywhere near what she had anticipated. The blank stare that was Rainbow Dash’s expression said nothing to affirm or deny her thought. Content with the speed, Scootaloo gazed ahead and let her mind wander.

Applebloom and Sweetie Belle had both been excited when she told them about her first flight. Their smiles pumped up her confidence considerably, and knowing her father felt the same way only added to it. Though the face he had made when she told him how her flight went was priceless. She loved her father, but he could sometimes really be—

“So, uh, how’s school?”

Scootaloo snapped to. Rainbow Dash was looking at her, smiling but a little unsure of herself. “Oh, uh... it’s been okay, I guess.”

“That’s good.”

Scootaloo waited for more, but when Rainbow Dash failed to continue, she looked ahead. Now and again, she glanced at Rainbow Dash, curious as to what that was all about.

“You been keeping up with your work and everything?”

There it was again—that unsure smile. “Uh, yeah, it’s all easy enough.”

A chuckle turned her smile to the faintest of grins. “That bully still giving you trouble in class?”

“Huh? Oh, haha... nah. He started leaving me alone after that fight. He even started being nice to the others when I was around.”

That was more than two years ago. Why was she asking about that?

“That’s good, too...” Rainbow Dash looked away, her eyes dancing about in search of something in the plains below. “You ever wanted to be in a race?”

Scootaloo blinked before fully realizing what had been asked. “Wha... Oh, yeah! I’ve gone to see every single race you’ve been in ever since we came to Ponyville. I’ve always dreamed of being in one.”

Rainbow Dash’s curiosity became a grin. “Hah! Well, did I ever tell you about the time I raced against Ric Neighre?”

“No, you haven’t.” Scootaloo forgot that she was flying, instead wondering who this pony was. He sounded fast. “Did you beat him?”

Offense marked Rainbow Dash’s face. “What? Are you kidding? Of course I beat him! I couldn’t even see him when I crossed the finish line.” She waved an idle hoof.

Scootaloo’s smile gaped, her eyes bright with awe. “Wow! Do you think I could ever be that fast?”

Rainbow Dash paused for a moment, then smiled. “Maybe. Of course, you’ll never be able to beat me.” A roguish smile played across her lips.

They laughed together. Rainbow Dash smiled into the distance to let silence fall between them. A moment passed before she turned it back to Scootaloo “So you really want to be in a race, huh?”

Scootaloo nodded. “Uh huh.”

“Alright, squirt, I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, I think we should head back. You still got school and all.” With that, she banked around and headed for Ponyville, Scootaloo in tow.

Scootaloo beamed. She was going to be in a race. A real race! How cool was that? “Hey, Rainbow Dash.”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks.”

Rainbow Dash smiled warmly. “No problem.”

The rest of their flight passed in silence. Scootaloo landed on her doorstep and waved farewell. After a quick shower, she was on her way to school, the fatigue of her morning workout catching up with her. She trudged into class late.

“School starts at eight o'clock sharp, young lady.”

Scootaloo didn’t bother looking and instead mocked the words as she passed by Mrs. Meter Stick’s desk and toward her own. She could see the mare’s contemptuous scowl in her mind regardless: those half-moon glasses that sat low on her nose, and her mane of grey done up in a tight bun. Scootaloo wished she could do the same to her wrinkles and never see that ugly face again.

She missed Cheerilee’s class, wishing she taught the upper grades as well. Things would be much more bearable with her instead of the bumbling, ruler-flanked witch at the front of class. Nevertheless, Scootaloo plopped herself down in her seat by her two best friends. She heard Applebloom shift forward in her seat to whisper in her ear.

“Whoa, you don’t look so good, Scoot.”

“Yeah, you look like you got hit by a train,” Sweetie Belle added from her seat next to Scootaloo.

Scootaloo shrugged, half in dismissal of their claims, half in unloading her soreness. “Nah, I’m fine you guys. I just had to wake up early is all.”

There was an abrupt cough at the head of class. Mrs. Meter Stick’s deep green eyes danced between them, her eyebrows peaked in faux curiosity, nose raised slightly so as to look down at them.

Scootaloo glared back in defiance until Mrs. Meter Stick turned her attention to the notes on her desk.

“What were ya doin’ up so early?” Applebloom whispered.

“Rainbow Dash wanted to start adding some distance flyi—”

“Since you seem so interested in learning, Scootaloo,” Mrs. Meter Stick interrupted, “would you mind telling us the answer to the question?”

Scootaloo looked at the board.

12

4

Addition? Really? They had learned this last year.“Sixteen,” she stated with no particular interest.

The class burst into laughter. Mrs. Meter Stick chuckled. “If you were paying the slightest bit of attention, young lady, you would know we already did our arithmetic this morning while you were out and about. This is the tenth time you’ve been late to class this month. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

A faint red flushed beneath the fur on Scootaloo’s cheeks as she glared daggers.

“Oooh, oooh, Mrs. Meter Stick!” Diamond Tiara exclaimed, her hoof waving about in the air. “The answer is ‘Princess Luna.’”

Mrs. Meter Stick smiled warmly. “That’s correct, Diamond Tiara.”

Diamond Tiara shot a spiteful grin at Scootaloo when Mrs. Meter Stick turned to face the board. Scootaloo rolled her eyes, but Sweetie Belle giggled.

“You were pretty far off, huh?”

Scootaloo couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Okay, class, now we are going to resume our lecture on unicorn magic and—”

Oh, Celestia, kill me now.

Scootaloo groaned, then thudded her head against her desk. Aches grew loud in her muscles, reminding her of the coming workout. Though it sent a shiver up her spine, she couldn’t help but look forward to it.

The glamour of flying had quickly evaporated with Rainbow Dash’s rigorous training regimen. In a paradox of feelings, she loathed the daily pain, but was somehow drawn to it. Being near Rainbow Dash had been why she started, but something else took its place. She couldn’t place a hoof on it, only knowing that she wanted it, needed it. But why?

There was a thunderous crash, and Scootaloo bolted upright in alarm. Standing over her, Mrs. Meter Stick held a ruler in her mouth, eyes glaring death.

Still gathering her wits, Scootaloo looked at the smirking faces around her. She turned to Applebloom. “Was I sleeping?”

Applebloom giggled. “You were snorin’ louder than my big sis durin’ Applebuck Season.” She pointed to the drool on Scootaloo’s desk.

Scootaloo sighed. This was going to be a long day.

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

Freedom!

The school bell rang out three o’clock. Scootaloo followed the herd of stampeding foals into the schoolyard.

“See ya, Scoot!” Applebloom called to her.

“Yeah, see ya!” Sweetie Belle said.

“See you guys later!” Scootaloo called back. She stood in the schoolyard to watch them go, then sighed.

Friday... finally!

Above the rooftops she rose in simplistic movements, conserving her energy for later. Below, the small colorful figures of her classmates scattered every which way.

Her mind wandered as she glided to the meeting point. She thought of her previous workouts and the toll they had taken on her. Her wings felt like rubber, but she knew they would support her regardless of how little energy she had, an impossibility only weeks prior.

Her goal of flying had been accomplished, but something else still teased her. Rainbow Dash came to the forefront of her mind. Before only a dream, now integral in her life. There was no true reason to continue training, nor any strong urge to idolize her as she once had. Yet something still haunted her.

That something lingered in her thoughts until she reached the oak.

“You ready?” Rainbow Dash’s expression was as usual: tired but preppy.

Scootaloo closed her eyes, took a breath, let it out, and then opened them. “I’m ready.”

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

The weekend passed in a blur of eating, sleeping, and flying. Much to Scootaloo’s surprise, the morning distance flights considerably improved her ability to keep up with her training. Whether it was due to actual improvement or a placebo effect remained a mystery.

Or perhaps it was because Rainbow Dash had entered her in the Junior Speedsters Track and Flight meet.

Whatever the case, Scootaloo sped through her Monday morning practice to get to school as fast as possible. Her friends had to know.

For once, she arrived early, rushing to her seat with an energy even she didn’t know she had. “Guys! Guys! You’ll never guess what happened this weekend!” She leapt into it, forehooves over the back to be face to face with Applebloom and Sweetie Belle.

Applebloom leaned back in her chair, brow raised, pencil drooping from her mouth. “What?”

“Rainbow—”

The bell rang, loud and annoying. Eyes rolled and mouth scrunched aside in impatience, Scootaloo waited for its last toll to die away.

“Rainbow—”

“Good morning, class,” said Mrs. Meter Stick. Scootaloo grunted.

“Good morning, Mrs. Meter Stick,” the class droned back.

“Guys, Rainbow Dash—”

“Now, as we learned yesterday—”

Scootaloo groaned even louder, hooves pressed into her face. Both Applebloom and Sweetie Belle had turned ahead for the lesson, so she spun around to sit down in her chair, snout buried in crossed forehooves, eyes free to glower at Mrs. Meter Stick.

So much for telling them the exciting news. Whatever. She could tell them at recess. With that decided, she sighed and stared into space, not caring for the day’s lessons.

Math dragged on into writing, which then bled into reading time. All the while Scootaloo’s eyelids became heavier. Around her, the world smeared into darkness, and the voice of the filly reading aloud became muffled, as if beneath a layer of thick blankets.

Suddenly, there was a sharp jab in her side. Scootaloo shot up and turned to scowl at Sweetie Belle, whom she assumed was the culprit, but paused when she noticed the shadow looming over her.

“Is something wrong, Scootaloo?” Mrs. Meter Stick asked. Her words dripped with sarcasm. “Is this book too boring for you?”

Scootaloo rolled her eyes. No, just you.

The classroom gasped, followed by a terrible silence. Scootaloo looked at her classmates, at Mrs. Meter Stick, then down at her desk as she shrank into her seat and mumbled, “That was out loud, wasn’t it?”

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

Scootaloo sat in her chair with nothing but her thoughts and punishment to keep her company.

I will not talk back in class, she wrote for the umpteenth time on a piece of paper before looking out a window that Mrs. Meter Stick purposefully left open. She sighed. Applebloom and Sweetie Belle were playing kickball without her. Detention sucked.

Scootaloo turned away from the window and glanced at Mrs. Meter Stick, who was grading papers and muttering to herself. What Scootaloo wouldn’t do to get back at the old crone. Put tacks on her chair? Too obvious. Maybe—

The school bell tolled the end of recess and the beginning of lunch. A loud shuffling of hooves and clamour of voices avalanched in from the hallway. Scootaloo leapt from her seat to grab her pack lunch and head for the cafeteria.

“You’ll be eating in here,” Mrs. Meter Stick said, without looking up from her work.

“But I—”

“You’ll be eating in here.” Her voice was loud and authoritative, her matter-of-fact gaze reflecting the words. Scootaloo scowled back. She huffed, then stomped back to her seat, opened her bag, and ate in silence.

The latter half of the school day went its course without much incident. On the front wall of the classroom, the clock ticked away the time while Mrs. Meter Stick lectured about the many stars and constellations in the nighttime sky. Scootaloo only half-listened as she vigilantly eyed the clock, its hands so close to three. Almost there! In a matter of seconds, she would finally be able to tell her friends the big surprise.

Without disappointment, the bell rang as scheduled. It effectively interrupted Mrs. Meter Stick mid-sentence, and Scootaloo didn’t miss a beat. “Finally!” she yelled, adding to the outburst of the classroom before turning to her friends.

“What’s up?” Applebloom asked as she stuffed her school books into her saddlebags.

“I’ve been waiting all day to tell you guys.” Scootaloo slung her saddlebags around her waist and trotted for the door alongside them. She looked between Applebloom and Sweetie Belle, waiting for them to ask what she was going to say. When their only answers were the blank stares they gave, she said, “Rainbow Dash entered me into this week’s Junior Speedsters Track and Flight meet!”

“Oh, wow! I bet you’re excited, Scoot,” Applebloom said.

“You bet I am!” Scootaloo replied. As she beamed at her friends, she noticed Mrs. Meter Stick staring down at her curiously, a faint smile on her face. Scootaloo raised a brow, but then dismissed it. Whatever the old hag was happy about didn’t matter to her.

“So what exactly is the Junior Speedsters Track and Flight, anyways?” Sweetie Belle asked when the trio stepped out into the afternoon sun.

“It’s an athletic meet run by the pegasi who run Junior Speedsters,” Scootaloo said. “They hold them every Friday outside Fillydelphia. I used to go to them with my dad every once in a while when I was little. They have all sorts of races for both pegasi and earth ponies.”

“Coooool,” the others replied in unison.

“Oooh!” Applebloom waved an excited hoof. “Maybe we could join, too. We could be the Cutie Mark Crusader track stars!”

Scootaloo smiled. “Except you forgot both of you already have your cutie marks. But you two could come cheer me on!”

“Oh, I don’t know, Scoot,” Sweetie Belle said, eyes downcast, “I don’t think Rarity will let me go that far away from home. Sorry.”

“Oh... Yeah, I forgot Applejack wanted me to help with fixin’ up the barn roof. Sorry, Scoot.”

Though saddened, Scootaloo nonetheless looked forward to the coming Friday and put on a brave face for their sakes. “That’s alright, guys, I know you’ll be cheering for me from here.”

Applebloom and Sweetie Belle smiled appreciatively.

“We sure will,” Applebloom said.

Sweetie Belle nodded her head. “You bet.”

Scootaloo lifted herself into the air and flew circles around her friends. “Alright, I gotta go fly with Rainbow Dash. I’ll see you guys later.” She took to the sky, the voices of Applebloom and Sweetie Belle fading into the distance.

In a matter of minutes, she landed beneath the oak tree, where Rainbow Dash stood leaning against it, head hung in slumber.

Scootaloo smiled. Loyal to a fault Rainbow Dash was, always there like she promised. Waking her felt rude, but so did not waking her. She giggled at the paradox, then nudged Rainbow Dash’s wing.

“Ugh? Oh, hey, Scoot.” She rubbed sleep from her eyes as she groggily said the words, then yawned. A smile formed beneath half-lidded eyes that tried to say ”I’m awake,” but failed. “You ready to get goin’?” Her wings opened up in readiness for flight.

Scootaloo smiled. “Of course.”

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

Her evening practice went by in a flash, partially due to her body’s increasing physical tolerance, but primarily because Rainbow Dash wanted to taper her practices. The two ended their session under abundant strands of wispy cirrus, which turned vibrant orange as the sun slid unto its nightly resting place. Scootaloo flew home under a slowly reddening sky.

Images of the coming race crept into the recesses of her brain and mingled with another germinating seed, calling forth the familiar swirl of mixed emotions and confusion that often haunted her when she was alone with her thoughts. The question still lingered. Why did she do this? She thought of Rainbow Dash, who had, in both a literal and figurative sense, taken her under her wing. She thought of the mare’s rose-eyed smile, her sole reward at the end of each day. It made the whole endeavor worth it.

Scootaloo found herself at the foot of the oak door, its dark face a brilliant sanguine in the dying light of day. She entered the ranch and headed for her room when a soft fatherly voice startled her from her introspection.

Tyco was looking up from a stack of papers on the coffee table by his seat in the living room, surprised. “You’re home early. What gives?”

Scootaloo grinned. “Rainbow Dash is tapering my practices because she wants me to—”

“Be ready for a race?” he finished for her.

Her voice caught in her throat, she blinked, and then cocked her head.

A smile spread between his cheeks. “I used to race, Scoot. I know how it works. Junior Speedsters?”

Nodding dumbly was all Scootaloo could manage, still surprised as she was.

Tyco laughed. “I flew in those races every week as a colt. Why do you think I always took you to ‘em?” He winked. “You’ll have fun there. Now, off to bed. You want to be ready for your first race, right?”

Did she ever! Scootaloo bounded past him to her room. Onto her bed she dove, and into the swirling clouds and bellowing winds of her dreams.

[Author’s Note: Belligerent Sock is best reviewer. Who would have known an article of clothing could be so proficient at such a thing?]

[Onward and Upward!]

IV - The Missing Piece

The Missing Piece

The rest of Scootaloo’s week crawled on at a slow but bearable pace. Her tapered practices did well to balance with Mrs. Meter Stick’s insufferable nagging, and both her posture and voice vouched for her relative abundance of energy, a relic of her pre-flight days.

It was with this energy that Scootaloo awoke Friday morning, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. On the scent of sauteéd vegetables she glided through the hallway, toward the kitchen, and onto a stool that sat on the living room side of the kitchen’s wrap-around bar table. She leaned forward, breathing deeply of the sizzling stir fry, then releasing it.

From where he stood before the stove top, Tyco looked over his shoulder at her and smiled. “You’re up early. Excited?”

Scootaloo nodded her head, eyes fixed on the skillet. “Uh huh.” She licked her lips.

“Heh, thought so. I took an hour off this morning to cook you up a good breakfast for your big day.” He took the skillet of vegetables off the heat and scooped them onto a plate, which he then set at her hooves.

Scootaloo paid no mind to the steam wafting from it and dove into the vegetables as if in an eating contest. Quicker so did she cough them out and wave a hoof over her tongue.

“What the hay’d you expect? I just took them off the stove,” Tyco said, brow raised. Undeterred by her blunder, Scootaloo blew on the vegetables. Tyco laughed. “Heh, well at least you learn from your mistakes.”

The steam dwindled to a tiny wisp before Scootaloo tried again. Her tongue unburned this time, she devoured her breakfast, strapped on her saddlebags, and took flight for school. “Thanks, dad!” she called over her shoulder, having almost forgotten to do so in her excitement.

She saw him wave his farewell from the doorstep before she turned back to the sky. Her flight to school felt instant, just as she hoped the day would. Through the front door she flew, landing just outside her classroom, a big smile on her face as she stepped inside.

To her surprise, Mrs. Meter Stick also wore a smile as she sat behind her lacquered desk. It curled deviously to one side, and Scootaloo felt her own fade as her teacher spoke, “Hello, Scootaloo.”

“Uh... good morning?” Concerned that the old hag would ever speak to her so politely, Scootaloo eyed her as she trotted to her seat. She immediately turned to her friends. “What’s with her?”

“I dunno,” Applebloom said, “she’s been like this since I got here.”

“It’s kinda creepy,” Sweetie Belle added.

That was a fact Scootaloo could get behind. She nodded her approval before saying, “It is. We need to get—”

The school bell rang, and Scootaloo rolled her eyes. It was like it always knew right when she was about to speak.

“We need to get to the bottom of it, fast,” she whispered before Mrs. Meter Stick cleared her throat to begin the day. The trio shared a nod, then bided their time for lunch—which didn’t take long thanks to Mrs. Meter Stick’s bubbly new attitude.

Applebloom slammed her glass of milk on the lunch table, spilling its contents everywhere, and wiped a milk mustache from her lips. “I don’t get it, why’s she so neighborly all of a sudden?”

Sweetie Belle shrugged. “Ahmnno.” She swallowed the mouthful of daffodil sandwich she had been chewing. “I don’t know.”

“Well...” Scootaloo looked down at the spaghetti she had been idly twirling with her fork, head rested on a hoof. “Besides Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon, she knows everypony in class hates her.” She raised her fork and tilted it to let the spaghetti plop back onto the plate. “Maybe she’s trying, like, reverse psychology or something.”

“Trying what?” Sweetie Belle asked, brow raised.

Cross, Applebloom leaned over the table at Scootaloo. “Mrs. Meter Stick actually tryin’ to be nice? I don’t believe it.” She sat down and thumped a hoof on the table. “She’s up to somethin’, I just know it.”

“But what?” Sweetie Belle asked. Neither Applebloom nor Scootaloo answered, and after a moment, they collectively sighed.

The bell rang.

“Well, I guess we should just enjoy it while it lasts,” Scootaloo said before tossing her fork on her lunch tray to take to the garbage bin.

“However long that is,” Applebloom replied.

The laugh that escaped Scootaloo was contagious, spreading to the others and following them to class. In their seats with smiles on their faces, they looked forward to what was in store. As Scootaloo expected, it went well. Mrs. Meter Stick was still as charming as she was that morning, and the hands of the clock seemed to race each other about its face to the ever-beautiful three o’clock because of it.

The bell rang to much celebration, Scootaloo being no exception. Into the air she leapt with a shout of joy before gathering her things to speed out the door on the heels of her peers. But before she crossed the threshold, a soft, sweet voice that she almost didn’t recognize as Mrs. Meter Stick’s called out to her.

“Scootaloo, would you wait a moment, please?”

Scootaloo’s face tensed in worry as she looked up at Mrs. Meter Stick’s ever-present smile. “But I have to—”

“Scootaloo, this is important. And I’ve put it off for far too long.”

Scootaloo bit her lip. She hadn’t done anything wrong, not that she knew of anyway. Whatever the reason, it was making her late for Junior Speedsters.

A chuckle escaped Mrs. Meter Stick. “Is something wrong?” She stepped out from behind her desk, eyes lidded, her devious smile again curling the side of her lip.

Scootaloo gave her a disheartened frown. “It’s just, why do you want me to wait? If I stay too long, I’ll miss out on Junior Speedsters.”

Mrs. Meter Stick let out a single laugh. “Then maybe you should have thought about that before making a mockery of your education. I’ve taught for many years, Scootaloo, and I’ve taught many a filly and colt. Some are like your two friends, polite and respectful. Others are like Twist, eager to learn and be the bright future of Equestria.

“And then, there’s your kind.” Her eyes narrowed to slits behind her glasses. “I know your type when I see it. No interest in academics, no potential for contributing to society.” She stepped before Scootaloo so as to tower above. “I became a teacher to make sure that foals like you grow up properly, and if that means taking something special away from you, then so be it.”

She turned about for her desk. “I sent for your father not long ago. He’ll be here to discuss the matter shortly. He is a stallion of dignity, and I’m certain he will know what to do about your... gross misbehavior.”

“But...” was all that came forth from Scootaloo’s gaping mouth. A trembling worked its way down her legs, and she felt a lump form in her throat. Nothing more sinister had she ever heard or seen than a pony taking something special from another. Being the victim made it worse. The thought of losing what she had trained so much for day in and day out cut deep. The trembling became tension, her gaping mouth, gritted teeth. She glared death, but Mrs. Meter Stick smiled all the more.

The sound of hooves on tile echoed in from the hallway, and Tyco burst through the door, panting heavily. His eyes landed on Scootaloo, then on Mrs. Meter Stick, confused. “Scoot, you alright?” he said hastily, trotting up to inspect her, then looking to Mrs. Meter Stick. “What happened? I just got your letter. It sounded like an emergency. What’s going on?”

“No, Tyco, Scootaloo is fine. But there is the matter of her delinquency.” She cleared her throat, and Scootaloo couldn’t help the shudder that ran through her. “Scootaloo has been tardy over ten times this quarter, and I’ve caught her sleeping many times during class.”

“Wha-what?” He blinked, the confusion on his face magnifying.

“I said—”

“Yeah, I heard what you said. But what you’re telling me is that you sent an urgent message today, to tell me to leave work three hours early without notice, and sprint here for a... a parent-teacher conference?” He stepped forward, glaring. “Why didn’t you just have Scoot tell me to stop by so I could give the mayor some warning before I dropped everything and made a complete fool of myself?”

Mrs. Meter Stick retreated a step, her eyes momentarily betraying her composure. “I assure you, the reason why I have called you this way is important to teaching your daughter how to beha...” She trailed off at the sight of his inattentive gaze.

A moment passed before Tyco blinked back to reality and set her with a level stare that set even Scootaloo on edge. His voice was calm, but dangerous. “Does this have to do with Junior Speedsters?”

The gulp in Mrs. Meter Stick’s throat was practically audible. “Y-yes. I believed that you would understand—”

“Oh, I understand.” Tyco strode forward, backing her into her desk, all remaining courage fleeing as he pressed his nose against hers. “And you understand this. My daughter’s been working a lot harder outside of class than your simple mind could ever comprehend. She hasn’t had any problems with her schoolwork since we moved here, yet you want to take away something she’s been working for for months because you think she’s lazy? We came to Ponyville to get away from elitist shit like you, and I won’t have you persecuting my daughter on some crusade for your twisted view of ‘proper.’ Even my father would be turning in his grave. If you even fucking think about harassing my daughter again, I’ll take this to the board of education and have your ass mounted on a wall.”

Both Scootaloo and Mrs. Meter Stick’s jaws dropped to the floor.

Tyco rounded on his heels for the door. “Come on, Scoot, we’re leaving.”

Scootaloo complied without hesitation. No way in Equestria was she going to be on the wrong side of that.

Mrs. Meter Stick’s squeaky voice came from behind. “H-how... how dare you speak to m-me like that. You-you’ll be hearing from the committee about this!” Her voice cracked on the last word, and Scootaloo couldn’t help but giggle.

In the doorway, Tyco shot a cross glance back at her. He outstretched his hoof toward her, a slight bend at the elbow. “Sit on this.”

What his words meant was beyond Scootaloo, but the horror on her teacher’s face was priceless. She smiled, but faced it away from her father as they left the building, nervous of what he would think at the sight of it.

Outside, she dared a glance at him. He was deep in thought, his eyes cross and ears flat on his head in the usual manner when something bothered him. Rarely did it ever happen, but always greatly. Still, she wanted to know what his final words meant, enough to ask when he seemed calm enough.

“Hey, dad, what does ‘sit on this’ mean?”

Tyco shook his head and blinked back to reality before looking to her and giving a quick smile. “Don’t you have a race to win?”

“Huh? Oh! Oh my gosh!” Scootaloo leapt into the air at the realization. In a blur, she took off for Fillydelphia.

“Good luck!” she barely heard her father call. He was lost in the distance, as was all of Ponyville in a timely manner—though not too timely, as she needed to arrive ready to race. Forests and plains quickly followed, and Fillydelphia grew on the horizon. Just north of the city a fairground was bustling with life. She sped toward it with the hope she wasn’t late.

As she neared, a small blue speck raced toward her, which she soon realized was Rainbow Dash, who tackled her at full speed. They tumbled through the air for a moment before Rainbow Dash gathered her balance to hold Scootaloo at hoof-length and stare her full in the face, exasperated. “Where have you been!?”

Scootaloo barely had a chance to shake the dizziness from her head. “I—”

“No time—track, race, go!”

Before she knew what was going on, Scootaloo felt herself launched toward the track below, only realizing after the fact that Rainbow Dash had thrown her. She regained her sense of control and flew toward the check-in desk, where many other fillies and colts were gathering, and landed to await obtaining her number. The mob dwindled quickly, as there were many workers sorting and distributing and shouting. They all looked so busy. It was enough to make Scootaloo clench her wings against her sides.

“Name?” asked a smiling young mare behind the table. “What is your name?”

“Huh?” Scootaloo shook her head, realizing the mare was talking to her. “Oh, me? Scootaloo.”

The mare looked at her sheet. “Team?”

Scootaloo cocked her head. “Team?”

“Yes, your team name.” The mare flipped through her papers.

“I don’t have a team.”

On the last page, the mare stopped. “Oh, here you are. ‘Scootaloo, unattached.’ Your number is twenty-six.” She tore two stickers with the block numbers “26” off a roll and passed them across the table. “One on each flank, please. Have fun!”

Scootaloo took them in her mouth and trotted aside. It took some effort, but she managed to peel them off and stick them on each flank, just below where her cutie mark should be. She smiled.

A loudspeaker crackled to life. “Third and final call for the filly’s eight hundred meter run. Third and final call for the filly’s eight hundred meter run.”

Scootaloo’s heart did a backflip, both in surprise at how late she was and excitement. Her first race of the day! Her first race ever! To the starting line she flew. The track’s cinder ash crunched beneath her hooves in a way that reminded her of gravel. Fillies and colts of all colors and sizes ran and raced and flew about, while others lay or stretched their legs.

“Alright,” yelled a gruff, portly stallion with greying mutton chops, a red hat, and sunglasses. “We will begin the eight hundred shortly.” The crowd gathered around him. “There’s enough of you that we’ll start two to a lane, so come up to the line as I call your names.” He set a clipboard on the track, pulled a pen from the chest pocket of his white polo, and began calling off names, pointing to the starting line. “Quickhoof, Sunny Smiles, lane one.”

Scootaloo couldn’t help the butterflies in her stomach as he called off names. What lane would she be in?

“Blitz, Scootaloo, lane five.”

Scootaloo jumped without meaning to at her name, then walked to her place, head low, legs wobbly. She looked over her shoulder at the other fillies in their staggered lines behind her, while others filled those ahead in the outer lanes. Beside her, a filly with a bright yellow coat and mane smirked at her.

“Try not to trip.”

The insult made Scootaloo blank in surprise, then face forward, determined. She knew who she wanted to beat.

“You are to stay in your lanes until you pass the first turn, where the orange cones are. After that, you will collapse into lanes one and two. Any questions?”

The runners were silent. The official nodded. He trotted aside, where a tall wooden pole stood with a bell atop it. “On your marks...”

Scootaloo fidgeted in her place, unsure of what sort of stance to take.

“Seeeet...”

Her heart beat wildly in her chest as she focused on Rainbow Dash’s advice: first lap hard but relaxed, the second, everything left. She licked her chapped lips.

The bell rang.

Scootaloo surged herself forward, feeling the cinder ash give beneath her hooves. Cheers burst from the stage of spectators as she raced around the first turn and took a small lead on her lane partner. Orange cones separated each lane from the other at the one hundred meter mark, which a filly from lane eight passed and cut inward. Not a second later, Scootaloo passed the cones and followed hot on her heels, making sure not to trip on anypony behind her.

The thought of how exhilarating racing was passed through her mind, but was fleeting; running was much harder than flying, her legs burning with the fire of exertion. At the second turn she drew back, and two others passed. She gritted her teeth. Keep it together!

More clearly could the cheers of the crowd be heard on the home stretch, Rainbow Dash’s easily picked out from the ruckus. “C’mon, Scoot! One more lap! Keep it up!” She stood at the finish line, a serious look on her face.

Scootaloo grinned as she passed and leaned into her charge of the third turn. Four hundred to go. One of the runners ahead began slowing, and she kicked when she overtook him at three hundred left. Around the final turn she sprinted, letting loose everything she had left. First place was almost halfway down the straightaway, but second not even five paces ahead, clearly winded. Scootaloo wheezed through the pain, inching nearer as they dashed down the final hundred.

The filly turned her head to see Scootaloo with surprise before redoubling her sprint. Scootaloo cut into the other lane to try and pass, but she hadn’t enough time. She finished less than a length behind, immediately collapsing into the cinder ash. She looked over her shoulder at those still finishing. The snarky yellow one staggered across the line before toppling onto the field inside the track. Scootaloo laughed through her wheezes. Served her right.

“Great race, Scoot, you got third.” Rainbow Dash stood over her, smiling. “Two-fifty-six is a pretty fast time.” She lifted Scootaloo to her hooves and brushed off her coat before laughing. “You’re lucky these meets never run on time or they’d already be running the fifteen. C’mon, lets get you ready for it.”

Rainbow Dash leapt into the air, looking back at Scootaloo. The hint was quickly understood, and Scootaloo followed.

“How d’you think you did?” Rainbow Dash asked as they took an easy pace toward a grassy field to the south.

Scootaloo shrugged. “I dunno. Okay, I guess. It kinda hurt, though.” She rolled her shoulders instinctively.

“You’ll wanna stretch out some when we land.” Rainbow Dash poked her in the shoulder. “You might not think it, but lots of your running muscles are attached to the ones you use for flying.”

Her statement wasn’t much of a surprise to Scootaloo. Every beat of her wings felt like weights had been tied to her legs, but Scootaloo forced a nod. It would do no good to have Rainbow Dash think she was tired already.

A minute passed before the two found themselves amidst other pegasi on the open field.

“Second call for the filly’s fifteen hundred meter flight. Second call for the filly’s fifteen hundred meter flight,” came the crackly loudspeaker.

Rainbow Dash laughed and gave Scootaloo a smirk and elbow jab. “We’re a little early this time.”

Scootaloo rolled her eyes, then trotted for the check-in desk. Much easier than before, she obtained her number, “6”, and returned to Rainbow Dash. She started to peel one of her old numbers off, but Rainbow Dash held a hoof up to it.

“Just put it on over it. No reason to yank all that hair off three times.” She gave a knowing chuckle.

Scootaloo’s eyes traced a line to the number on her flank, then the one in her hoof. Complying, she patched the new one atop the old.

Now,” Rainbow Dash said, “remember the fifteen is different than the eight.” She scrunched her face. “Well, I mean besides flying and all—you get what I mean. It’s hard to describe, but it’s like the first lap of the eight for the first half, then building into the last half. Fast all the way through, but still kinda controlled. Seeing it for yourself is the best way to understand.” Her gaze drifted over Scootaloo’s shoulder. “Should be about ten minutes ‘til they call you up.” She readied her wings for flight. “I’m gonna go look at the seeding chart. You stay here and stretch out, psyche yourself up.” Her grin complemented the peppiness of her voice, then to her namesake, Rainbow Dash was off for the boards propped against the side of a tent.

Scootaloo took her advice and began stretching—front legs, back and hind legs in religious order. While doing so, she observed the other competitors. Not many looked like racers—distance, anyway. Some were larger than the sport favored—a rather harsh assessment, but true. It wasn’t like she fared much better, her size in question. She would have considered herself the runt of the litter if not for the few smaller than her.

It boiled down to guts—who wanted to win more. On that front, Scootaloo had no doubt it was her. None of the others looked in any way, shape, or form as focused as she, except ones here or there with racing-centric cutie marks. But they were much older. She grinned. Time would prove the true victor.

Rainbow Dash landed beside her. “They’ve got you in the second heat of the fifteen. Some kid named Shadow’s seeded eight seconds ahead of what I entered you as.” She smiled. “Should be a good challenge for you.”

“Third and final call for the filly’s fifteen hundred meter flight. Third and final call for the filly’s fifteen hundred meter flight.”

“There they go,” Rainbow Dash said, watching those in the first heat fly up through a large white cloud directly above. “Should be about six minutes before you go up.”

A bell rang, and Scootaloo saw the racers take off toward the distant horizon, a dark-orange one in the lead. She noticed Rainbow Dash watching with particular interest, her mouth open ever so slightly, ears swivelled forward.

“Rainbow Dash?” she asked.

Rainbow Dash shook her head. “Hmm? Sorry, squirt, just watchin’ that one up front. I wanna see this ‘cause she was seeded five-oh-three. There hasn’t been anypony that fast in her age group here since, heh, well... me.” She brushed a hoof on her chest, grinning.

Scootaloo looked back at the racers. As Rainbow Dash had said, the one in front was indeed fast—the clear winner before even reaching the halfway loop.

“You better get up there, the others are already going,” Rainbow Dash said. “Good luck. You’ll see me up there cheerin’ for you.” With a smile, she took to a spectator cloud in the distance.

Scootaloo smiled, comforted by the thought of Rainbow Dash’s cheers. After a deep breath, she followed a few racers heading for the cloud above. Atop the cloud, not many were yet present, but her new vantage point gave her an excellent view of the finishing race.

The dark-orange filly crossed the finish line with no nearby competition. “Five-twenty-six,” a lanky, white stallion called out.

Scootaloo couldn’t help her eyes widening in disbelief. Though it wasn’t the time Rainbow Dash had said, such speed was incredible; though the filly didn’t seem to agree—or think anything of it at all. She breathed heavily, but wasn’t gasping for breath. A mild workout it seemed she thought of it, simply trotting past the official and then diving through the cloud. How a pony could be so comfortable after a race Scootaloo couldn’t understand.

“Five-fifty-eight, five-fifty-nine,” the official called for the next two racers to finish.

Scootaloo shook her head. Such a lead was beyond ridiculous. The thought both cowed and humbled her.

The last of heat one’s contestants crossed the finish line, each in their own manner of exhaustion, as those of heat two climbed up through the cloud to take their place around Scootaloo.

“That makes twelve,” the lanky stallion said. “Gee, we’ve just been having wonderful attendance today, haven’t we, Sky? All these bright, smiling faces.” A cheerful grin swept from ear to ear beneath bright yellow eyes.

“Hmm...” grunted an older, plumper stallion beside him, checklist in hoof.

“Okay, so how many of you are excited to fly today?” the lanky one asked as he raised a hoof into the air. He looked between the silent faces, awkwardness seeping into his own. “Oookay, then. Well, today, we’re—”

“You’re gonna fly to that cloud marker and back,” Sky cut in. His words were like sandpaper. “Any questions?”

Scootaloo snickered at the lanky one’s admonishing glance at his partner. They were an odd pair.

“You’ll fly to the marker on the right side and loop around it to come back on the left,” the lanky one clarified, still looking at Sky. Sky raised an eyebrow, a smile forming beneath his bushy mustache. Whatever the implication was, the lanky one flustered before shaking his head and forcing a smile at the group. “Are we ready to fly?”

Scootaloo rolled her eyes. She could have been there and back in the time they had been bickering. Racing was what she wanted to do, and only one other participant looked up to snuff—dark-blue coat, black mane and tail.

Flight races seemed much less organized in comparison to those on a track. No lines or boxes or lanes separated Scootaloo from the others at the starting line, which was also unstaggered. They all huddled to the line. Scootaloo could smell the hot breath of the fillies beside her.

“On your mark...” the lanky stallion called. “Set...”

Unlike the first race, the official rang the bell almost instantly, catching Scootaloo off guard. The dark-blue filly took off in the blink of an eye to take a big lead in the starting dash. Scootaloo wouldn’t have it.

She dashed after her, wings pumping like engine pistons to make up for lost distance, the wind howling in her ears. She knew from the get go that it would be between the two of them—the others already falling far behind. Cheers came and went from the stands as she passed them by, Rainbow Dash’s still easily heard above. “Focus, Scoot! It’s not a sprint! Take her on the home stretch!”

The dark-blue filly glanced over her shoulder and scowled. She again looked ahead and surged forward, and Scootaloo took the bait. She pumped her wings for speed as she was taught, forceful and rhythmic, not an ounce of energy wasted. Her cadence was what mattered, the goal of first place an afterthought to efficiency.

Sure enough, when the dark-blue filly rounded the loop and passed by, Scootaloo could see the strain in her face, drawing a grin on her own. She looped about the cloud marker and leaned further into her turn, slim as an arrow.

The wind blew hard in her face to slow her down, but she knew it did so for the filly ahead and pressed on. Tears formed in her eyes due to its abrasiveness.

Again she passed the stands, Rainbow Dash’s voice cracking with the fervor of her shouts. “Right here, Scoot! Right here! Go get her! Push it now!”

That was all she needed to hear. Now only a few lengths behind, Scootaloo could hear the filly’s hoarse wheezing, and smell her foul breath. She gutted out the last two hundred to overtake the filly. As she passed, the filly forced herself ahead in a last-ditch effort to win, but Scootaloo held fast. She crossed the finish line a full length ahead and promptly collapsed into the cloud.

“Alright, Scoot!”

A hoof shook her shoulder, prompting her to look up into Rainbow Dash’s smiling face.

“You won the heat!” Rainbow Dash continued. “Nice work.” She sat down beside her, and Scootaloo rolled onto her side to suck wind.

“Thanks... That was... Hard,” she said between breaths. Something about that moment struck Scootaloo. The way Rainbow Dash smiled down at her, hoof on hers, felt comforting in the most basic sense.

“Heh, I bet it was—like it should be. You raced that smart.” A moment passed in silence. “Come on, you gotta stay loose for your last race.” At that, Rainbow Dash fell through the cloud. Scootaloo waited for a second, lingering on the closeness she had felt.

Rainbow Dash poked her head up through the cloud. “You comin’?”

“Mhmm.” Still dwelling on the thought, she followed down through the cloud to where Rainbow Dash stood observing the dark-orange pegasus out of the corner of her eye.

“See her?”

Now that she wasn’t an orange blur across the sky, the filly’s figure was much clearer. Poised, confident, she stood chatting with a colt. Her mane and tail sprouted and curled like gouts of flame that would burn her if she got too close. Likewise, her cutie mark was of yellow wings unfurling about a raging fire. Assumably four years older, age gave her the calmness of her stance, her experience, ease in a charged atmosphere. She was a true flier.

“You saw her in the heat before yours,” Rainbow Dash continued. “Her name’s Pyra. She won the fifteen overall and beat your time by sixteen seconds.”

Scootaloo could hear the warning in Rainbow Dash’s voice, but kept her eyes glued to Pyra. There was something about her that set Scootaloo on edge, something that told her to never look away for fear of danger.

“She’s fast, Scoot. And she’s in the 5K with you.”

Scootaloo’s skin crawled. She was going up against her? That pony didn’t win the fifteen; that pony destroyed it—without even trying! And she had to race her!?

“Hey,” Rainbow Dash said. Her face held a grin—a sly grin—one only mischief or absolute certainty could produce. “You’re gonna beat her.”

Belief welled within Scootaloo, the likes of which she couldn’t understand. Rainbow Dash knew. Nothing else mattered. She set a keen glance upon Pyra, then grinned.

Rainbow Dash nudged her shoulder. “That’s what I like to see. C’mon, let’s keep you loose.” Ever the peppy flier, Rainbow Dash leapt into the air, an expectant smile on her face when she turned, but Scootaloo didn’t immediately follow.

She remained where she was, eyes fixed upon Rainbow Dash. What was it that made her so trustworthy? Her smile certainly was comforting, but only the surface of what made her so—the tip of the iceberg. An energy hid within, vivacious and plentiful in a way Scootaloo couldn’t make out, and was directed at her, channeled into her. Even the thought of that smile—those eyes—had impact. And knowing she didn’t understand what it was forced a sigh from her lips. She then followed Rainbow Dash skyward, eyes glazed.

She could hear Rainbow Dash speaking, but didn’t bother listening, instead trying to wrap her head around the puzzle. There were many pieces in place, but the picture they made wasn’t clear without the rest—what she didn’t know.

Since the beginning of her training, Rainbow Dash had become increasingly relaxed around her. She smiled more—that was for sure—despite how the ringlets beneath her eyes grew more pronounced each day, today much more so. Nothing but training seemed to occupy her life—that and Scootaloo’s. Which was odd since Rainbow Dash used to be infamous for her naps. Knowing she had renounced them for her sake made it all the more confusing. Why would anypony do such a thing to themselves?

Perhaps she simply wanted to see Scootaloo improve, or like she said on their first day, it would be “awesome.” Maybe she felt obligated, compelled by something deeper, more instinctive. If so, was that natural?

Why did she herself want to be here? She had learned to fly, under the wing of the one she most admired. Only Rainbow Dash’s smile kept her here and pushing through pain she would rather avoid. It didn’t make sense, but it felt so right.

“Helloooo. Equestria to Scootaloo.”

Scootaloo shook her head. Rainbow Dash had an eyebrow raised.

“Were you sleeping?”

“What? No, I was just...” Scootaloo averted her eyes. They flew a moment in silence.

“First call for the filly’s 5K flight. First call for the filly’s 5K flight.”

“That’s our cue,” Rainbow Dash said before banking toward the field below. Another sigh escaped Scootaloo, and she followed without a word.

On the ground Rainbow Dash turned to her, seriousness in her eyes. “Don’t forget... Pyra is the one you want to beat. She flew the fifteen easy, meaning she knows how to pace, and her actual speed is much faster than we’ve seen. Don’t try and outrace her. You’ll lose if you do. Fly your own pace, but stay aggressive.” She looked aside, her eyes fixed on something behind Scootaloo. “Stay with her, and your race’ll be in the last eight. It’s gonna hurt, but I know you can do this.” She smiled with certainty at Scootaloo.

“Second call for the filly’s 5K flight. Second call for the filly’s 5K flight.”

“They have the cones out, so they’re gonna do a ground start to the cones.” She snickered, her eyes closing as if recalling a memory. “Get out quick. You don’t wanna be in the middle of everypony else when you take off. These things never start off how they plan them—but that’s not the point.” She shook a dismissive hoof, the gravity of the situation wiping the smile from her face. “What is is that you fly smart. You’ve got your target. Keep with her. And remember, when you think you’ve got nothing left, you do.” She ruffled Scootaloo’s mane. “Dig deep. Fight hard. I’ll be out there cheering for you.”

In a rush of wind she was off to the skies, leaving Scootaloo among her gathering peers. The race imminent, Scootaloo went to the check-in desk to obtain her race and box number. She applied the “10” to her flank before heading for her box. Once there, she started to kick out her hind legs, to shake away the fatigue that had crept in. It didn’t help much, but it occupied her, kept her focused.

Without thinking, she turned her head to where Rainbow Dash had looked during her speech. Pyra stood chatting with others in the coming race—teammates assumably. She looked so calm, so collected. Scootaloo hadn’t noticed the scowl creeping onto her own face until Pyra looked her way. Immediately it fled at her gaze, at the deceiving simplicity of it.

Pyra’s eyes fell upon her, emotionless, but not thoughtless. On the surface they merely glanced; within, they analyzed. Calculations of size and weight, wingspan and posture, confidence and willpower hummed in the fiery yellow of her eyes for no more than a second. She then looked away without so much as a second glance.

How a simple glance could affect her so, Scootaloo didn’t understand, but her scowl returned. She had her work cut out for her.

A whistle blew, and Scootaloo turned to see the portly official from the eight hundred standing a ways beyond the starting blocks. He beckoned the crowd toward him.

“Since we have so many competitors today, we’ll start this race with a traditional ground run,” he said once they had gathered around him. “At two hundred meters, by the orange cones, you’ll take off and begin the flight portion of the race. That’ll lessen the confusion at the start.” His gaze swept across the crowd. “After that, just stay inside the cloud markers. Any questions?”

The racers were silent, and he nodded with a grunt. “Good luck to you. And have fun.” He headed for the bell while the crowd trotted to the line painted in the grass.

Scootaloo took her box and looked about at the others and their pre-race rituals. Some stretched their wings. Others bounced on their hooves and did run-outs. They all looked much older than her, excluding a few.

A feeling of doubt crept up from the bottom of her stomach, could she really win this? She saw Pyra’s bright mane of fire at the far end of the line.

You’re gonna beat her.

Her worries dissipated as quickly as they had formed.

“On your maaaark,” the official called out, drawing Scootaloo’s attention to the stretch of grass ahead. She kicked her hooves out subconsciously, shaking out the lingering stiffness from her previous race. “Seeeet...” She leaned forward, prepared to launch.

Silence reigned during the grossly long pause, and anxiety filled the open air, suffocating and intolerable. The raucous clang of the bell finally released the tension, the competitors bursting forth in a stampede of adrenaline, like an invading army upon the unsuspecting landscape.

Scootaloo charged to the head of the pack to keep pace with a brown filly. She turned her head to search for Pyra, determined to keep her in check, and was surprised to see her toward the middle of the herd.

At the orange cones Scootaloo put the thought aside and shot a beeline for the first cloud marker, a pair of small clouds with orange flags atop them. She heard the chaos of those behind her, those entangled in their efforts to take flight, and giggled as Rainbow Dash’s prediction came true.

Marker after marker passed by as those behind her slowly caught up in an attempt to recover lost ground. Pegasi of blues and greens and browns sped past, which goaded her to pursue.

Fly your own race.

In complete disregard of instinct, she resisted the urge as the course climbed high into the clouds. Even if she wanted to keep pace, elevation quickly took its toll. She slowed to match her previous strain, only to be disheartened further as more trickled past.

“Aren’t you a little small to be in this race?” a kind but disbelieving voice huffed over exertion. Scootaloo looked over her shoulder and saw Pyra slowly gaining headway.

There she is. Just stay with her. Scootaloo gritted her teeth and picked up her pace to match her target. The two reached the peak of their ascent before banking leftward into a dive. Wind blasted in her face at the speed. A twinge in Scootaloo’s sides started to form, but she ignored it and powered downward. She kept a solid pace with Pyra, slowly gaining territory over the other racers.

The dive levelled out just above the cinder track, where the cheers of excited spectators came and went in an instant. The course banked upward.

Using her momentum, Scootaloo careened up and around a marker in relentless pursuit. Pyra shot a quick glance over her shoulder, and Scootaloo saw the confused agitation on her face. With an audible grunt, Pyra kicked up her pace.

Though the twinge in her sides grew, the high of competition compelled Scootaloo onward. She could do this.

Unable or unwilling to continue, large pockets of racers fell to the wayside as she and her rival barreled toward the next marker. Their breathing and wheezing filled the air as Scootaloo passed, and she would have smiled if not for the pain in her sides.

Another dive brought them low over a nearby forest, and Scootaloo brushed the treetops, tearing leaves up into the air to dance into the distance. Given voice by the wind in Scootaloo’s ears, Pyra’s tail flailed about like a roaring flame, harassing her with its wild dance as she passed the 3k cloud marker and more quickly fading cheers.

Scootaloo’s mouth became dry and pasty. She hacked up a mouthful of phlegm, but the undesirable substance stuck in her mouth. She spat it out at the expense of another precious breath and began to suck wind as the mucus trailed down the side of her neck. Just keep breathing...

Scootaloo and Pyra quickly overtook the last of their competition, striking out ahead to vie for gold.

Pyra’s vibrant tail ahead rose further into the air, and Scootaloo followed it with her eyes. A wave of dread washed over her. Oh, Celestia, not again.

Scootaloo felt as if she was on death’s door. Her muscles screamed beneath the torture, and the pain in her sides erupted into fire. Her heart pounded wildly, crying out for mercy. She watched her rival make the gradual climb to the finish line in the clouds, slowly outdistancing her.

I can’t do this. It hurts... it hurts too much. I... I can’t.

A sudden movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. The displaced vapors of the final cloud marker evaporated to reveal Rainbow Dash righting herself from landing.

“Eight hundred meters, Scoot! She’s right there! Go!”

Her heart gave a flutter, and her pupils widened in response to the surge of adrenaline. The strain of fatigue melted away as her breathing became full-bodied. Rainbow Dash’s cry resounded in her ears, its magnitude rushing through her mind like a flood of cold water.

Rainbow Dash.

Her smile—the happiness embodied by such a simplistic expression, the very idea of being something Rainbow Dash could be proud of—filled her.

Scootaloo accelerated in an explosion of energy, every muscle firing her forward like overcoiled springs. A wry smile streaked her face as the dancing flame came nearer by the second. Three lengths.

It whipped in the wind, almost within reach. Two lengths. Pyra’s breathing was loud, almost raspy. She dared a glance back, and in her eyes Scootaloo saw disbelief swell like a tidal wave. Scootaloo’s grin doubled, then was lost to a gritting of teeth to wring out every last drop of energy. One length.

The wind of Pyra’s wing beats warped the air between them as Scootaloo came abreast for an instant, the finish line not twenty meters ahead. She dared not turn to look her opponent in the eyes but could feel the desperation radiating from her like waves of heat; she was spent. Squinching her eyes against the pain of her final stroke, Scootaloo crossed the finish line and fell to the cloud, its vapours scattering in her rolling stop.

The cloud’s fluff was a beautiful feeling, like soft blankets that wanted only to ease the daggers in her sides and the swimming in her skull. Her muscles were like gelatin. She could have lain there forever.

Suddenly, something gripped tight about her shoulders and pulled her up into a warm body. She squirmed for a moment before turning to see Rainbow Dash on the verge of tears.

“You won! I knew you could do it!” Rainbow Dash said, choking on her happiness.

This was her prize—not the endless clamor and praise of spectators, nor the knowledge that she had bested dozens of older pegasi. It was the warmth of Rainbow Dash’s breath, the joy in her eyes, and the soft colorful strands of mane that brushed against her forehead. She felt like butter melting in the loving warmth of Rainbow Dash’s embrace. She returned the gesture, treasuring the moment.

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

A bronze and two gold medals dangled about Scootaloo’s neck as she and Rainbow Dash flew leisurely home on a tailwind. They flew in silence, Scootaloo preferring her thoughts of the 5K and her internal dialogue over speaking.

So confident she felt at the start, despite everything Rainbow Dash had said. She cursed herself and the uncertainty she felt near the end—her surrender at the final stretch. Rainbow Dash had won it for her. Scootaloo looked to her, then down to the medals clanging together against her chest. She was the reason there were two golds instead of one.

She was the reason there were any medals at all.

Indeed, Scootaloo raced for Rainbow Dash, for her admiration and affection, but why still eluded her. A greater force was at play, something instinctive. She sighed, and her heart sank at the prospect of yet another unsolved mystery.

A farewell reached Scootaloo’s ears, but barely registered. Rather than returning it, she flew straight home, intent on asking her father a question that had always bothered her.

She landed on her doorstep but paused before entering. Why she did so wasn’t clear to her, though she looked down at her hooves, mouth curled in an apprehensive frown. After a slow sigh, she opened the door.

The living room sat in dreary silence, and the orange sunset flooding in from the windows gave the earthy décor a sober appearance. Tyco walked in from the hallway and smiled upon seeing the medals about her neck. He approached, congratulation in his eyes, but stopped short at the sight of her frown. Scootaloo looked up, and their eyes met.

“Dad... where’s mom?”

[Author’s Note: Special thanks to Belligerent Sock for his review of this chapter.]

[Onward and Upward!]

V - The Wonderbolt

The Wonderbolt

The air hung thick between Scootaloo and her father as they stood in the silence of the living room. In his eyes she saw the pain of a memory long repressed. He took a slow breath and held it before looking aside to release it.

“Follow me.” His words were slow and hollow. He lead her through the hallway and to her room, where he motioned toward her bed. She complied, looking up at him with head cocked, curious what he would say.

“Wait here.” he said, then left for his room across the hall. He returned with a small black binder, set it beside her, and sat by the bedside. There was an air of mourning to his face as he looked at the binder.

“A long time ago, way before you were born, I used to live in Manehattan. My parents were wealthy businessponies.” He opened the binder to the first page, where three ponies gazed up at Scootaloo. An orange stallion in the photo wore a long, flowing robe of red silk. His mane was slicked back, complementing the trim, level expression he wore. A mare stood beside him, her purple hair done up in curls and braids that made Scootaloo think of Rarity. Her head leaned back and aside, jet-black eyes half-lidded and brow raised haughtily.

“Are those—”

“Yes, those are my parents. And that’s me.” He pointed a hoof at a little orange colt sitting between them and chuckled. The colt wore an ecstatic smile that seemed to leap out of the photograph. Scootaloo did a double take to her father. It was hard to think of him as anything but grown up, almost surreal.

“I had it all: a wonderful education, a warm bed, and anything I wanted. Heh... Well, almost anything.” His gaze dropped to the floor. “My parents sent me to a school built specifically for gifted foals. I was good at math, and I learned quickly. They had big plans for me.” He chuckled, an almost happy smile appearing on his face. “They wanted me to take over their business when I grew up.

“We went to numerous dinners and parties—as a part of their plan. They taught me how to behave in public, like a proper colt.” He rolled his eyes as he said the final words. “They tried to drill their beliefs and prejudices into me, but I just didn’t get it. They wanted me to follow in their hoofsteps without question, and... I guess I did for the most part. But honestly...” He took a breath through clenched teeth, grimacing. ”I hated it.”

Scootaloo shifted herself to wiggle her hind legs under the sheets. “Why?”

Tyco cocked his head in a shrug. “Well, as much as I wanted to make them happy, something happened that stopped that. Heh... It’s kinda funny, actually. One of the parties we attended was an after-show dinner for the Wonderbolts.”

“Wow, really? The Wonderbolts?” Scootaloo dropped her jaw in a smile, completely forgetting why she sat there.

Tyco belted out a laugh. “Yes, the Wonderbolts. I told you my parents were wealthy businessponies. Anyways, we only went for the dinner, but we did get there early enough to see them perform. I remember the very first time I ever saw them.” His voice became shallow, almost a whisper, and he looked out the window with a wonder-filled smile, as if reliving that very moment.

“They were spectacular. I... I had never seen so many colors—so bright, so fast. You remember all those bedtime stories I used to tell you about when I was a Wonderbolt, right?”

Scootaloo nodded. How could she not? They were the best stories he ever told.

Tyco laughed. “Well those were nothing like this. There were dozens of Wonderbolts up there in the sky, all twisting and diving and looping around each other so... perfectly, one amazing stunt after another. It was like magic. But there was one stunt I’ll never forget.”

He flipped the page, revealing numerous news clippings. Wonderbolts Stun Cloudsdale, Spectators Left Speechless, and The Living Fireworks: Wonderbolts were some of the many newsprint headers that met Scootaloo’s eyes. In the center of the page, surrounded by the articles, was another photo. A yellow stallion, clad in skintight blue, posed beneath a spotlight as if ready to lunge at the photographer. Crystal-blue eyes sat beneath a furrowed brow and above a sly grin that said ‘Don’t mess with me.’ It was signed with a black marker in messy cursive, To my little Rebel. -Blaze.

Scootaloo looked up from the yellowing photo. Her father stared pensively at it, and his eyes briefly misted over. He looked away, blinked back tears before clearing his throat, and then sighed, his eyes closing as another smile grew.

“Blaze, Captain of the Wonderbolts, appeared toward the end of the show. White Lightning and Flash were with him on either side. They looked like an arrow, flying higher and higher into the sky.” He raised a hoof in imitation of what he spoke, his eyes following rather than fixing on Scootaloo’s as was normal during his stories.

“They were like a speck, so high up, and below the other Wonderbolts were circling, real slow. What amazed me about that was that none of them looked up.” He looked Scootaloo in the eyes, disbelief in his. “They all looked straight ahead—they knew to the second what they were doing.” He tapped his hoof the page to emphasize his words.

“Then there was a screeching noise way up high. I looked up and saw the three flying down so fast that the air around them was on fire. It was so amazing, I almost didn’t see the ones flying circles getting faster.” Tyco ran a hoof through his mane, looking down at the bed and shaking his head. “Faster and faster they flew in that circle, still not looking—I couldn’t believe it.

“They flew so fast that a tornado formed, and I remember holding my breath and looking up at Blaze and the others who were screaming down at it like a meteor ready to crash straight through it.” He chuckled—almost giggled—then looked to Scootaloo with a grin. “And then they did.

“They flew straight through the tornado, all three of them spiralling out the bottom and looping out to the top. They connected their trails of fire at the tip and then spun with the tornado. The fire spread to fill in the gaps between their trails with the most brilliant red I’ve ever seen. And below the Wonderbolts that made the tornado shot outward from their circle in a shower of green that sparkled like stars, and one of them looped their trail through the middle and down in a long curve.

“What they had made floated alone in the sky, the whole thing still spinning like a top. I didn’t have any idea what it was until Blaze himself reappeared and blasted through the middle of it. It exploded like a thousand fireworks, but it was then that I saw what it was...” He stared off into space as a smile formed on his lips, his head shaking numbly. “It was a rose... Heh... It was a rose in full bloom.”

A tear rolled down his cheek. He wiped it away before chuckling again.

Scootaloo raised an eyebrow, shying away. “A rose? What’s so special about a rose?”

Silence lay between them for a moment when Tyco inhaled to reply, but paused to gather his words. “It’s not specifically that it was a rose, Scoot, it was that they could create something so simple—so pure—from something so complex. That they could go beyond performing a show to creating art.”

Scootaloo blinked, her brow still raised.

With a shake of his head, Tyco chuckled. “You’ll understand someday, Scoot. Now, that show... My parents didn’t think anything of it. To them that’s all it was. I don’t think they realized that they were the ones who messed up their own plan.

“It was in a very fancy ballroom right after the show. I remember hiding behind my parents when they were talking to Blaze, and peeking out at him. He was in his uniform, and had this smile about him. It was electric. I was still amazed at the show they had put on, and when he looked down at me with that smile it felt like the world stopped.”

Tyco tapped the photograph twice with a hoof, staring into Blaze’s eyes like a puzzle he was trying to finish. “He saw something in me that day... Heh. ‘To my little Rebel...’ He was definitely something else.” He flipped the page. Wonderbolts darted up and down and around more news clippings in strict formation, their photographs barely containing the streaks of fire and static and smoke in their wake.

“From that point on, I collected anything and everything Wonderbolt. I started playing outside more, flying around all day imagining I was one of them. It was a lot of fun, but it worried my parents. I think it annoyed them that I wasn’t living up to their expectations.

“I didn’t want to become what they wanted me to be, and my father got angry. He...” Tyco looked Scootaloo in the eyes, then turned away, drooping his ears.

“What’d he do?” Scootaloo asked. She leaned forward to put a hoof on his shoulder.

Tyco glanced at it, then smiled at her. “Nothing, that part isn’t important.”

Slowly, he sighed. “Anyways, after a few years I moved to Fillydelphia to follow my dream. I trained day and night to become what I needed to be in order to achieve it. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I poured all my time, effort, and talent into flying. And it took four years—four years of trying—but it paid off.”

Tyco smiled, staring off into space again, dusting off a long-forgotten memory from the upper shelves of his mind. “I became a Wonderbolt.

“I’ll never forget how it felt the first time I wore that suit. To wear something so... prestigious. It felt like I had become a new stallion, which, I guess, I technically did.” He looked to Scootaloo. There was a light in his eyes, both of fargone pride and juvenile embarrassment. “At that moment, I decided I didn’t want the name my parents gave me. So made up a better one that would fit a Wonderbolt. I took the name Flyinn,” he shrugged, “and it stuck.”

He again flipped through the photo album. Like a collage, photographs and news clippings adorned page after page, each highlighting him in some manner. He stopped at the middle of the album where a front page of the Fillydelphian Times overtook the entirety of its open faces. The bolded header reading “The New Face of the Wonderbolts,” a young Tyco stood atop a row of four five-point stars, staring heroically off camera. Muscle, lean and toned, lay beneath skintight uniform, rippling it like the waves of an ocean. Half-spread wings fanned about him like a cloak, his tail and mane swept in an unseen wind.

“Wooow...” Scootaloo ogled. Never before had she seen a picture of her father in uniform. He really did look as spectacular as all his bedtime stories made him out to be.

“It was that year I perfected my lightning calling, and I became the talk of Equestria’s elite. Oh, what was it they used to call me...?” He tapped a hoof to his forehead, an embarrased smile working its way across his lips. “Oh yeah, heh... Flyinn the Magnificent. Flyinn the Great.” He let out a soft chuckle. “Flyinn the Lightning Caller was my personal favorite. Anyways, we traveled Equestria, performing show after show, and left every audience stunned. Those three years passed in a blur of sweat, fame, and glory. And I loved every single moment of it.

“But then something I never would have expected happened.” His voice changed, as if still puzzled. “After our final show of the season, Cloudsdale’s mayor threw us a party for a job well done. It was a huge party, and everypony in Cloudsdale came. I remember sitting at a table in the corner of the ballroom. I was never very social, so I passed the time pony-watching. It was fun to just sit back and watch the others have a wonderful time.” He looked Scootaloo in the eyes, and she could feel the ghost of his memory reach out and touch her. “And that’s when I saw her.

“She was the most beautiful mare I’ve ever laid eyes on. Her name was Starshine, and she certainly lived up to that name. Her mane was the darkest blue you’ll ever see, and her smile could have stopped the world from spinning. I... I couldn’t look away. I just sat there... hypnotized. It didn’t take long for her to notice me, but when she did, it felt like an arrow shot through my heart.”

Tyco sighed, letting time pass in silence as he relived his memory. After a moment, he turned a few pages to a small photograph, where an indigo-coated mare smiled up at Scootaloo. Starshine was indeed beautiful. Her navy-blue mane shimmered like the nighttime sky and fell about her in long flowing curls. Violet eyes, flashing and vibrant, peered through the glossy film, her smile truly one beyond the most graceful Scootaloo had ever seen.

“You have her eyes.”

Scootaloo looked at her father in time to feel his hoof trace her cheek, and see him smile. He looked back to the photograph, then out the window at the nighttime sky.

“Eventually, I worked up the courage to go talk to her. Her voice was as beautiful as she was. We started dating. I put her first before everything else. She was the one, Scoot. She really was. But the others...” He looked somberly at the floor. “They didn’t agree with it.

“They felt Starshine was getting in the way of my training and clouding my vision. We had an argument, and... they gave me a choice: I had to choose between the love of my life, or the job of my dreams.” A small chuckle escaped him, along with the faintest of smiles. “I didn’t even hesitate.” He sighed. “And I never looked back. I was so... furious, I vowed to never fly again, which is, well, why you never see me do it.” He added a shrug.

“Starshine and I moved to Fillydelphia, where we settled down in Delamare Valley. And when I thought life couldn’t get any better,” he looked at Scootaloo, love in his eyes, “you arrived.

“That was the most joyful moment of my life. I remember Star holding you close as she laid in that hospital bed. Heh... You opened your eyes for the first time, and I saw your mother in them.” He stroked gently Scootaloo’s mane, “I still do.

“We went home and laid you in your crib and watched you sleep. It was like watching an angel. I slept soundly that night, more than I ever have. But it was short-lived.” A terrible gloom consumed him, as if a dark cloud had suddenly grown above his head. “I heard you crying in the other room, and I woke up to see Star was gone. She left without warning me...” A smile grew steadily. “But she didn’t leave me alone. She left behind the most precious thing I had.” He ran his hoof across Scootaloo’s cheek, wiping away a tear. “And I’ve cherished it ever since.

“You grew up headstrong, just like me. Everypony in Fillydelphia saw us differently ever since that day. We were the center of gossip because of that.” His face grew stern. “I could put up with it, but I wasn’t gonna to let you grow up in the middle of it. I saw how you were being treated in school. The other fillies and colts were just like their parents. It angered me that our neighbors could turn on us like that.” He sighed.

“But that’s why we moved here, to get away from it all.” He patted Scootaloo on the head, smiling. “You’ve grown quite a bit these last two years. I’m proud of you, and I always will be.”

Scootaloo looked up at her father with newfound respect. Never before had he told her any of this, and she could sense it hurt to relive such a depressing tale. Doing what any truly loving daughter would do, she put her hooves around his neck in a hug.

“I wish mom was here,” she whispered quietly into his shoulder, “so you can be happy again.”

“What?” Tyco released her. Nothing but joy filled his eyes. “But I am happy. I’ve got you. I’ve got the best daughter in the world right here in my hooves. Nothing...” He lifted her chin with his hoof. “Nothing can take that away from me.”

Scootaloo’s vision blurred, and she buried herself within the refuge of his embrace. The warmth of hoof and wing about her calmed her nerves, and she felt him lay her back. He pulled the covers up to her chin and kissed her on the forehead.

“Goodnight, Scoot,” he whispered.

“Goodnight, dad,” she replied, snuggling into her sheets. Tyco quietly walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Scootaloo rolled over and looked out the open window at the starry sky. The hum of cicaidas and the chirping of crickets drifted in, and the stars seemed brighter than usual. With a smile and a contented sigh, she closed her eyes to the peaceful symphony of the night.

[Author’s Note: Who needs shoes when you have socks as amazing at reviewing as Belligerent? No one, that’s who.]

[Onward and Upward!]

VI - Auditions, Fears, and Dedications

Auditions, Fears, and Dedications

“Ouch.”

Scootaloo stood up from a rough landing and brushed herself off—another trial and failure to complete a new trick Rainbow Dash had taught her the week before. She looked up to the sky where Rainbow Dash trailed her hooves down her face in frustration.

“Ugh, come on, Scoot, we’ve been working on this for days now! We should have been done with this move, like, yesterday. I’m running behind on my own practice for the Wonderbolts tryouts!”

Scootaloo frowned. It wasn’t her fault making a tornado was so hard. So much of it she had to figure out herself, from the spin to the speed—not to mention timing.

Still, joining the Wonderbolts was Dash’s dream, and being the reason she might not make it this year was the last thing Scootaloo wanted. She lifted herself into the air for another try.

The grassy meadow along the Everfree looked especially green from high up. It would have been something to appreciate had she the time to do so. Instead, Scootaloo shot downward with extraordinary speed. Wind rushed through her mane and around her body. It screamed in her ears, deafening, like the first time she learned to fly. A mach cone started to form, fighting back against her for daring to attain such speeds. Scootaloo felt its pressure and knew she was ready.

She fanned and angled her wings like a propeller. The wind pressing against her sent her into a wild spin. Far below, the ground blurred in a dizzying circle—bold, swirling greens and browns overpowering the finer details of the land. The mach cone twisted and contorted, bending to her will. Step one complete.

Scootaloo squinted as she neared the ground, estimating her altitude and calculating her timing—for now was a test of daring and precision. If she halted her dive too early, she would be swept up in the vortex that she now channeled behind her and land in a rough, disoriented heap, like last time. Too late? She didn’t want to think about that. Only the thought of surviving this game of chicken swirled in her head.

But even that she had to shake away for concentration on the immediate; the ground spiralled dangerously close. Fifty meters. A lump of doubt formed in her stomach. Forty meters. The smearing earth seemed to lunge at her, and the lump shot to her throat. Thirty meters. Not yet. She gritted her teeth and swallowed her fear. Twenty meters.

Now.

Scootaloo flared her wings. They strained to their fullest against the wind. She spiraled heavily upon the grass and dug deep circles into the earth with the force of her spin, legs becoming rooted in place. Wings whipped awkwardly about in the wind as it rent and tore at her hide like ethereal blades. Her eyes watered at the excruciating pain.

As quickly as it came, the pain disappeared. A bellowing roar met her ears, and she looked up to inspect her handiwork. Just as Rainbow Dash had said, her spin had become self-sustained as a tornado. It sucked up chunks of dirt and grass as it carved a path through the meadow and into the Everfree—much to the terror of scattering birds.

A giddy smile grew on Scootaloo’s face. Excitement tried escaping in the form of a hop and the fluttering of wings, but with her hooves stuck in the dirt managed only an awkward wobble to keep from falling over. She pulled herself free of the earth and dusted herself off before looking around for Rainbow Dash and the bright smile she would undoubtedly be wearing.

Left, right, and around she looked, no sight of hide or tail to be found. Confused, Scootaloo looked up. High above, a small blue speck grew, along with a shrill cry.

“Aaaahhhhhhhhhhh!”

The speck grew to the point where it became recognizable as Rainbow Dash tumbling through the air. Scootaloo tensed in alarm before dodging aside. Rainbow Dash crashed into the ground, plowing a small trench as she came to a halt. Clumsily, she stood, wearing a groggy but pleased expression, words slurred as if drowned in cider.

“I think it worked.” She widened her stance for balance, legs wobbling like plucked strings, eyes spinning about in their sockets. “But next time your two buddies there can’t help you out.” She collapsed in a heap.

Scootaloo winced, but couldn’t suppress a giggle that worked its way up from her belly. Rainbow Dash always found a way to make her smile—even if unintentional. After a moment, Scootaloo helped her up, glad to see she wasn’t injured.

A quick shake of the head brought Rainbow Dash back to her senses, a faint blush on her cheeks despite the brave face she put on. “That was a good one, Scoot. Nothing like what I could do, but I bet that one’ll go out a few miles.” She visored her eyes with a hoof to watch it disappear over the treetops, frenzied shouts and hollers of wildlife abound.

She laughed. “We should probably get going. Wouldn’t want anything nasty comin’ outta there, would we? Not that we couldn’t take it, though, right?” A mischievous grin swept across her face as she turned to Scootaloo, who grinned back. Sure they could. Rainbow Dash could beat anything.

Wings out and a yawn growing in her mouth, Rainbow Dash turned toward Ponyville. “Come on, Scoot. Let’s get you home.”

Scootaloo nodded her agreement, and the two took flight. It was abnormally cool for a Summer evening; though, she welcomed it after a long day of hard work. It kissed across her face and through her sweaty mane, letting her eyes droop half-shut and a smile to form in spite of her exhaustion.

Many hours she had spent learning the steps to making a tornado, and many more putting them into practice. Not often did a week speed by so quickly, but it came with its reward. And with that reward etched into muscle and memory, Scootaloo looked to Rainbow Dash. Her smile widened.

“Hey, Rainbow Dash?”

“Hmm?” Rainbow Dash blinked and shook her head, coming out of a deep half-sleep. “What’s up?”

Again, her tireless selflessness warmed Scootaloo’s heart. “Thanks.”

“Heh. No problem, squirt.” Rainbow Dash smiled back, appreciation in her eyes. She looked down. “Well, I guess we’re here. I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, she split off and headed into the distance.

Scootaloo watched until she had disappeared beyond sight, then sighed. She descended into a canter before her house and opened the door with a weary hoof. Straight for bed she trudged. The feathery plush of her mattress was the most wonderful feeling her aching body could ask for. She sighed again, though this time in satisfaction.

For a minute she lay listening—feeling—the blood pound through her veins and the dull throb of yielding muscle. When the mattress became too hot for comfort, she rolled over and found a cool spot to again lay in faux unconsciousness.

She stroked her back with a hoof, feeling where the wind had made its illusionary lacerations not an hour ago. They felt so real. Her wonder dissipated to make way for the utter exhaustion that continued to swell with every second of comfortable discomfort that came with the end of daily training. She rolled onto her side to find another cold spot.

The exhaustion spread to her wings, so she stretched out her free one. A lot of good that did her when a charlie-horse knotted down its length. She squirmed in response to the pain until it finally relaxed to leave her in relative contentment.

Another minute passed as she stared at the stucco ceiling, not knowing why she did so. It was too early for bed—not to mention she needed to shower. Celestia knew how bad she must have smelled at that moment. Scootaloo looked out her bedroom door, at the prospect of heading for the bathroom. “Uggnh...” was all that came forth before she looked away—like that was going to happen. Instead, she looked at her dresser, where five medals, one bronze, two gold, and two silver, hung from its knobs. Many more were scattered about her room, crowding the few hooks and furniture-corners present.

Two months to the day it had been since she first won a medal. It felt so long ago. Her eyes subconsciously lowered. For two months Rainbow Dash had officially been a coach and mentor, but more than simply that. She was like family—was family. Scootaloo glanced at the photograph of Starshine, taken from her father’s album, that was taped to the bottom corner of her dresser mirror, then quickly rolled over.

Atop a nightstand beside her bed rested a tiny, three-legged calendar. A date, June twenty-sixth, was circled in red crayon. She eyed today’s date, the eighteenth, as it sat ready to be crossed through in the inevitable flow of time—eight days until Rainbow Dash’s tryouts. While there was no true age restriction on auditioning for the Wonderbolts, Rainbow Dash had decided that waiting for the standard entrance age of eighteen would be best; she would be most ready now more than ever.

Back at the circled date she looked, apprehension and excitement at war in her gut. If Rainbow Dash was accepted it would be the happiest day of her life. What Rainbow Dash might not know is that it would separate them. Maybe she did know—even looked forward to it, their separation a necessary evil.

Naturally, Scootaloo would share in her joy, but the fear of losing Rainbow Dash gnawed at her like a rat at the bars of a cage. On the other hoof, if she didn’t make the cut, they would be together for at least another year. But what would that do to Rainbow Dash? She never handled failure well. Truthfully, she never really had to handle it at all—but at the same time, Celestia forbid it happened, could she?

Scootaloo rolled onto her back to stare at the ceiling again and sighed. Why did life always have to find a way to suck?

She brushed clumps of fur on her chest up and down, watching them stand like little spikes with her sweat. Such idle motions were always calming. But sadly they never made problems go away. What did was facing them—just like Rainbow Dash always said.

That in mind, Scootaloo looked back to the calendar, at the circled date, then flipped the page to where another date was circled and underlined. July fifteenth. The Best Young Flier’s Competition. The idea zipped through her mind like the pegasi that would compete in it. She let a smile form on her lips as her hoof drooped over the side of the bed to let the page fall back in place. Her eyes closed, and she drifted off into a peaceful slumber filled with open skies and streaks of violet.

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

Lightning roared, violent and terrible, across a blackened sky, displaying its rage in massive bolts that split the heavens. Powerful it was—a thing to be feared—but Scootaloo tore past its rampancy. Upward she flew, teeth gritted, straight toward its lair in the monstrous cloud above. The wind rushed about her, wild in her ears, and the thunder’s fury vibrated in her heart.

She pulled into a loop, tucking her legs in before a bolt of lightning streaked across her belly to shred her Wonderbolts suit to ribbons. A crowd far below gasped, though was barely heard over another thunderclap. Scootaloo smiled. A little feisty.

“Scoot.”

Face to face with the cloud’s underside she came, wings extended to graze against it and absorb the static within.

“Scoot, Rainbow Dash is here.”

Gravity pulled her downward, electricity trailing after her like threads sewn between wingtip and cloud. The ground rose with startling speed, but she remained calm. Almost there. Pins and needles tingled through her muscles and spine—the sensation of lightning coursing through her—primal and wild, waiting to be unleashed.

“Dang it, Scoot! Get up already or we’re gonna be late!”

Scootaloo’s eyes shot open as something jabbed her in the side. “Ooof.” She scrambled to her hooves instinctively before realizing that her father and Rainbow Dash stood beside her bed, a glare of impatience on rainbow Dash’s face. A moment passed as Scootaloo pondered why she was here, then gasped.

She leapt out of bed with a burst of energy, shook off the remainders of sleep, and gave Rainbow Dash a big smile.

“You sleep like a rock,” her father said, then chuckled. “Sleep well?”

Scootaloo nodded enthusiastically.

Rainbow Dash groaned into a facehoof. “Ugh, we don’t have time for this! Let’s go!” She stormed out of the room. Scootaloo followed in tow but stopped in the doorway to look back at her father, a smile creeping onto her face as her dream bubbled to the front of her mind. He smiled back, whisking his hoof toward the door. “Have fun.”

“C’mon, Scoot!” Rainbow Dash yelled from the living room.

Scootaloo smiled at her father a second longer before racing for the front door, through which Rainbow Dash could be seen already leaping into the sky. She giggled at such impatience but understood it well. It wasn’t often she got to watch Rainbow Dash audition for the Wonderbolts.

It was rather warm that morning, humidity from an overnight shower sticking to her like an uncomfortable shirt. Rainbow Dash seemed to pay no mind to it, her face set dead ahead, concentrated on what the day would bring.

Scootaloo dared not interrupt. They flew in silence until they reached the outskirts of Fillydelphia, just north of the Junior Speedsters track grounds. Scootaloo didn’t know what to expect upon arriving, but the sea of colors as hundreds of ponies ran about far below certainly wasn’t on the list.

As they came closer, she could discern makeshift stalls and carts strung throughout the grounds, their owners busy with the masses that flocked like herded cattle from one to the next. Never before had she seen so many ponies in one place.

Rainbow Dash descended, and Scootaloo followed suit. They landed amidst the general hubbub. Scootaloo shied away from a particularly large stallion trundling by, into Rainbow Dash’s side. A wing wrapped around her protectively, and Scootaloo looked up to see a smile on Rainbow Dash’s face—quite the turnabout from her previous attitude.

“Kinda busy, huh?”

Scootaloo looked between her and the ponies about them, still nervous. “Yeah... Why?”

“Heh. It’s because the Wonderbolts tryouts went public, like, ten years ago.” She looked up to follow the trails of three Wonderbolts overhead. “And ever since it just kinda turned into a market thing. I bet Applejack’s here, too. She wouldn’t miss a chance like this to sell some apples.”

“You’re darn right I’m here.”

The two turned to see Applejack standing with hooves crossed, her usual country smile present. “No way we’d miss out on business like this.” She trotted up to them. “Applebloom and I got here at the crack o’ dawn. Couldn’t believe how many folks got here before us.”

Scootaloo perked up at the mention of her friend. “Applebloom’s here?”

Applejack chuckled. “Well of course she is. Ain’t an Apple if you can’t sell apples, right?” She pointed her head over her shoulder at a cart stand. Scootaloo could make out snippets of an excited Applebloom waving to her through the many ponies passing between. “We saw you flyin’ in, so I figured I’d come say my peace before it gets a little too hectic ‘round here.”

She turned her head and grinned. Dozens of customers gathered around her apple stand, Applebloom’s waving now panicked.

“And that’s probably my cue to get back to it.” She turned back to Rainbow Dash, still grinning. “Guess I better be wishin’ you good luck up there. We’ll be watchin’.” She winked.

Rainbow Dash deflected her words with a cool smile, eyes half-lidded and a hoof brushing her chest. “Hah. Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll be needing any of that.” Applejack rolled her eyes.

A loudspeaker crackled to life. “Attention. Will all participating athletes please report to the southern field for the qualification race. Again, all athletes to the southern field for the qualification race.”

Rainbow Dash grinned. “Hah! Not like the others even need to show up.” She swaggered toward the field, confidence in her voice. A smile flashed beneath eyes alight with an energy desiring release. “Time to show ‘em why.” Wings extended wide, body crouched low, and she launched skyward, those around her shielding themselves from the dirt blasted away in her ascent.

When the dust settled, Scootaloo mouthed a “Whoa,” gaping as Rainbow Dash was already a tiny speck in the distance. She had never seen such power. Rainbow Dash really was the best flier in all of Equestria—no doubt about it. And she would get to watch her prove it.

A small, fluffy cloud drifting overhead looked like an excellent vantage point. She shot upward and somersaulted over to land atop it. She snuggled into it. Clouds were always so comfortable. Legs sprawled, she peeked over the edge to observe the proceedings.

About twenty athletes were lined up in a row. Some fidgeted. Others idly stretched hoof and wing. None looked as confident as Rainbow Dash—because, honestly, who could smile with such certainty at a time like this? Scootaloo giggled.

A Wonderbolt—it looked like Soarin from her cloud—stood before the contestants and blew a whistle before pacing back and forth. His lips moved to say words that couldn’t reach Scootaloo’s ears—racing instructions, most likely. The contestants’ gazes into the sky confirmed her suspicions. Naturally, Scootaloo also looked up, and her jaw dropped.

Pillars and spirals and rings of cloud twisted and veered through tubes and tunnels and contorting arches. Rain poured between rotating thunderheads that crackled with lightning. Dense fog concealed the upper half of the course, a mystery to all but those who enter.

“On your mark...” The firm voice called Scootaloo’s attention to a cloud not far from hers, where Soarin stood, hoof overhead, beside a dozen other Wonderbolts. She looked down at Rainbow Dash, who was grinning back. “Set...” Rainbow Dash gave a slow salute, then crouched for takeoff. “Go!”

A bell rang, and all racers fired into the sky, their collective launch resounding like a bomb. Through zig zagging rings they barreled, Rainbow Dash and three others already forming a pack ahead of the rest.

The course took them high toward the fog, then looped back down through a long, narrow tube. Rainbow Dash and the others disappeared within. Seconds passed with no sight of them leaving the other end. A yellow mare was launched back out of the tube where she tumbled about, then dove back in. Scootaloo bit her lip, not knowing the happenings within.

Suddenly, a light red stallion burst out the bottom end, mane torn back against a powerful wind, face strained then surprised as another blew him sideways with the force of a hurricane. Rainbow Dash quickly followed, but compensated. She flew into the massive headwind, letting gravity pull her down through, and, fast as lightning, straightened into a dive the moment she cleared it.

“Yes!” Scootaloo shouted, unable to contain her excitement as Rainbow Dash took a clear lead. Two others caught on to her maneuver, and both powered through as easily as she did, along with the light red stallion.

Skyward they flew, quickly gaining on Rainbow Dash’s heels. She craned her neck back to look at them as she looped through another ring. Her dive toward a corkscrew-shaped cloud on the far side of the course was slow, much slower than it should have been.

Scootaloo put her hooves to her mouth. Halfway through the course wasn’t the place to slow down—nowhere was. What was she thinking? There had to be a reason for it.

Rainbow Dash traced the inside of the spiral, disappearing and reappearing with every turn, the others hot on her tail. They came out the top neck and neck, growing extraordinarily fast, flying straight for Scootaloo.

Scootaloo blinked, then turned around to see the next cloud marker straight behind her. She clenched tight to the cloud at the realization that she had drifted right in the middle of the course, and beat her wings to push herself out of the way.

The racers blasted past a mere second after, their backdraft tearing at hide and tail as she clung for dear life. Her cloud rolled like a ball until the wind died down to leave her sighing in relief. She looked up at where the tail of the third racer was disappearing into the fog.

Shadows skimmed back and forth, becoming clear and obscure with every in and out of invisible obstacles within. Squinting didn’t help Scootaloo see any clearer, but the deep bass of her heart in her ears forced her to. Rainbow Dash was in front—she had to be.

Scootaloo stared at the final stretch of the race—a long straightaway that extended from the fog to the ground below, where ponies gathered around a finish line. Eyes shot back and forth between it and the fog, unable to pick out any forms within. Everything was quiet.

A large shadow grew, racing for the straightaway. Scootaloo gasped. Rainbow Dash?

The fog burst outward to form contrails behind Rainbow Dash and the light red stallion. They bumped and jostled for first, teeth gritted. Rainbow Dash pushed away from him, then looked at Scootaloo. She grinned.

As if fired from the barrel of a gun, Rainbow Dash surged forward to leave the stallion in the dust, a mach cone starting to form about her. It sharpened like a spearhead, but went no further. She tore past the finish line, the cheering crowd made silent as it was blown off its hooves.

“Yes!” Scootaloo shouted, somersaulting in a display of excitement.

In the finisher’s zone, Rainbow Dash alighted on the grass and cantered for the water cooler, as if out on a mid-morning stroll. After a quick sip, she looked up at Scootaloo, a devilish grin on her face.

Scootaloo couldn’t help but beam back at her. Rainbow Dash was so awesome.

In time, the rest of the competitors crossed the finish. Many looked like they had flown around the world. But a few, Rainbow Dash most outwardly, looked ready for more. Those chosen to continue were led across the field by Soarin, where he again gave instructions that Scootaloo again couldn’t hear.

This had to be the stunt part of the auditions. A giddy smile overtook Scootaloo, and she slid her cloud after the crowd beneath her.

One by one, the contestants put on displays of agility and speed, grace and tenacity, power and endurance. Truly amazing feats they were; Scootaloo had never seen a cloud explode before, nor such a realistic cloudcrafting of the Equestrian flag—it seemed to flap in the breeze. But Scootaloo knew none of them would match up to what Rainbow Dash had in store.

She went last. Simplicity is the heart of grace, as dad always said, and though Rainbow Dash loved boasting, the way she rose high into the atmosphere showed that she understood this idea.

A tiny speck against the sun, she dove, body slim as an arrow. The crowd gasped, and so did Scootaloo. For the first time in her life, she would finally witness the greatest spectacle in history: Rainbow Dash’s sonic rainboom. She held her breath in yearning of the inevitable

The mach cone formed around Rainbow Dash, again narrowing about her. Colors of blues and greens and reds swirled out from its white glow that pulsed at her outstretched hoof. The sound barrier bent against her assault, then exploded in an enormous rainbow.

Scootaloo’s jaw dropped, a tingling sensation in heart and spine. A gust blew her over backward as Rainbow Dash barrelled past, mere inches from her face. When she righted herself, a rainbow trail met her eyes, bold even in its residual power.

Shakily, she reached out a hoof to touch it. It floated away, weightless like stardust, to disappear into nothingness. Unbelieveable. She followed the rest of the trail with her eyes, which looped into the sky, then back to the ground.

The crowd went wild, but Rainbow Dash paid it no attention. She looked up at Scootaloo and returned her gaping smile with a sly wink.

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

Two days passed in relative normality. Now used to waking at the crack of dawn, Scootaloo followed her training regimen to the letter: morning practice, followed by crusading, followed by evening practice, followed by sleep. The third day after Rainbow Dash’s audition began much like the others. She woke up and headed for the front door to get her morning flight out of the way. But upon opening the door, her routine changed.

Rainbow Dash stood on the threshold wearing a blue flightsuit. Scootaloo gawked for a moment, gears churning to fully comprehend her devious smile. It clicked, and her gawking doubled.

Words were unnecessary.

Scootaloo tackled her in a hug, both laughing joyously. She had never been so happy in her life. Rainbow Dash did it!

“I couldn’t wait to come show you,” Rainbow Dash said. “I’m glad you’re happy, Scoot.” Her eyes glowed with a soft light of their own. “It means a lot.” Gently, she tried to push Scootaloo off. For a moment Scootaloo resisted, her heart jumping with the understanding of what would soon happen, but then allowed Rainbow Dash to stand. She frowned at her hooves, unable to look her in the eyes without crying. Rainbow Dash shouldn’t have to leave—or even want to. It was happening, just like she knew it would. She squinched her eyes shut to keep in a tear.

A hoof lifted her chin to bring her face to face with Rainbow Dash. Her brows were furrowed in concern.

“What’s wrong, Scoot?”

Scootaloo jerked her head away and again looked at the ground, ashamed of crying in front of Rainbow Dash. Her voice came out choked. “I don’t want you to leave.”

The hoof stroked her mane and caressed down around her ear to her cheek. It brought her eyes back up to Rainbow Dash, whose very soul smiled in her own. “Hey, this doesn’t mean I’ll be gone forever. You know I’ll see you at Best Young Flier’s.”

Scootaloo sniffled, looking away. She was right, but it didn’t help at all knowing she would be gone in the first place. “I just want to be with you.” A lump formed in her throat as tears threatened to blind.

“I know, it’s hard, Scoot, but we all have to grow up.” The hoof brushed away a tear. “Can you do that for me?”

Scootaloo’s lip trembled, and she slowly nodded. Anything for Rainbow Dash. Anything. She smiled up at Rainbow Dash through her tears. “Of course. I’ll grow up to be just like you!”

Rainbow Dash laughed, soft and loving. “No. No you won’t. You’re not gonna grow up to be some dumb old Rainbow Dash. You’re gonna grow up to be Scootaloo. The Scootaloo, the best flier in all of Equestria.”

That did it. Scootaloo could take no more, and she hugged Rainbow Dash with all her might. Tears flowed freely. “I love you, Rainbow Dash!” She held tight, sobbing into the sleeve as if it were a lifeline.

Rainbow Dash stroked her mane until the sobs died down. “Hey.” Scootaloo sniffled, wiped her nose, and looked up. Rainbow Dash again wore her soul-filled smile. “I have to go now, but just remember one thing for me. When you think you’ve got nothing left...” She nodded over Scootaloo’s shoulder, directing her gaze to her father leaning against the doorway, smiling.

“You do.”

A gust of wind swept through Scootaloo’s mane, and she turned back to see Rainbow Dash in the sky, grinning over her shoulder, hoof raised in farewell.

“One month!” Rainbow Dash yelled. She saluted before firing off into the distance.

Despite the heaviness of her heart, Scootaloo couldn’t help but smile. One month. She would be there. And Rainbow Dash better be ready.

[Author’s Note: Only Rainbow Dash could be as awesome as the sock who reviewed this chapter. Thanks, Belligerent.]

[Onward and Upward!]

VII - The Best Young Flier

The Best Young Flier

Sweat and pain marked the following days. Late-night practices blended with morning flights and the dream-state crusades between. Scootaloo pushed herself harder than ever to master her tornado, the one that would make Rainbow Dash proud. Draining it was, but worth the light at the end of the tunnel—the smile on Rainbow Dash’s face. And before she knew it, the day arrived.

“You ready?” Tyco asked when she entered the kitchen from the hallway. He stood over the sink, washing a pan he had used to cook the vegetable stir-fry sitting on the bar table beside her saddlebags. Scootaloo beamed. Dad always knew how to make any day start out great.

Scootaloo hopped up on a stool and eyed her breakfast with delight. “You bet.”

“Heh, good. I would hope so after all that hard work you’ve put in. Just wish I could come watch.”

Scootaloo blew on the vegetables to cool them, eyes up at her father. “Well why don’t you?”

He walked over and sat across from her. “Well, you know, work is work...”

“And it’s kinda hard to get into Cloudsdale without flying.” She regretted her words the instant a wince shot across his face.

He sighed, then spoke, his words tinged with regret, ears flattened and eyes lowered. “Yeah, well, I’m true to my word. Some things are just that important to ponies. When you grow up, you’ll understand.” A smile spread over him. Scootaloo smiled back, glad her father could put aside what she had said to see her intention, and took a bite of her stir-fry. Delicious as always.

He chuckled in response. “You know, I cooled them off before you got in here so you wouldn’t burn your mouth again.”

“Hehe. I could tell.” She shoveled spoonfuls into her mouth. The earlier she got to Cloudsdale the better.

Elbows propped on the table, Tyco watched. His mouth was hidden behind clasped hooves, but its corners poked out on either side in a smile, his eyes alive with what could only be a memory of days he hadn’t mentioned. Not a word came from him. Odd but nothing to worry over, especially if it meant not being yelled at for bad table manners. That didn’t happen often.

“Done?” he asked when spoon clattered to plate.

Scootaloo wiped her mouth with a foreleg. “Mhmm.”

“Alright. Let’s get you goin’ then.” He stood to head for a paper sack on the far counter by the sink. “I packed you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Cut the crusts off, just the way you like it.”

He returned with it and set it in her saddlebags. “Didn’t have time to get more of that soda stuff you like, but I threw a juice box in there for you.”

“Grape?”

He flashed a knowing smile. “What kind of father would I be if it wasn’t?”

Scootaloo giggled. “You’d still be the best in all of Equestria.”

“Heh, I’d hope so... C’mon, saddle up.”

Scootaloo was way ahead of him. Saddlebags already draped over her, she pulled the belt tight and notched it. Quick as a whip, she was out the door and into the sky, a farewell in her wave and a skip in her heart; Rainbow Dash was at the end of this flight.

It went quickly, the walls of sky and atmosphere that made up Cloudsdale’s Cloudiseum growing in the distance before she knew it. A grin crossed her face, and she sped toward it.

Pegasi flocked to it like pigeons for seed. Thousands crowded the entrance hall, all clamoring for entrance. Scootaloo glided over the them, eyes peeled. There had to be a competitor’s entrance somewhere.

Sure enough, a scarlet banner hung over a smaller arch that came into view as she started to wrap around the building. “Competitor’s Entrance,” it conveniently read in golden block letters. Fewer pegasi stood outside this gate, some of which looked familiar from her many track and flight meets. She smiled. None of them stood a chance.

She landed at the gate to obtain her competitor number, thirteen, and then walked through the gates into a large foyer. Two staircases flanked a large closed gate, and a small pole sign beside the left handrail read “Competitor’s Waiting Room.” An arrow beneath it pointed right, down the side hallway.

A short walk brought her to a room filled with other fillies and colts her age. Some milled about, eyes down and teeth clenched—the easily beaten—others posed and smiled and laughed, happy as can be—the overconfident and care-lessers. The remaining few chatted with one another, calm and collected. They were the ones to watch, to study. Rainbow Dash’s keen eye had rubbed off on her.

“I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Scootaloo jumped at the familiar voice. She turned to see Pyra, her ever-present grin and blazing mane as fierce as the first day she saw her. Had she been here the whole time? Maybe her keen eye wasn’t so keen.

“You look ready to win,” Pyra said. She shifted her weight to one side, her head cocking to the other, grin doubling.

Just as casual, too. Scootaloo matched her grin. “I am. And I will.”

Pyra laughed, melodic like the ringing of a bell. Long enough not to be contemptuous and short enough not to be spiteful. It was innocent, as was the smile her grin became. “We’ll see about that.”

Scootaloo held her grin, but faltered inside. Pyra’s words were simple. Neither hatred nor jealousy twisted them. She knew something Scootaloo didn’t.

Pyra looked to a sheer curtain of mist at the far end of the room, through which the obscured forms of ponies and stands and sky could be seen. “I heard your trainer made it into the Wonderbolts. That’s pretty sweet.”

At this, Scootaloo nodded. “Uh huh. And today I get to show her how hard I’ve been working on the trick she taught me.”

Pyra looked back, and her smile broke to let her brows rise high, neck back and head forward in interest. “Oh? Sounds cool.” The smile returned but was curled in a manner that hinted at teasing. “But you better watch out. I’ve been working on my own stuff, too. Ever since you beat me that day like two months ago, I’ve been waiting to even the score.”

Scootaloo giggled. With how hard she had been working this last month? Unlikely, but fun to think about. It was odd, but having Pyra as a sort of rival felt exciting. Her simple confidence and matching skill made for a challenge unlike any other. Good and easy-going was unseen in many fliers.

A door opened behind Scootaloo. Through it stepped a pasty-white mare with a curly orange mane that reminded Scootaloo of Twist. She held a clipboard up to her eyes and adjusted her glasses, then spoke in the most nasally voice that ever existed. “Okay, contestant number one, you’re up.”

A white colt perked up at the mention of his number and darted for the curtain, an excited smile plastered on his face. Though she knew the number thirteen was stuck to her flank, Scootaloo looked back at it anyways.

“Hey, would you look at that,” Pyra said. “You’re right before me.” Scootaloo looked at her flank to see the number fourteen covering her cutie mark, its yellow wingtips visible around the edges of the sticker. “Better give me something good to beat.” Her grin was back. A little snarky, yet still innocent.

Scootaloo held back the words she wanted to say and instead turned to watch the first contestant through the curtain. Her tornado would speak louder than anything she could have said.

Contestant after contestant left through the curtain as their numbers were called. Their forms flicked and fluttered back and forth on the other side, like ghosts chasing shadows. Number twelve was called, and Scootaloo felt a sudden knot form in her stomach. In a few moments she would be out there showing the world what she was made of—showing Rainbow Dash what she was made of.

Weightlessness jittered in her hooves. She shook them out the way she always did before a race, one hoof at a time. Her heart felt like it was caving in on itself.

“Your turn, contestant number thirteen,” the nasally pony said.

As if those words held magic, Scootaloo’s heart leapt to her throat. Breaths constricted while legs leadened, making her steps heavy and unwanted.

“Hey. Kick some flank.”

Scootaloo turned to see Pyra smiling. She smiled back, then turned back and took a deep sigh before nosing through the curtain. As if a switch had been flipped, the crowd’s cheers assailed her. A sea of color and wings and shouts and leaps of excitement abounded every way she looked. She shrank away from the thousands of eyes that bore into her.

And then she saw Rainbow Dash.

She wore yellow goggles around her neck, and the flight suit’s balaclava hung back over her nape. Her tail spilled over the edge of the cloud balcony on which she sat, it and mane brilliant and bold against the blue of her Wonderbolts uniform and those around her. A grin on her face, she held her head high, eyes aflame with expectation. It flowed into Scootaloo, straightening her shoulders and raising her head. She was invincible.

With not a doubt in her mind, Scootaloo launched into the air. She blasted through cloud rings that drifted above, the force of her backdraft rending them apart. Columns smeared back and forth across her vision as she weaved through them. A loop beneath and over the Cloudiseum brought her to where she needed to be.

Far above the awaiting crowd, she gauged her next move. Strands of cirrus wisped here and there—nothing of concern. The wind itself was nonexistent. One, single cloud sat in the middle of the arena—her target. Scootaloo grinned.

She dove for the cloud, falling much faster than expected in the high atmosphere. The familiar cone enveloped her, and she opened her wings to spin with its force. Like foam in a whirlpool, the strands of cirrus were sucked in behind to dance in the ever-growing swirl. It made her spirit soar, but something still wasn’t right. The tornado itself—it felt... weak.

Scootaloo gritted her teeth. Weak wasn’t good enough.

Between split seconds of holding her wings fast for spin, she began beating them for more speed. Below, the cloud grew terrifyingly quick. Wind slipped through the outline of the cone, cutting and tearing at its twisting. It began to shrivel away as its wounds grew, and Scootaloo’s eyes went wide with its sudden, uncontrollable wobbling.

Like a lead brick through tissue paper, Scootaloo ripped through the tattered remains of her cone and tumbled screaming into the cloud. It caught her, soft and gentle, but she didn’t dare move. Uncounted moments passed as she lay there, head spinning. Slowly, she pulled herself free of the cloud’s plush to look around.

All eyes were on her. In the unbearable silence, her heart sank as if trying to return to hiding within the cloud, and her shoulders went with it. Embarrassment would have been the only thing in her stomach if not for the look on Rainbow Dash’s face. It was blank, mouth slightly open—surprised, shocked, unbelieving. She cast her gaze downward.

At that moment, Scootaloo wished she had never existed. Ashamed, she fluttered toward a balcony where the other competitors sat. She took her place amidst them, eyes down at her hooves.

Everything had gone perfectly. Nothing felt out of place until the last moment. What happened? Was the air not thick enough?

Barely raising her head, Scootaloo looked up at Rainbow Dash, who still looked down at her own hooves. A wonderbolt beside her nudged her with an elbow. His mouth moved to form unheard words and a smile. Rainbow Dash shied away from him.

The sight brought tears to Scootaloo’s eyes—Rainbow Dash embarrassed. Sinking into the cloud and disappearing forever felt like a wonderfully acceptable thing to do right about now.

“Ladies and gentlecolts,” announced a suave stallion in sunglasses, jumpsuit and headset. “Put your hooves together for our last, but not least, competitor of the day, contestant number fourteen!”

Pyra burst from the curtain, its vapors dissipating into nothingness, and sailed beneath the cloud in the middle of the arena. She raised it to bring it into better view of the crowd and then blasted into the heavens.

Up. Upward she flew. Once a speck upon the endless blue above, she stalled. She tilted her head back to return in a backward swan dive, wings folded against her sides. Scootaloo held her breath.

Seconds above the cloud Pyra lifted her hooves over her head. Puffs of vapor spat from the hole she punched through before it swelled in an instant like an overinflated balloon. It suddenly caved in on itself, the sides exploding outward in a flood of steam. Through it, Pyra burst from the underside and twisted upside down. Time seemed to slow as she clicked her hind hooves like a rock to flint amidst the contrails of vapor, which ignited like gasoline and surged toward the cloud.

Scootaloo shielded her eyes from a blinding light and searing heat. She dared a glance through squinted eyes and beheld the balled inferno that was once a cloud. It spun a slow, violent dance within the arena, casting everything in an orange and yellow so supermassive that it darkened the sun.

Chunks of vapor broke off to float into a blackened sky like blazing demons to spread their chaos to all corners of the earth. Sweat beaded on Scootaloo’s brow and trailed down her face, some into her slack-jawed mouth.

As quickly as it happened, it burnt away to leave the stadium in a slowly growing rumble of excitement and sweat-chilled air. Pyra landed on the far side of the balcony. Scootaloo shrunk and looked away.

She glanced up at Rainbow Dash, who still gazed down at her hooves. Had she even noticed what Pyra did? She looked as if she hadn’t even blinked, only stared in silence as the world around her cheered until their throats went hoarse.

Scootaloo could take no more. Her hoofsteps were quiet in her retreat from the balcony. Over the back ledge she leapt to glide alongside the wall and to the blank, white below. It accepted her as silently as the crowd’s cheers had become. A soft wind swept around the bend.

Murmurs of city life floated on its back to reach her ears in little ebbs. Pegasi flew like colored specks in the distance. Clouds drifted after them, slow and inexorable. Life went on without a care.

Scootaloo sat on her haunches, back leant against the Cloudiseum wall. She closed her eyes. The arena sat far below, and the wind tore at her face when she dove for the cloud in its center. It burst into hellfire, an all-powerful blaze that blinded and amazed. Scootaloo opened her eyes.

She had lost.

Above the sun shone, brilliant, mocking—a small, frail thing that could only hope of dreaming to become what many had witnessed within the arena.

Scootaloo looked down at her hooves, the afterimage of the sun dancing in the center of her vision. Pyra had set a cloud on fire. It made her shiver.

Shadows passed over Scootaloo. They flew far away along the cloud, like fish just beneath the surface of waves, to join with their owners: Rainbow Dash, a Wonderbolt, and Pyra. Rainbow Dash walked forward, alone.

Her steps were slow and weighted, commanding and purposeful. The sun flashed off the goggles dangling about her neck, and shimmered in her mane.

A deep bass pounded loud in Scootaloo’s ears and chest. She leaned forward, a hoof raised for stepping, and for a moment became a statue, eyes wide and locked, mouth slightly agape. A short gasp escaped her, betraying her stillness, and a tiny unbelieving smile cracked the very edges of eyes and mouth.

Rainbow Dash.

Scootaloo cast aside all the pain, misery, and embarrassment of the morning and ran to her master. Love put spring in her leaps and bounds, and tears in the corners of her eyes. The warmth of Rainbow Dash’s embrace flowed through her veins at the thought—that long-lost, cherished gesture, that soft, comforting fur. Her heart tremored.

Laughter bubbled forth from her lips, which stretched from ear to ear. She blinked away tears of happiness to see Rainbow Dash had stopped halfway to await her, head held high. Closer and closer she came to the figure that stood tall for everything she admired—loved with all her heart.

“Go home, Scoot.”

Scootaloo stopped. All thought washed away into silence. She looked up at Rainbow Dash. No love did she see in those eyes that sat cold in a face of stone; no embrace of soft fur did she feel against her coat. There was only the towering shadow of a pony she could not understand.

“Go home,” Rainbow Dash repeated. “You aren’t good enough.” She slowly turned to leave. A step, a pause, and a turn of the head—down and aside. “You never were.”

Rainbow Dash spread her wings and took to the sky. Pyra and the Wonderbolt followed.

A ringing in Scootaloo’s ears accompanied the silence and chill around her. The figures shrank into the distance, and, slowly, they blurred. Quietly, Scootaloo slumped down to her haunches and wept.

[Author’s Note: Thanks to Belligerent Sock for his review of this chapter.]

VIII - The Day Thereafter

The Day Thereafter

A warm tailwind had never felt so cold as it did when Scootaloo flew home from Cloudsdale. Clouds drifted above and below, without a care in the world. Hiccups and whimpers bubbled to the surface, loud despite the roar of the wind and Rainbow Dash’s words ringing in her ears. She wiped away snot that trailed out of her nose.

A river shimmered in the noonday sun far below, silver like the ones she saw on her first flight. She shut her eyes to flush away the thought of anything related to Rainbow Dash.

Ponyville would soon appear in its place, her house sitting happily where it always had. Dad would be inside. He would make everything better. He always did.

She reopened her eyes to see Ponyville basking below as she had imagined. It looked warm. Houses and fields took their distinct features as she glided downward for the street.

It accepted her like a friend in from the cold, and she hurried for her front door. It opened at the touch of her hoof to reveal the living room, bright but warm with the earthy décor. Dad wasn’t sitting in his usual spot, the beige pillow before the coffee table empty.

“Dad?” she said, her voice not but a whisper. She ran to the hallway, and called louder. “Dad?” Still no answer. Her heart began racing. He couldn’t be gone, too. Not him. She dashed to his room. “Dad!” The bathroom. “Dad!” Back into the hallway. She trembled as she stared down it toward the empty living room, then her room. She nudged the door open.

The room sat silent. Hesitant steps brought her to bed, where she curled into a ball, and closed her eyes.

Go home, Scoot. Go home...

She flinched, and opened her eyes. In the light from the window, Racing medals glinted like little suns from where they hung on dresser and hooks about the room.

You aren’t good enough...

She rolled onto her back. The sunlight cast little spiky shadows across the stucco ceiling, like reverse stars in a daytime sky. They blurred, and she pressed her hooves into clenched eyes until blots appeared.

You never were.

Whimpers escaped her, and she grabbed her pillow to hold it tight and never let go.

The front door opened and shut. Dad was home. She wanted to see him, race out there and hug him, cry into his chest until everything was the way it should be. But she didn’t move, nor make a sound.

His hoofsteps padded softly off the hallway carpet. He was heading for his room. Hopefully he would peek in and see her.

The padding stopped just outside her door. “Scoot?” Concern and confusion mixed in his voice. “Scoot, are you alright?” Her heart sped up when the padding turned to clomping along the hardwood of her room before returning to a padding on the area rug. The hairs on her nape stood on end as he breathed right beside her bed. “Scoot, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

She flinched at the touch of his hoof. Slowly, she turned her head to meet his eyes. They matched the concern in his voice, and widened at the sight of her face. She looked down.

“Rainbow Dash...”

Scootaloo bit back tears that tried to escape with each tremor of her body. Tyco wrapped her in a hug. The embrace was warm like she had hoped. She snuggled into it, sniffling. He smelled of paper and ink like he always did after work.

“Shh...” Tyco cooed. “It’s alright. I’m here.” He rocked back and forth, a hoof stroking her mane. A moment passed before Scootaloo calmed down, and Tyco gently held her to hoof length. “What happened?”

Scootaloo looked away, ears drooped. “I... I’m not good enough.”

“What?” Tyco hunched down to look up into her downcast eyes. “Not good enough for what?”

“F-For... For Rainbow Dash...” The sentence hung in the air like a body from a noose.

“Scoot.” His voice was level, almost demanding. “What happened?”

The tremors resounded in Scootaloo’s legs to make sitting up difficult. Like the balcony back in the Cloudiseum, sinking into the bed felt like a wonderful option. She shifted her mouth to form the beginnings of her admission to failure. It wretched its way out like the putrid thing it was.

“I... lost.”

Fresh tears dribbled on her sheets, unable to be stopped by the clenching of eyes. She felt herself pulled back into the loving fur of her father’s chest.

“It’s okay.” Tyco said. “And you are good enough. You’re the best flier I know.”

Scootaloo pushed herself away. Her voice choked. “No I’m not...” Silence reigned between them for eternity. Nothing could make her agree. Not after today. She was looking away from him—at the wall and occasionally the window—but could feel his eyes scrying the back of her neck.

“Scootaloo...” Nothing in his voice had changed, but the way he used her full name instead of her nickname in such a soft voice made her wince. “Is that what Rainbow Dash said?”

A lump formed in the back of her throat, and she swallowed with difficulty, slowly nodding. Sniffles punctuated the following silence. The desire to be wrapped up in his hooves again overtook her. And he did just that. Slow and steady, he stroked her mane back away from her face, which she pressed against him.

“Shhh... It’s okay, Scoot. Everything’s okay.”

Hiccups and tears made her words difficult to say. “No it’s not.” They rocked back and forth without speaking for a moment. Scootaloo made no effort to resist.

“It is, Scoot. I know it’s hard and I know how it feels,” Tyco said. “I’ve been in the exact same situation.”

Scootaloo looked up. “You... you have?”

“Mhmm. My parents. Well, more specifically my father, but yes. The day I got my cutie mark, I came home...” He looked askance, his face sagging as if weighed down. “I remember my father silhouetted in the doorway. I showed him my cutie mark... and all he said was, ‘I was waiting for my son to come home, but I see he never will.’ And he slammed the door in my face.”

Scootaloo winced as if it had happened to her. “He didn’t let you come back in?”

Tyco didn’t immediately answer. His face was strained with the memory. Slowly, he shook his head. “No. Nopony did. It was... It was scary. I was alone.”

It felt as if a weight were pressing down on Scootaloo’s chest. How hard it must have been for him to live the greatest moment of his life... and then lose everything. She put a hoof to his chest and smiled up at him.

His eyes met hers, and he let out a weak laugh, and his lips turned up in an embarrassed smile. “And here I thought I was trying to comfort you,” he said. He may not have known it, but his stories always did.

“Well,” he continued, “what I was gonna say was there was this gryphon named Tigoragan that I ended up living with. He—”

Scootaloo’s eyes lit up. “You lived with a gryphon?”

“Y-yeah, I—”

“That’s so cool!”

Tyco smiled half heartedly. “Well, I don’t really think ‘cool’ is the right word for him. He was by far the meanest creature I’ve ever met.”

Scootaloo cocked her head. “Wait. If he was mean, then why did you live with him?”

Tyco turned his head aside, in thought. “There’s a long story to it—I’ll tell you all about it later, sometime. But what I’ve been trying to get at is—in that entire city full of ponies, none of them cared about what happened me. He was the only one there for me when nopony else was—didn’t matter how mean he could be. He became the one I looked up to on how not to be.” He made a vague shrugging motion with his shoulders for emphasis. “And he even said that. What’s important isn’t who you look up to, but how you look up to them. What they do to and around you.

“Some ponies, like Rainbow Dash, might hurt you.” He traced a hoof down her cheek. “But others, like me, will always be there for you.” His hoof brought her eyes to his. Bright and true they were, like the shining gates of heaven. “No matter what.”

Her heart gave a flutter, as if his words were too good to be true. Slowly, she opened her mouth to ask with the softest of voices, “Promise?”

He traced a hoof down her cheek, which she leaned into. “Promise.”

Scootaloo threw her hooves around him. He never broke his promises.

“That’s my girl.” She felt his hoof rub up and down her back. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, dad.”

Scootaloo didn’t know how long she held him. She could have stayed there forever.

“You’ve been through a lot today,” he said. “You wanna go down to Sugarcube Corner and get something nice?”

Scootaloo looked away. She shrugged weakly before nodding, and he ruffled her mane.

“Oh, come on,” he said. “I bet it’ll cheer you right up. Let me go grab some bits and we’ll get goin’.” After a quick kiss on her forehead, he left the room for his own.

She followed him with her eyes across the hallway and out of sight. Dressers shifted open and shut, and coins clattered atop what was presumably his nightstand. He left his room and poked his head in hers.

“Ready?” he asked, a smile on his face as if their conversation had never happened.

Scootaloo returned a smile, though it was far from genuine. He was trying hard to cheer her up. It was quite obvious, even to her. Having that opportunity was rare in and of itself, his job always so demanding of him. A day with dad to forget everything wrong. She nodded, smiling. “Mhmm.”

They left home and trotted down the street. The heat of day had relented, and ponies ran about their business, some even smiling at them as they passed. It was reminiscent of the wonder she felt her first time walking alone through town. The feeling followed her to the far end of Ponyville, where the smell of sugar and baking sweets grew strong in the unmoving air. It made her flutter her wings.

A turn of the corner brought the bakery into view, its gingerbread architecture as tantalizing as the goodies within. It bustled with customers all entering and exiting and children running around on sugar highs and others crying at dropped cones, their parents consoling but unsuccessful.

They took their place in line just inside the door, much further back than she had anticipated; the line snaked around the store.

“I’m sure it won’t be long,” Tyco said, also looking around.

“Mhm...”

The line moved forward consistently, Pinkie Pie working at blinding speeds behind the counter to paint smiles on everypony’s faces as they were helped. At this pace, Dad would be right, but it didn’t help how she felt. Ice cream never won a Best Young Flier’s competition. Neither did she. Weight collected in her stomach, dragging her shoulders down with it.

You aren’t good enough.

Scootaloo looked around at the other foals and their parents—both parents—and they all looked so happy together. Unfamiliar feelings churned in her stomach. One filly hugged her mother. Scootaloo huffed and looked the other way, but glanced back out the corner of her eye, her heart knotting. She had never truly known that sensation. Rainbow Dash had come close, but after the events of that morning...

What was it like?

“Hiya, Scoot! How ya doin’?” came the unmistakable voice of Pinkie Pie. She leaned atop the counter’s rounded display case that housed dozens of colorful, tasty treats. A gasp escaped her. “Oooh, didn’t you go to Cloudsdale today for the Best Young Flier’s competition? Did you see Rainbow Dash?” She leaned across the counter, eyes glistening.

Scootaloo shrank away and forced a smile. “Uh, yeah...” It took all her effort to keep the smile from cracking.

“Oh, I bet it was super duper fun getting to see her again and all the other Wonderbolts and how fast they are.” Pinkie Pie slid back to her side of the counter, hooves mimicking pegasus racers as she made loud wooshing sounds.

Tyco stepped forward, head aside with a smile that treaded the line between amusement and annoyance. “Pinkie, can we order something, please?”

She looked down from her hooves above her head as if awoken from a strange dream, and then smiled as gaily as ever. “Of course, silly. It’s not like anypony was stopping you.” Tyco frowned.

Scootaloo held back a sigh. Pinkie Pie could be Pinke Pie, but not here and now. And she definitely didn’t need to say that name, either. Patience marked her father’s face as he looked down, waiting for her to order. She complied, if only to make him feel like he was accomplishing his goal. Sugarcube Corner suddenly felt less fun than it already did.

“Can I get an ice cream cone in a cup, please?”

Pinkie Pie saluted as if it were an order from Celestia herself. “Yepperoonie! One ice cream cone in a cup coming right up.” She snorted a laugh before zipping into the kitchen and returning lightning fast with a vanilla cone. She then procured a cup from the cabinet beside the display case and unceremoniously plopped the cone into it. “Here ya go! I know it’s your favorite!” She smiled at Tyco. “Anything else?”

“No, that’ll be it,” Tyco said.

“Alrighty. Enjoy!”

He paid, and the two took a seat in the corner of the store. Scootlaoo stared at her ice cream as it sat on the table before her. It seemed to stare back, bored and unappetizing. She lost her desire to eat it; though, her father’s smile compelled her to be polite. She smiled back anyways.

“You know, I remember the first time we were in here. Do you?” His voice was soft, tinted with mirth.

“Mhm.” Of course she did. Pinkie Pie’s welcome wagon wasn’t exactly forgettable. Neither was the “Welcome to Ponyville” party. She shuddered. That many ponies should never be crowded into such a small room.

“Yeah, it was a really nice party, wasn’t it?”

No, it really wasn’t. She neither liked sardines nor being packed like one—especially while being told to dance and play games. “Mhm...” She took a bite of her ice cream.

“Hey, you say that like you didn’t have fun.” He cocked his head. “Did you?”

Scootaloo didn’t answer for a moment, deciding whether or not to tell the truth. “Eh,” and a shrug became her choice.

“Wha-haha, so you—” he looked over his shoulder before turning back to whisper. “So you didn’t like that party?” He shook his head, chuckling. “And this whole time I thought you loved Pinkie Pie’s parties...”

Scootaloo raised the ice cream from the cup and let it plop back in, eyes absently following. “It’s not her parties, really, it was just kinda... that one.”

“Huh.” He tapped his hoof on the table, the faintest of smiles on his lips. “Well, just don’t tell her that.”

Again, Scootaloo let his words hang in the din of the bakery, then: “Mhm.”

“Scoot...”

She looked up. His face was pained as if a knife slowly dug into his chest. It hurt to know it was because of her, but she couldn’t help the way she felt. All she wanted was for everything to go back to normal. With the last reserves of her energy, she managed a smile. “I’m okay, dad. I... I—”

“Scoot!”

She tensed, withdrawing from the direction of the voice before realizing it was Applebloom’s. She and Sweetie Belle stood in line at the far end of Sugarcube Corner, both smiling and waving. Applebloom wore a pair of empty saddlebags They cut out from line to run toward her.

“How’d the competition go?” Applebloom asked.

The eyes of many ponies around them looked her way. Breathing became a conscious effort beneath the stares that demanded an answer more loathsome than turpentine. She looked to her father, who shared a private grimace with her. It hurt to know how much he empathized.

“It went... alright...” Scootaloo couldn’t look them in the eyes. Along with everyone else she knew, there was no doubt in their minds that she would have won.

“Alright?” Sweetie Belle asked.

“Yeah, what do you mean, ‘alright’?” Applebloom added. “What happened? I thought you were supposed to spend all day in Cloudsdale with Rainbow Dash after you won.”

There they were. The words she herself had touted in the weeks before, straight from her friend’s mouth. They were happy words, but they turned her stomach like rotten cabbage.

She must have unknowingly given a repulsive gesture, for Applebloom and Sweetie Belle both blanked and said, “Oh...”

Scootaloo shrank away.

“Hey, i-it’s alright, Scoot,” Applebloom said. “It just means you get to spend the day with us!” She was giving a huge smile when Scootaloo dared a glance. “Come on,” she continued, “Sweetie Belle and I are helpin’ Applejack bake some muffins.” She hefted her shoulders to indicate the saddlebags.

A chill ran up Scootaloo’s spine. She looked nervously at her father, who smiled warmly. He nodded at her friends.

“Go on, have fun,” he said. “I’ll be at home if you need me, okay?”

Scootaloo hesitated. It felt as if he were pushing her away, in spite of everything that had happened. He gave another nod toward her friends.

She sighed. “Alright.”

The three waited in line to buy flour for the muffins they were soon to bake. Pinkie Pie still working at top-notch speed, they left in good time for Sweet Apple Acres.

“So, what exactly happened, Scoot?” Applebloom asked as they turned down Stirrup Street toward the farm. Flour sprinkled out the top of her bulging saddlebags with every step.

Scootaloo walked with downcast eyes. The cloud within the arena danced in her vision along the pebbles and dirt beneath her hooves. Wind whipped about her, ripping her tornado to shreds. A ringing in her ears made it hard to envision everything that had happened. “I don’t know.”

“Well, it had to be something,” Sweetie Belle said. Her voice was muffled with a bite of cupcake she had bought from Sugarcube Corner.

“Yeah...” It indeed had to be something, but what it was Scootaloo didn’t know. All she remembered was how weak the tornado felt, and the resounding thought: was the air not thick enough? Everything had happened so fast. If only she could go back in time and watch—see what went wrong.

“It’s alright, though. Right, Scoot?”

Scootaloo didn’t have the courage to look Applebloom in the eye. “Mhm.” She heard the faintest of huffs from her friend, but none of them spoke the rest of the way.

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

“Applebloom? Is that you?” Applejack called from the living room as the kitchen’s screen door slapped shut behind the three.

“Yeah, sis, it’s us!” Applebloom set her saddlebags on the central table and wiped away sweat from her brow.

Scootaloo took a seat and leaned against the cabinet under the sink. Out the corner of her eye she could see Sweetie Belle rummaging through the fridge and Applebloom grabbing measuring cups from a drawer. The way they moved and talked—the springs in their steps and lightness of voice—felt distant. They were in their own little world revolving around hers.

The floorboards creaked to announce Applejack’s entrance. Scootaloo looked up to see her smile.

“Well, I didn’t figure you’d be joinin’ us, Scoot,” she said. “Thought you were supposed to be in Cloudsdale with Rainbow Dash.”

Scootaloo leaned further into the cabinet door, its wood cool and rough to the touch. It was as if everypony wanted to rub her face in her own words—like she deserved it or something.

“Well, we’re glad you’re here, Scoot. Can’t bake Crusader muffins without all the crusaders.”

“Mhm...”

Hooves clomped toward her, stopping just short. Scootaloo felt a hoof raise her chin, bringing her eye to eye with Applejack. Her lips were turned up in a smile, eyes tensed in concern, voice soft as linen. “Whatever happened, you know you can talk to us about it. You’re still Scootaloo to us—even if you didn’t win.” She gave her a gentle shake. “You wanna help Sweetie Belle get the ingredients from the fridge?”

Scootaloo looked down at her hooves, then sighed. “Okay.”

The rest of her time at Sweet Apple Acres went by in a daze. Her movements were reactive and mechanical—mixing, pouring, stirring, baking. Saying farewell, walking home, opening the door. The sweet flavor of wheat and sugar faintly registered on her tongue when she shut the door behind herself—slightly burnt. It wasn’t until her father said something that she came to.

“Huh?” she said.

He was sitting on his cushion in front of the coffee table, papers spread before him, smiling. “I said, did you have fun?”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess.” Slowly, she started for her room, her mind returning to the haze he had torn it from.

“Hey,” he said as she entered the hallway. She turned to look at him. His face seemed both tensed and relaxed. “Come here.” Nothing in his voice denoted demand, but the simplicity of it provoked an instinctive drive to comply. She stopped beside him, eyes never losing his. He hugged her.

“I love you, Scoot. Never forget that.”

Scootaloo didn’t return the gesture. She felt drained from everything that had happened, emotionally and physically. A half smile came to her as a last vestige of her reserved energy. “Thanks, dad.” She pulled out of his grasp and, after showing him her smile, headed for bed.

Her room was dark and cool in the waning twilight. The medals about her room danced in a slight breeze coming in from the window and played a sad, lonely tune. She lay herself on the bed and stared at the ceiling, as she had earlier that day.

You never were.

The final phrase of Rainbow Dash’s condemnation struck a high chord. All those days. All those nights. All those times they had flown together. After all was said and done, they truly meant nothing to her.

Rainbow Dash had been so proud, unendingly so. But she no longer cared. What had been a simple mistake became a point of loathing—a crime—deserving of no less than severance.

Scootaloo rolled over and looked at the calendar on her nightstand. It held no remorse for the large, circled date it glared in her face. She closed her eyes to sleep, to push herself past the rut she was stuck in, but the minutes passed like hours with no succor.

Darkness had completely overtaken the sky when she reopened her eyes. Stars twinkled outside her window, and the wind had died down. As she lay belly-up in bed, the desire to stare out at them consumed her. They called to her like sirens. A moment passed before she was no longer content merely looking out her window.

She got out of bed and headed for the hallway. Her father’s quiet snoring was audible through his bedroom door, and it was eerily quiet in the living room.

Opening the front door and closing it behind her without a sound, she sat on the stoop to look up at the stars. They were brilliant and bright, like the purest of diamonds sewn into the blackest of cloaks. Dad always liked stargazing. He had said it reminded him of Starshine.

And as Scootaloo sat alone in the nighttime stillness, she sighed, thinking the same.

[Author’s note: Thanks to Belligerent Sock and Sessalisk for their reviews of this chapter.]

X - Scootaloo

Scootaloo

Scootaloo opened her eyes to the twittering of birds outside her window. She tried blocking out the noise by rolling over and hiding her head beneath her pillow, but they were still audible. She groaned as she sat up and rubbed her eyes before yawning loudly. Stupid birds, haven’t they ever heard of sleeping in?

It was earlier than she was used to waking, the sun not yet coloring the sky. Five more minutes would have been a godsend, but she knew the birds weren’t going to relent anytime soon. With a stretch of her wings and another yawn, Scootaloo leapt to the floor with a muffled clomp on the rug. She turned to make her bed, but paused.

Why was she doing this again? The mattress looked more inviting than ever, and her body cried out for more sleep. She considered the offer, but shunned the invitation and made her bed without another thought.

Though there was no practical reason for it, rising with the sun to continue her morning flights seemed right. The thought of ending it was incomprehensible.

Scootaloo walked to her bedroom door and opened it, but a soft clang caught her attention. Poking her head around the inside of the door, she saw a gold medal hanging from the doorknob. Her first gold medal.

She gazed at it wistfully for a moment, but shook her head.

She didn’t do this for Rainbow Dash. Not anymore.

The house was quiet as Scootaloo walked down the hall and into the living room. Before reaching the front door, she stopped and looked over her shoulder. She listened for the faint sounds of slumber and thought of her father’s smile. She couldn’t do this without him.

Scootaloo left her house and took flight into the morning stillness. She flew south for once, deciding it was time for a change in scenery. Her hopes of seeing something new and interesting slowly faded when she realized the landscape was pretty much the same here as everywhere else: rolling green fields and pastures as far as the eye could see. She resigned to keep a level gaze and slowly drift into mental oblivion, but was unable. Thoughts of the past week kept churning to the surface of her mind.

The wind carried away a sigh, along with the array of colors that haunted her.

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

The latter half of the day found itself hosting a little flight exhibition. The green of the meadow by the Everfree Forest was spotless, save the figures of Applebloom and Sweetie Belle. Circling far above, Scootaloo gazed down at their smiling faces, which eagerly looked up, anticipating an exciting display of aeronautics. She took a deep breath and launched herself toward the earth.

Sweetie Belle and Applebloom cheered as she looped and dove through the air, adding little twists and spins to her routine. Scootaloo flew low to the ground and banked wide, encircling them.

She wracked her brain for something spectacular, something to stun them and sharpen her abilities. One particularly roguish idea popped into her head.

Still circling her friends, she tilted her angle inward. Like a tether ball around a pole, she slowly inched nearer.

Their faces grew concerned, but she brushed the thought aside; this would undoubtedly surprise them. She maintained her inward spiral, but it quickly put a grueling strain on her wings. She beat them faster to compensate, but not enough.

Scootaloo couldn’t keep up with the tempo and lost her rhythm. Her momentum launched her out of the circle and into a tumbling roll across the meadow, where she left pockets of torn earth in her wake. Friction did its job and brought her to a sliding halt.

“Scoot!” Applebloom and Sweetie Belle yelled as they hurried to catch up.

Sounds of spitting and gagging filled the air as Scootaloo expelled chunks of grass and dirt from her mouth, much to the amusement of the others.

“Wow, Scoot, that sure was somethin’,” Applebloom giggled, “but what in the hay were you tryin’ to do?”

“Eh, nothing, really,” Scootaloo fibbed, passing off an air of nonchalance to smooth over her failed stunt.

“So why do you still do it, anyways?” Applebloom asked.

Scootaloo cocked her head and raised a brow. “Do what?”

“Why do you still fly after what Rainbow Dash did? You still haven’t told us.”

Scootaloo didn’t answer, looking at her hooves instead. She hadn’t really thought about it before. “I don’t know. I just kinda do. It’s, um... It’s like knowing there’s always something there for you, no matter what. I guess it’s kinda like your cutie marks,” she added with a shrug.

“Like our cutie marks?” Sweetie Belle echoed in confusion.

Scootaloo shifted her weight. “Well, yeah... You guys have your cutie marks. You know what you’re good at and what you’ll do for the rest of your lives. And I can fly.” She shrugged.

“So you fly just because you can?” Sweetie Belle asked, still clueless.

Scootaloo didn’t answer. There was more to it than that. Rainbow Dash had taught her to fly, something she hadn’t asked—desired—of anypony else. She was the master—the one, true teacher. The one who had given her the keys to the sky. Was, anyway.

But the door she had unlocked could not be shut. It remained forever open, entrance into the world above, irreversible. Everything that had happened did for a reason. Defying it was impossible.

Scootaloo shrugged again. “I guess.”

“But what about your cutie mark?” Applebloom cut in. “We still need to figure out what it is.”

That was another worry she had little interest in anymore. “Ehh...”

Applebloom gawked as if her cutie mark had disappeared. “What do you mean, ‘ehh’? We’re the Cutie Mark Crusaders! We gotta find out what your special talent is.”

Scootaloo began drawing circles in the dirt. “I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel all that important trying to find it anymore.”

Sweetie Belle, too, sounded particularly surprised. “But don’t you at least want it?”

Sure she did. It would be nice to know she finally found it, but finding the reason for her desire to continue flying, in spite of all that had happened, was a more pressing matter. A cutie mark could wait. “Yeah. Who knows... maybe flying actually is my special talent.”

“You think so?” Applebloom asked.

Scootaloo gazed up at the sky. They didn’t know how strongly she was drawn to it, of the sovereignty it claimed over her. They couldn’t. The pain and sacrifice she had endured to reach this moment was foreign to them, as was the passion it fostered. It was a whirlpool of emotion that drained away the bad until only the good remained.

In the most basic sense, it was freedom—freedom from her worries, from the troubles of the world, a release of any and all pent-up anxiety.

Scootaloo smiled at her friends, “Yeah, I do.” She was glad they couldn’t understand, and she hoped they never would.

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

The next morning arrived, boasting a beautiful red glow that filled the sky. Scootaloo went about her business, waking up early to continue her instinctive habit and prepare for another fun-filled day with the other Crusaders. Upon exiting her house and taking wing over Ponyville proper, she noticed a change in scenery.

Balloons, streamers, and decorations of all sorts swelled throughout Ponyville, Sugarcube Corner its epicenter. There was no doubt about it: Pinkie Pie was hard at work. Celestia knew what for, but if she was up this early preparing for a party, something big was happening.

A handful of ponies entered the bakery, but Scootaloo restrained her curiosity. She had to get her morning flight in before anything else. Her work ethic wouldn’t allow otherwise. She headed north with nowhere particular in mind.

She returned from Equestrian countryside an hour later and was brought back to reality by Ponyville’s transformation. A kaleidoscope of fluorescent colors had seemingly grown out of the woodwork and taken the town hostage. Pinkie Pie must have been really excited if she went this far with her decorations, but Scootaloo wasn’t up for discovering why. She was worn out from her flight and not in the mood to put up with the crazy mare’s shenanigans. Scootaloo arrived home and promptly headed for the bathtub to wash away the sweat of her morning endeavor.

Refreshed and rejuvenated, Scootaloo went outdoors into the heat of the summer sun. More ponies were heading toward Sugarcube Corner. This time, curiosity got the better of her.

She took to the air for Sweet Apple Acres, flying faster than usual, spurred on by the gnawing curiosity, to see if Applebloom wanted to investigate with her. As she neared the farm, though, she spotted Applebloom and Applejack walking toward Ponyville. She landed beside them.

“Hey Applebloom! Hey Applejack!” she said.

“Well, shoot, Scoot. You scared the livin’ daylights outta me!” Applejack said. "What brings you all the way out here?”

“Oh, I was coming to ask Applebloom if she wanted to go to Sugarcube Corner,” Scootaloo replied. “I saw lots of ponies going there, and I thought it’d be fun to get Sweetie Belle to go, too.”

“Well you’re in luck,” Applejack said. “We were just on our way there. Pinkie Pie asked Granny Smith to make some of her famous apple pies,” she added, glancing at her saddlebags.

“Ah got to help!” Applebloom said with a gleeful hop.

Applejack smiled at her sister. “That you did, Applebloom, and I’m sure Rainbow’ll be plum grateful.”

Scootaloo looked up at her in alarm, a tingle working down her shoulder blades. “What?”

Applejack looked back to Scootaloo with mild surprise, then grimaced as she scratched the back of her neck. “Oh, you didn’t hear? Rainbow Dash is back.”

Scootaloo flinched, and her hair stood on end. Rainbow Dash was here in Ponyville?

“Listen, we all know what... hey, Scoot, wait a minute!”

Applejack’s words fell on deaf ears. Scootaloo was already airborne, surging back to town with all the speed she could muster. She had to see it for herself, see her for herself.

The vibrant decorations around town blurred at the edges of her vision as she blew past them. Sugarcube Corner grew in her sights, but she was blind, unable to see past the rainbow in her mind’s eye.

She burst into Sugarcube Corner and stood in the doorway. A hushed silence swept over the crowd within, and all eyes fell upon her. Rainbow Dash was standing in the middle of the room, a confident smile on her face. It disappeared as their eyes met, and a battle of wills raged in the stillness. The air was stifling. Nopony moved, hardly daring to breathe.

Rainbow Dash closed her eyes and quietly sighed. She solemnly walked toward Scootaloo, head bowed.

Scootaloo felt a spark of anger ignite inside her. How dare she come back. The urge to tackle her and show her the pain she had inflicted surged like a tidal wave within Scootaloo’s breast. But at the same time, from the bottom of her heart, a secret longing that Rainbow Dash would scoop her up in her hooves and apologize kept it at bay. That Rainbow Dash could just tell her everything would be alright. And it would be.

Now once again in her presence, the old, happy memories of their relationship resurfaced. Counter to the resentment she felt, Scootaloo wanted nothing more than to be held close, to again melt within her embrace.

As Rainbow Dash neared, Scootaloo’s heart gave a flutter of hope. Will she? Was this the moment she dreamed of? Would Rainbow Dash find the compassion to stay?

Scootaloo felt the brush of feathers against her side, and a shiver found its way through her body. She turned to see Rainbow Dash’s tail gently swaying back and forth as it exited the building. The urge to yell hurtful nothings at her tormentor welled, but all that came forth was a soft-spoken utterance.

“Why?”

Rainbow Dash was unmoved by the question. She continued out the door and onto the porch. Her hooves echoed loudly off the concrete. Stepping down onto the road, her wings opened to lift her into the sky.

“Answer me!!!”

Scootaloo’s cry resounded throughout the open street, and Rainbow Dash stalled her ascent. She briefly looked to the sky before bowing her head again, as if contemplating her next words.

“Because,” Rainbow Dash replied, not even turning to look Scootaloo in the eyes, “I don’t train noponies.”

Scootaloo recoiled, and her heart felt as though it was sucked inside itself.

Rainbow Dash took flight. Scootaloo shut her eyes in an attempt to hold back the tears. She shivered as she tried to retain her composure, but the intensity of the blow was too much. The spark flared and engulfed her.

No. Not again.

Scootaloo shot into the sky in hot pursuit. Violet streak followed rainbowed blur over the rooftops of Ponyville. She grit her teeth to the point of cracking them.

Carried on the winds of rage, Scootaloo chased Rainbow Dash over the Ponyville river and far beyond the outskirts of town. The Everfree Forest grew on the horizon as she closed the distance between them.

Rainbow Dash glanced back. Her eyes burned with malice.

“If you want me, come and get me.”

With that, Rainbow Dash faced ahead and pulled her hind legs forward. With a powerful surge of her wings, she launched forward at the speed of sound and lit up the sky in a blaze of color. The explosion sent Scootaloo tumbling head over hooves into the river.

Water invaded throat and nostrils as she thrashed about making sense of what had just happened. She noticed bubbles rising toward the surface and followed them, gasping for breath when she broke the surface. She heaved herself out of the river and looked up at the bold rainbow streak that curved over the edge of the Everfree Forest and away. It tapered into the distance, and her heart sank at the lost opportunity.

Because, I don’t train noponies.

Scootaloo hung her head. “You’re right...”

She thought of Rainbow Dash’s embrace, her gleaming eyes, and her choked up attempt to voice her pride. They dangled themselves in front of her before vanishing like leaves in the wind. The cold rejection of Rainbow Dash’s words shattered her again like glass beneath a hammer, as if once was not enough. She felt alone.

Alone.

The mountain where she had first learned to fly stood tall in the distant reaches of her mind’s eye. It speared the heavens, solitary and titanic. She was alone when she had returned to it just last week. The wind coursing through her mane, the colors of the earth, the smell of the forest and rivers—they were hers and hers alone, forever.

A grin spread across her face, and she shook herself from head to tail, shedding the water that clung to her. “You’re right. You don’t train noponies.”

No longer was Rainbow Dash the bygone memory, but now the speck in the distance, the faraway target. It was only a matter of time and place. And Scootaloo knew both: the Wonderbolt auditions.

Eleven months of hell awaited. It would take all of her being to achieve the impossible she set before herself. Sweat, pain, and tears loomed on the horizon, obscuring her view of the pony that fled beyond the faraway skies; though, they could not hide the rainbow tail—the array of colors she would inevitably see only by looking over her shoulder. They would be nothing more than stepping stones to the pony she was destined to be:

Scootaloo, the greatest flier in Equestria.

[Author’s note: Special thanks to Cassius and Filler, for their reviews of the original version, and Belligerent Sock for that of the rewrite. I can’t thank them enough for their help in making me a better writer.]

[Onward we march!]

XI - The Longest Road

The Longest Road

Scootaloo tore through the open air, racing over the treetops of the nearby forest and violently shaking branches in her wake. Her heart beat an intense rhythm. Her wings sliced through the air. Her lungs fueled the never-ending fire burning within.

It had been two days since Rainbow Dash’s party, and her fateful condemnation. Scootaloo was on a mission, and she wasn’t going to slow down anytime soon.

The sun played a reflection off the grass below. A glance discerned a deep score in the earth, the lingering evidence of a tornado’s destruction forgotten in the passing of summer. With a mischievous smile, Scootaloo tilted her wings and shot into the sky. Hooves forward, she broke through a cloud, scattering its vapors. The dispersing puffs shrank below as she continued her ascent. The air around her thinned and cooled.

Letting gravity take its course, she relaxed her wings and gently pulled back into an inverted dive.

She powered downward, beating her wings furiously. The resistance in the atmosphere formed and bent around her. She rolled into a propeller-like spin, eyeing the ground with resolve as it spiraled closer.

Scootaloo spread her wings and landed upon the soft grass, leaving the trademark ring of her hooves. The wind lashed at her backside, but she barely felt it. Determination numbed the pain.

She looked up and grinned wide. Nothing short of vicious could describe the cyclone that whirled a path of destruction through the meadow. Without hesitation, she took flight, following her monstrous creation as it was carried off by the wind.

“Hah! Who’s not good enough now?” she yelled. The tornado let loose with cannonball-sized chunks of dirt, which she dodged effortlessly. A particularly close-flying hunk held her eyes captive as it sailed overhead, but lost its power when she noticed Ponyville sitting directly ahead. Her smile faded. “Uh oh...”

She raced further head of the tornado and spun to face it. “Turn around!” she yelled. “Go that way!” she added, pointing behind the tornado at the Everfree Forest. It didn’t listen. Ponyville steadily grew out the corner of her eye. She looked back at the cyclone with uncertainty before tensing in alarm.

A massive clod of earth struck her square in the face. She fell to the ground in a heap of grass and dirt. Rising to her hooves, she shook her head, spitting away the taste in her mouth. Her vision refocused, and she glared at the cyclone. “Oh no you don’t!” She launched back into the air and charged straight into it.

The world went black. An ear-shattering noise deafened her to thought. The storm lashed dirt in her face, clawing at her eyes. She shielded them with her hooves, but something struck her in the gut, knocking the wind out of her. A gasp for air choked her lungs with dust, and the tornado swept her up in its fury.

It spat her out across the meadow, where she crashed through the branches of the lone elm and fell to the grass. She staggered to her hooves, hacking up what felt like fire in her lungs. The tornado continued its course toward town as she looked on in fear.

Get a hold of yourself! You made it! You can stop it! The tornado passed over a tree, uprooting it and flinging it aside to become nothing more than a speck in the distance. A shiver ran through her like ice water down her back. But how? A moment’s hesitation returned her courage. She sped after her creation.

Dirt rained from above, and the air thickened with a screen of dust, graying the sky. Think think think! Scootaloo rapped her hoof against her forehead. The tornado grew as it sucked passing clouds down into its rotation to add them to its deadly spin. She gasped. That’s it!

With newfound determination, she shot above and ahead of the tornado before looking down. Her heart rate spiked, and her breathing became choppy. Oh, Celestia, please make this work. With a gulp and a deep breath, she plunged toward the earth.

The cone formed quickly in her desperation, and she spun like a drill as the tornado passed underneath.

Perfect.

The blackness of the tornado’s gaping mouth swallowed her. A sudden pain stabbed at the insides of her ears, muffling the tornado’s rage, and there was no air to breathe. Not yet! The walls of the tornado closed in around her. Almost! Her ears popped, and the roar of the tornado rushed upon her. A swirl of dirt whipped up from below, catching her in the face and stinging her eyes. She panicked.

Scootaloo spread her wings to land, but was snatched by an updraft in the bowels of the beast. It twisted and contorted her like a ragdoll before spitting her out into an ungraceful roll across the grass. The world spun sideways as her head tried to figure which way was up. Her legs were no more coordinated as she tried to stand, but she smiled nonetheless at the warped sight of her second tornado.

The cyclone was met with the counter-spin of the second and broke apart. From the top down, the fury of the storm dissipated, leaving the dirt it contained to gravity’s design. Slowly waning away, the once mighty terror shrank to a miniature replica of its former self. The feeble swirl collided with Scootaloo’s chest and broke upon her, like waves upon the bow of a ship, and was no more.

It worked? “Hah! It worked!” she shouted. With a back flip and another shout, she took off toward the forest. There was much to be done, and very little time in which to do it.

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

The next day brought with it wonderful flying weather. A cool, gentle breeze swept through the clouds above the meadow and across Scootaloo’s face as she looked down from her perch in the sky. It carried the sweet aroma of dough and sugar from Ponyville. She breathed deeply of the saccharine fragrance before releasing it with a contented sigh. Moments like this made life worth living. Another glance at the dancing grass below brought her back to reality. With a grin, she leapt.

The friendly wind grew to a roaring thunder in her ears. It compressed about her, forming the familiar cone around her body. She clenched her teeth. Come on! The earth grew rapidly. Too rapidly. An irritable grunt escaped her, and she pulled out of the dive. With its momentum, she soared upward for another attempt, but something caught her eye.

Two miniature figures stood by an elm that sat alone in the meadow, peering up at her and waving emphatically. She could hear their faint voices calling for her. Interested in what her friends were up to, she decided to investigate.

“Hey guys, what are you doing out here?” she asked before her hooves even touched the ground.

“We came to cheer you on!” Applebloom replied with a similar expression. “We thought if you were still workin’ on your cutie mark, then we’d have to help somehow.”

“Yea, what she said!” Sweetie Belle chimed in.

“Heh, thanks,” Scootaloo replied, directing her gaze to her hooves, slightly embarrassed. She looked up to see them beaming at her expectantly and leaned back, puzzled. “Uh, what?”

“Well?” Applebloom asked.

“Well what?” she fired back, still thoroughly confused.

“What are you workin’ on? You were flyin’ awfully fast.”

“Oh,” she answered smugly, “I’m just working on doing a sonic rainboom.”

“Cooool!” they both replied in unison.

Their enthusiasm brought a grin to her face, and she launched skyward for another bout with the sound barrier. Her friends’ hoops and hollers faded below. She circled around, far above the clouds. With another dive, the cone appeared and shrank to fit her stature. Closer. Closer. She could sense it, just beyond her grasp.

Without warning, she came to an unexpected halt and hung motionless for an instant, caught by the resistant force of the cone. Much to her surprise, it shot her head over hooves into the air.

The world spun. Shock overpowering thought, Scootaloo flailed her legs about as she tumbled through the air, the blue and green of earth and sky smearing together. Not good. She flapped her wings frantically in hopes of regaining control. Fear rose in her stomach as the town continued to enlarge with every nauseating somersault. Calm down! Focus!

Scootaloo spread her wings wide and held them rigid. She concentrated on the air caught within them, feeling its chaotic pattern. Carefully, she began to twist and angle her wings, slowly neutralizing her tumble.

The earth and sky stopped their wild dance, and she righted herself into a glide just above the rooftops of Ponyville with enough speed to bank around town hall and back out to the meadow in a single, graceful motion.

Confidence welled within her after the mishap, and she rode the momentum into her succeeding attempts, each coming closer than the last.

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

Autumn followed on the heels of summer, seeing the trio off to their much undesired academic studies. The slow but steady drop in temperature was a welcome change for Scootaloo. She always liked autumn—the cool nights, the early sunsets, the changing colors of the trees, the annual Running of the Leaves—it was a good season.

She continued her morning exercises into the academic year, rising with the sun and setting out for the meadow to become one with the air. School bridged the gap between morning and afternoon training, where Applebloom and Sweetie Belle spent their evenings out in the meadow, eager to cheer her on.

Mid-September brought with it the blustery winds and the cool rains of the season. It was a damp month, wet from the constant rain storms the pegasi of Ponyville had scheduled. Though many complained of the dreary atmosphere, it was in the spirit of the season—a spirit that Scootaloo took in stride.

A light drizzle fell about the meadow one morning, stirred only by an inconsistent wind. Morale was high, and so, too, was Scootaloo before she descended toward the earth in her struggle against the confines of subsonic flight.

The ground swelled in her sights, blurred by speed and the ghostly white about her. She felt the cone sharpen like an arrowhead, giving her a sliver of hope. No such luck. Scootaloo pulled out of her dive, narrowly missing the ground, and returned to the skies for another attempt.

She threw herself at the forest below, but was met with the stern rejection of the sound barrier. It launched her back into the sky where she righted herself and assailed its boundaries a third time. Then a fourth. Then a fifth.

Above the rolling cumulus, Scootaloo readied herself for more but heard the school bell toll out the half hour. If she didn’t hurry, she would be late for class. She took off for home to wash up and gather her things before heading to school.

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

“Good morning, class,” came a cheerful voice.

“Good morning, Ms. Blackboard,” the class chimed back with much less enthusiasm.

“Now, everypony open your history books to page twenty-four,” Ms. Blackboard said. The collective sound of opening books filled the room. Scootaloo let out a sigh and planted her face firmly between the open pages.

Ugh... bored already...

She was tired of listening to teachers drill information into her skull. All she wanted to do was fly; sitting in a classroom and learning stuff she didn’t care to know wasn’t her game. She didn’t care about how to multiply or divide, or where to find Trottingham on a map. Science didn’t appeal to her, nor did reading. She despised writing most of all, with particular loathing for the paper that was due... She shot upright.

Oh, crap...

Due next period. She had already forgotten two assignments in Mr. Inkwell’s class this week, and he wasn’t lenient on late submissions. This wasn’t going to go over well with her father at all.

A sinking feeling engulfed her. She couldn’t afford another zero, let alone even a seventy percent if she were to get a decent grade. How was she going to write a paper about the greatest lesson she’d ever learned before class?

A sudden thought struck her, and she looked up at the clock above the chalkboard with a resolute glare. Three pages in forty minutes?

Challenge accepted.

Scootaloo put pencil to paper with desperate fervor, channelling her thoughts into the loose leaf. She wrote about her relationship with Rainbow Dash—learning to fly, the audition, her fateful last words—disclosing everything up through that day. Her father’s wisdom found its way into her paper—how he went through the same as she—as did her time spent with the other Crusaders.

She didn’t know when it happened, but comfort in her words slowly replaced the fear of their deadline. It was as if writing out her experiences renewed her determination.

Success!

Scootaloo laid her pencil on her desk and glanced up at the clock just as the bell rang. She gave her chicken scratch a leery glance, disapproving of her hasty messiness, but dismissed her worries. Screw it, he got paid to read it this kind of stuff.

Scootaloo packed her things and headed for the door, grinning.

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

The following weeks were trying times for Scootaloo. She worked tirelessly to gain headway against the sound barrier, but saw no real progress since her first week. It left her feeling discouraged and inefficient.

Every night, she eyed her calendar, watching the days fly away as her deadline neared. The days grew shorter. The nights grew colder. And the weather grew crummier.

She had the will of a mountain, but even the mightiest of stones is eroded by time and an adverse climate. Day in and day out. Hundreds of dives. Thousands of backlashes. Zero sonic rainbooms.

A bell rang out through Ponyville, and the Crusaders exited the schoolyard to the usual sounds of cheering schoolmates. Applebloom and Sweetie Belle conversed excitedly, though Scootaloo refrained, distracted by her thoughts.

“What’s wrong, Scoot?” Sweetie Belle asked, noticing her friend’s dampened spirits. Scootaloo continued to stare off into space for a second before coming to.

“Huh?”

“I asked, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing... It’s just, I’ve been working on this for months now, but I haven’t gotten any closer to making a sonic rainboom.”

“Sure ya have,” Applebloom joined in, “You get closer and closer every time, not to mention how quickly you come back after it shoots you out like that.” She shot a hoof into the air to a complementary “woosh!”

It was true. She had become quite adept at regaining control after every backlash of the mach cone. Sometimes, just to take her mind off the stress or to release any pent up frustration, she purposefully made it happen to remind herself that she was still in control. But right now, that thought did little to raise her head from its slouch.

The cold, hard fact that she had not yet broken the sound barrier within the last two months weighed heavily upon her shoulders, and her body language showed it.

“Let’s just go,” Scootaloo said submissively. She continued along the road, but stopped and turned upon noticing the absence of complying hoofsteps. Applebloom and Sweetie Belle gave her concerned looks after exchanging their own.

“Um, sorry, Scoot, but shouldn’t we go do that homework Ms. Blackboard gave us first?” Sweetie Belle asked.

Scootaloo looked down at her saddlebags with lopsided ambivalence. It was a lot of homework, and was due tomorrow. She shook her head. There was no time.

“I can’t. Not now,” Scootaloo said, “I’ll work on it tonight. I have to keep practicing.”

Applebloom and Sweetie Belle shared another look before apologizing and heading for Carousel Boutique. The clouds rolling in from the forest threatened rain, and the two didn’t want to leave the well-being of their homework to chance. A moment of silence passed, leaving Scootaloo to march onward alone.

Wait, why was she walking? Now without a grounded escort, she took wing and arrived within minutes, beginning her regimen without delay.

The evening wore on as Scootaloo rose and fell above the meadow. A sketch of her training would have put a seismograph to shame.

The sun quickly set, and the school bell chimed seven times far off in the distance. Scootaloo looked up in disbelief at the sun’s absence. Seven already? What the hay! She growled at the evening twilight before launching skyward.

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

The bell tolled away the hours as the moon arced across the sky. Scootaloo sat up from her most recent attempt and chiseled away the plaster of sweat and dirt that covered her. Closing her eyes, she fell onto her back to rest her wings.

A minute passed in silence. It occurred then that she had forgotten to check-in with dad again. He would have a hay-day about that for sure. She blew a raspberry in resignation to the coming scolding, and opened her eyes. A million stars twinkled in the darkened heavens. Their light blanketed the meadow in a ghostly candescence. She looked down at the mud caking her underside and picked at it subconsciously, revealing the subdued orange of her coat. With a sigh, she returned her gaze to the sky.

Why does this have to be so hard? How did Rainbow Dash make this look so easy? The stars returned her questions with silence. She turned her head and saw the numerous lights of Ponyville flickering in the distance. Sighing again, she gathered her saddlebags and took flight toward the warm, inviting glow.

Scootaloo opened the front door of her home and stumbled to her room, carelessly dumping her saddlebags on the floor. Languidly, she crawled into bed, but started.

With a weary face, she looked at the bags. Dread nipped at her heart, but she shrugged it off. She snuggled beneath the blankets and slipped into nothingness, leaving the contents of the cotton satchels untouched.

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

Scootaloo shuffled into class late. She crossed the classroom, eyes downcast in annoyance.

“Good morning, Scootaloo,” Ms. Blackboard said as she passed out graded papers to the class. Scootaloo didn’t return the mare’s greeting, nor her friends’ as she threw her belongings beneath her seat and plopped down. She was tired of it; she didn’t want to be here. It was almost December. She didn’t have time to sit still. The chill of late fall called out to her from the window. Every minute she wasted in here was another not allocated to flight, to not surpassing Rainbow Dash. Scootaloo laid her head on her desk and sighed.

“Hey, Scoot, what’s wrong?” Applebloom asked.

Scootaloo turned to look at her. She could see the concern her friend’s face. “Nothin’,” she replied with a weak smile, “just tired is all.” She laid her head on the desk again and stared absent-mindedly into the back of the colt’s head in front of her.

A piece of paper landed on her desk. It took a moment to register, but when Scootaloo noticed it, she looked up. Ms. Blackboard stood beside her, frowning. With a shake of her head and a sigh, the mare continued down the row of desks.

Scootaloo looked back at the graded worksheet. Twenty-six. She gave a shrug of indifference and rested her head on the desk again, unceremoniously sweeping the paper to the floor.

Class resumed when Ms. Blackboard returned to her desk to begin her lecture, but Scootaloo tuned her out. Why do I have to be here? This is stupid. She looked out the window at the dark grey overcast. The trees shook in the wind. Great... She folded her hooves on her desk and buried her face in them.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Applebloom asked. “You’ve been acting like this for weeks.”

“Mmm,” Scootaloo groaned, not bothering to lift her head. A hoof poked her in the side, and she groaned again, waving a hoof in the general direction of the culprit. Applebloom huffed, but left her friend alone for the remainder of class.

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

Rain poured that evening. The sky hung low in a dark, thick mass, as if weighed down by the cold river it futilely tried to retain.

Scootaloo plowed through the blackened clouds, rushing headlong at the marsh below. Her eyesight was blurred by both her speed and the thousands of raindrops she outpaced in her descent. The cold November gusts whipped about, adding to the sharp liquid needles that assaulted her.

No dice.

She veered upward for another attempt, beating her wings hard to maintain the momentum that the driving rain stole from her. Dive after dive. Pullout after backlash. Which one was she on? Scootaloo lost count.

She positioned herself for yet another dive. Through the clouds she fell. The cone formed around her, deflecting some of the rain that would have torn at her face like the claws of mischievous demons. She felt the cone narrow slightly, but was too dazed from innumerable repetitions to see how close she was to the earth.

She plunged headlong into a deep quagmire that had formed in submission to the unrelenting downpour. Disoriented and unable to breathe, she squirmed about like an earthworm to try breaking free of the sucking mud. Her head swam, and her lungs burned.

With one last heave, she managed to pry her head free, and her gasp resounded throughout the immediate area. She coughed and sputtered as she pried her forehooves from the muddy vacuum.

Scootaloo fell to her haunches and looked to the distant, glistening lights of Ponyville. Wings limp, she sat motionless for a while, staring off into space, deaf to the heavy percussion about her. Time passed in mental stillness. It didn’t matter. She looked up, straight into the nothingness above. Eyes unblinking, she remained so for untold minutes. Then, she looked down at the thick mud beneath her and sighed.

[Special thanks to Filler, Cassius, Cold in Gardez, Drakmire and Secondaryspine for their input and reviews of the original write, and Belligerent Sock for his of the rewrite.]

XII - A Push in the Right Direction

A Push in the Right Direction

Left. Right. Left again. Scootaloo rolled her pencil back and forth between her hooves for the millionth time. It made a loud, skittering sound across the wooden desktop, only muffled as it passed over her notebook paper.

Ms. Blackboard said something at the front of the classroom, and the filly sitting beside Scootaloo answered. Scootaloo glanced absentmindedly at her teacher. Ms. Blackboard was really getting into whatever she had drawn on the board. Was that supposed to be Equestria? Scootaloo let out a sputter. Who cares?

Her eyes wandered to the clock on wall. Five ‘til three. She sighed.

Another pencil roll, and her attention shifted to the sheet of paper on her desk. Blank. Bland. Uninteresting. Just like the rest of the day would be.

She rolled the pencil again. A simple time wasting activity that she was pretty good at. At least that was one thing she was good at.

The thought brought a scowl to her face. She stamped her hoof down on the rolling pencil, sending a loud crack through the classroom. She ignored the many curious looks she received.

Scootaloo laid her head on her desk. Another day wasted. Another afternoon awaiting the same fate. She sighed and looked down her nose at the pencil.

It laid still on the paper, point-forward. Its sides were marred with scuffs, scars, and bite marks, and she followed them up the pencil with her eyes. They weaved an intricate pattern that wrapped around the pencil and eventually ended at its point, which was blunt, dull beyond effectiveness. She looked at her right hoof and sighed again. Just like her.

Her hoof, wind-shorn and raw from months of failure, laid on her desk, limp. Cracks spidered along her whitened hooftip, and wind-sores lined the base of her fetlock. It hurt to walk on. It hurt to use. Hell, it hurt to even look at.

All this to make a sonic rainboom.

She remembered the Wonderbolts tryouts, looking up in excitement as Rainbow Dash lit up the sky. That amazing ring that bloomed like a flower in the summer sun. A faint smile upturned the corners of Scootaloo’s mouth. She had to make one.

If you want me, come and get me.

Scootaloo cringed. She refocused her eyes on her hoof, but looked away in disdain. A sonic rainboom. Like that’ll ever happen.

She flicked her pencil again. Maybe she would have to settle for a pencil-rolling cutie mark.

The school bell rang.

“Alright, children, don’t forget to study for your geography quiz tomorrow,” Ms. Blackboard chimed.

Scootaloo rolled her eyes. Geography shmeography. She had more important things to worry about. Screw school. She donned a tattered blue and yellow scarf, a token of her father’s bygone days as a Wonderbolt. Favoring her injured hoof, she stepped out into the mid-December air alongside Applebloom and Sweetie Belle. The frozen ground crunched beneath their hooves as they made their way through the snow-swept streets of Ponyville.

“Brrr! It’s c-c-c-cold!” Sweetie Belle said.

“Yer cold?” Applebloom asked in disbelief. ”How in the hay are ya cold? Yer more bundled up than a polar bear in a sweater factory.”

“Hey! No I’m not!”

“Are, too!”

“Am not!”

“Are, too!”

“Well, at least I’m wearing something!” Sweetie Belle said, pointing at Applebloom’s hand-me-down jacket. Scootaloo shut out the rest of their bickering.

In time, they arrived at the elm in the meadow, which had become their unofficial gathering place. Scootaloo looked up at the tree, whose leafless branches bent low under the weight of winter.

“Hey, Scoot, ya gonna get started?” Applebloom asked.

Scootaloo stared upward, glassy-eyed, and sighed. Let’s get this over with... Again...

She removed her scarf before dragging herself above the clouds. Though the sun sat warm overhead in the crisp blue sky, it did nothing to lighten her mood. It may as well have been as grey as the clouds below. She fell through the thick layer of clouds, toward the frosted landscape.

One. Two. Three. Four. Each dive resulted in the same backlash, each attempt more pathetic than the last.

She caught herself among the clouds after the tenth rejection. Come on! Why can’t you do this? Another dive. Another denial. She glared at the grey fluff that rolled silently below, concealing the force that denied her her prize. Rainbow Dash did this. I can—no, I have to.

A grunt of frustration preceded her next dive. The cone sharpened, and her heart gave a flutter. She strained as hard as she could. This is it! The earth reached up, as if to catch her, but stopped. It retracted and shrank into the distance, taking her hopes with it.

The sound barrier launched her back into the sky, where she righted herself to charge the earth again in a blind rage. What the hell is wrong with you!? The wind howled in her ears, but was a mere whisper compared to the torrent within her head. Why haven’t you done this yet? You’re worthless. Tears blurred her vision. And you want to beat her... pathetic... absolutely pathetic. She beat her wings furiously, but the ground neither halted its ascent, nor did the cone narrow about her. She tried to pull out of the dive, but landed at an angle, rolling violently across the meadow.

Scootaloo staggered to her haunches, and her wings fell limp at her sides. She trembled with rage, eyes clenched shut. Tears stole the warmth from her face as they trickled down the tip of her nose. Why can’t I do this?

“Why can’t I do this!?”

She beat the earth into submission with each word. A twinge of pain stung her right forehoof. Red graced its blurry orange and mingled with the snow. Humiliating.

“Scoot?” Applebloom asked softly. “You alright?” She approached to put a hoof on her shoulder, but Scootaloo shied away.

“I can’t do it...”

Applebloom stepped back in shock. “Wha—of course you can! You’ve been workin’ on this for months! You can’t just give up now!”

Scootaloo remained silent. She sniffled before standing up to gather her scarf. “I just... can’t. I’m a failure.”

“Come on, Scoot! Don’t talk like that!” Applebloom said as she stepped in front of her. “Just like my sis always said to me when I learned how to buck apples. Defeat ain’t failure ‘til you stop tryin’.” Applebloom looked her dead in the eyes. “You’re. Not. A failure,” she commanded with sharp jabs of a hoof.

Scootaloo shouldered past her. “Just leave me alone.”

Applebloom’s mouth hung agape. “Wha-Scoot, come back here!” She trotted to catch up. “C’mon, Scoot, can’t you just try a few more times?”

“No.”

Applebloom sighed. “Scoot, just one mo—”

“Just leave me alone!” Scootaloo rounded on her, eyes ablaze. Applebloom recoiled. “It’s been four months, Applebloom!Four! Months! And nothing’s happened! I’ve been out here every single day! Have you seen any sonic rainbooms? No! I’m tired of it!” She turned back toward Ponyville. “I’m done.”

Applebloom stared in disbelief. “So... so that’s it... just like that, you’re givin’ up?”

“Shut up,” Scootaloo said, not bothering to look back.

“Scoot, can’t you jus—”

“No.”

Applebloom huffed. “You get back up there and try again!”

Scootaloo glared over her shoulder. “Make me!”

“Fine!” Applebloom lunged, tackling Scootaloo to the dirt.

“Get off me!” Scootaloo yelled. She kicked Applebloom hard in the chest. The blow sent her tumbling over backwards, but she was on her hooves and diving atop Scootaloo before she could fly away.

Sweetie Belle looked pleadingly between the two. “Guys, stop it! This isn’t helping!” Neither of them listened. They tumbled through the snow, hooves flailing and teeth gnashing.

“I said get off me!” Scootaloo threw a wild backhoof that caught Applebloom square in the face. She cried out in pain, but retaliated with a kick to the stomach that launched Scootaloo into the side of the tree. Scootaloo crumpled into a ball, wheezing for the few precious bits of air that would fill her lungs.

Applebloom pinned her down and whipped her scarf off of her. She spit it to the ground and stamped a hoof on it. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere ‘til you get back up there an’ try again.”

Scootaloo gazed up at her friend. Her mane was a mess, her bow was torn, and a bruise was forming beneath her eyes. Scootaloo glanced away in shame.

Applebloom stepped back, allowing her to stand. Scootaloo staggered to all fours and looked her in the eyes. Applebloom glared at her not with anger or vengeance, but with hard expectation—harsh but empowering. Scootaloo let it fill her.

Composure returning, she took to the skies and circled about. The wind stung like icicles on her cuts and bruises. It drew away the pain and anger that had boiled over moments ago, evaporated to leave her with the thoughts that mattered. She was gliding down from the mountain again. The wind tugged her skyward.

Alright, here we go. The clouds melted away as she rose through them. Damp with cloud vapor, her coat frosted over in the freezing wind. She brushed away the ice crystals on her face and gazed at the clouds below. They dared her to try again. They dared the wrong pony.

This time, Scootaloo dove, but instead of concentrating on the sonic rainboom, she filled her mind with Applebloom’s soul-piercing stare. Every crevice resonated with its power.

The cone formed and stretched about her. Tears formed in submission to the wind tearing at her eyes. Color flecked the edges of the cone as it tapered to a needlepoint. Traces of static coiled around her. Just a little more! Come on, wings!

The ground grew dangerously close, but she pressed on. The cone’s tip began unravelling. This is it! Her lungs burned like a stoked furnace, and her wings screamed for an end to their torture, but she continued unfazed. Almost there! The tip became a single thread, and pulled taut against her hoof. She eyed it with lust as it quivered in vain resistance.

Time stopped, and her heart beat victory.

Scootaloo grinned triumph, watching it thin out, hairlike, but the ground suddenly came into focus. She let out a gasp and pulled out of the dive, feeling the blood rush to her legs. Branches lashed at her as she crashed through the elm and across the meadow.

Worried cries echoed off the trees, scrapes bled, and her body ached, but none of it mattered. She was already in the sky once again, mind whirling a mile a minute around a single thought.

It frayed.

The sky was still a dull grey, unmarred by the myriad colors of a rainboom, but it no longer clutched at her heart like the looming shadow it once was. Scootaloo looked down at her friend with a smile, and was returned with one of pride. Thanks, Applebloom.

[Author's Note: Thanks to Cassius for his review of the original write, and that of Belligerent Sock for that of the rewrite.]

[Onward and Upward!]

XIII - Red. Blue. Yellow

Red. Blue. Yellow

Two weeks later, the trio burst out the front doors of school.

Scarf flapping in the breeze, Scootaloo bounded alongside her friends. The dusting of snow that had fallen throughout the day snaked about their hooves.

Scootaloo took a deep breath of air. Today was a perfect day for flying: the wind was crisp, but not chilly, full-bodied and refreshing.

“You ready to go fly some more, Scoot?” Applebloom asked.

“Of course! Right after I drop my stuff off at my house.”

Applebloom and Sweetie Belle stopped and exchanged worried looks.

“Uh, Scoot, you sure ya wanna go home?” Applebloom asked in a pleading tone. “Ah mean, don’t ya wanna go out to the meadow and fly around?”

Scootaloo turned toward her, quizzical. “Um, yea... duh! But it’s on the way there, and I’m kinda hungry. I’ll just go drop my stuff off at home and grab a snack.”

“Wait!” Applebloom yelled. “Uh... what if Ah went and got you yer snack?” Both she and Sweetie Belle gave her awkward smiles.

What’s with these two? They’ve been acting weird all day. She shook her head, discarding her curiosity. “Nah, don’t worry, I’ll be real quick. See you there!” She took off for home before either could protest.

Scootaloo raced home, excited for the coming evening. She landed on the doorstep and opened the door, but instead of running straight to her room, she stopped in the living room. “Dad?”

Tyco, who was hunched over the coffee table, jumped upon hearing her voice. He spun around to greet her, a nervous smile on his lips. “Oh, hey, Scoot, what are you doing home so early?”

“What are you? You don’t get home ‘til eight on Fridays.”

His expression changed to dismay before he shot her a wide smile. A little too wide.

What the hay is up with everypony today?

Scootaloo curiously stared at her father as she walked to her room, watching him casually lean left, as if trying to block something from view. Was he hiding something?

When she reached her room, she heard the sound of hurried movement out in the living room. This day was getting weirder by the minute.

After dumping the contents of her saddlebags at the foot of her bed, she returned to the living room and entered the kitchen, followed closely by her father.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she replied, smiling.

Tyco laughed. “Then let’s get you something to eat.”

He grabbed a bag of cornbread from the cabinet and set it on the table. Scootaloo hopped onto a stool before tearing into it like a starving animal.

“Whoa, save your energy,” he said, laughing. She managed to finish opening the bag with minimal tearing and, using her teeth, ripped off a large chunk, getting crumbs everywhere. “Hey, what have I told you about that?”

Scootaloo frowned at her father before using her hooves to tear off a larger chunk around where she had bitten. He rolled his eyes.

“At least eat over this.” He set a plate on the table. “I just swept the floor this morning.”

While she happily munched on her cornbread, Tyco filled her saddlebags with an assortment of snacks, packing extra for the others in case they wanted some as well.

“Alright, go have fun. And make sure you don’t eat too much. You don’t wanna cramp up.” He hurried her out the door.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he said as she was about to take off. “I want you home by sunset tonight, okay? No more of this late-night stuff.”

“What? But daaad! I always stay out late to practice!” An indifferent, unwavering stare met her pout. She sighed. “Fine...”

With a playful nudge, Tyco whisked her off toward the meadow.

Once in the air, she glanced over her shoulder at her father, who darted back into the house. He hadn’t told her why he was off work. Oh well. She had more important things to worry about. With a quick burst of energy, she sped off toward the meadow.

The cool afternoon breeze swept across the frozen grass, kicking up wisps of snow. Scootaloo landed beneath the elm and dropped her saddlebags against the base of the tree.

“Hey, guys,” she said as she removed her scarf.

“Hey, Scoot,” Applebloom answered, nosing through her saddlebags.

“My dad packed extras, so you can help—” Crunch! Scootaloo looked over her shoulder.

Crumbs fell from Applebloom’s cheeks. “What?”

Scootaloo giggled. “Yourself.” Spreading her wings, she took off into the sky.

She reared back and looked down at her friends, mere specks upon the earth. A deep breath filled her lungs with Winter’s tranquil chill. The air was even more perfect than she first thought. Exhaling a puff of steam, she dove.

The ground rose and fell. One time. Ten times. One hundred times. Sweat frosted her coat and shimmered in the afternoon sun. Scootaloo scowled at the earth where the cone awaited, invisible and insidious.

She had yet to see that single thread again, but she knew it was there, waiting for her. Scootaloo grinned. It was only a matter of time.

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

The evening sun had painted the sky a vibrant orange by the time Scootaloo landed beside her friends for a quick break. She trotted over to her saddlebags and rifled through them for something to drink.

“The sun’s about to go down,” Applebloom said, squinting into the distance. “Think we should head back?”

Scootaloo looked up, a juice box between her hooves. “Head back? But it’s only like five.”

“Yeah, but we gotta do that group project for Ms. Blackboard by Friday, and Applejack’ll kill me if we don’t start workin’ on it soon.”

Scootaloo thought it over as she fumbled with the straw. “Nah,” she replied after punching a hole in the top of the juice box. “I’ve almost got this.”

She smiled at her friends. “You guys can go back if you want, but I’m staying.” She looked up at the sky, “I’m this close... I can feel it.”

The other two exchanged glances. Applebloom looked at her. “Well... if yer sure, Scoot. Just don’t stay out too late.”

Scootaloo shot her a curious glance. “Don’t stay out too late? Okay, seriously, what’s going on? You’ve been acting weird all day.”

“Uh... nothin’,” Applebloom said. “Ah just think we need to keep up with our school work is all. Right, Sweetie Belle?”

Sweetie Belle, who had been wearing a nervous smile the entire conversation, jumped as Applebloom elbowed her in the side. “Oh, um, yeah... what she said!”

Scootaloo looked between the two. “Uh, okay. Just let me try a few more times. Go get everything ready. I’ll meet you back at my house.”

A look of relief washed over Applebloom. “Alright, don’t keep us waitin’.”

Applebloom and Sweetie Belle headed back to Ponyville. Scootaloo listened closely as their voices faded into the distance. A surprise? A surprise what? Whatever. She could find out later.

Scootaloo finished her juice box and tossed it back into her saddlebags before taking flight.

Many times she hurled herself earthward as the sun retreated beyond the horizon. A quick glance about after another unsuccessful dive brought a look of surprise to her face. Where’d the sun go?

She looked at the meadow that lay in moonlit shadows below and then to Ponyville and its innumerable tiny lights. She bit her lip.

I want you home by sunset tonight, okay?

That promise was already long broken. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too mad. The star-filled sky above calmed her unsettled mind. Just a few more.

Scootaloo dove without another thought. The cone formed and narrowed at her hooftip before throwing her back into the air. A glare and another try earned the same result.

Just above the clouds, she stopped to look back to Ponyville again with a pang of guilt. Who was she kidding? He would be mad, not to mention her friends.

Scootaloo dove toward the elm to grab her saddlebags and head home, but stopped. This weather was too perfect to waste. It was worth the trouble she would be in.

Just one more...

She flew back into the sky, much further than before. The air thinned, and the wind whistled in her ears. Far above, the full moon and its twinkling sisters sat watching.

Scootaloo looked up at it and smiled. I can do this. She spun about before somersaulting into a dive.

The thin atmosphere gave little resistance, and the cone formed almost instantly, honing to a needlepoint as she powered downward. The denser air below the clouds hit her like a wall and sapped the strength from her wings.

From her cracked and broken hoof, blood trickled its way up her foreleg to send droplets into the air. The warmth speckled her face. It tasted like copper.

Flames of exhaustion sheathed her, every motion churning the lava that channeled through her veins. Her breaths went in as knives and came out as whimpers pleading her to end the madness, but the cone started tearing at the seams. Scootaloo grinned.

You’re mine.

The cone fluoresced. It shone like a falling star as waves of color snaked around her—brilliant, fierce.

She watched it unwind until only a single thread remained at the very tip of her hoof. It cleaved a small groove and drew a steady stream of blood. An inferno shot down her forehoof, daring her to cry, but she swallowed the pain; weakness had no place here.

Like an arrow drawn in a bowstring, she forced the thread to its limits, shrugging off the darkness that clouded her mind. The ground came into focus, deathly close. She had to pull up.

No. She clenched her teeth. Do or die.

She refocused on the thread, and all else faded away. It danced about in the groove of her hoof, taunting her, mocking her with its tremulous teasing. Slowly, it took on the colors of the cone as vivid hues began to run its length. Red. Blue. Yellow.

They redoubled their intensity as the thread frayed, burning brighter than the sun. Scootaloo shut her eyes to the glare, but it pierced her vision regardless.

Go home, Scoot.

A vibrant rose pulsed through her eyelids. She gasped, and time came to a standstill. Through pain-filled tears, Scootaloo stared in awe. And for a moment, she stared back.

Scootaloo’s breath trembled, and her heart stopped beating. A towering shadow. A rock-hewn frown. A cold and hollow voice.

Go home.

Shut up. Scootaloo gritted her teeth, glaring death. Just shut up! I’ll never give up. Never. The acetylenic light bored into her eyes, but she held her gaze, adamant and unyielding.

Fuck you.

A final surge of her wings left all resistance behind. The thread snapped.

All was silent. And the world went grey.

[Thanks to Cassius, Drakmire, Secondaryspine, and Cold in Gardez for their reviews of the original write, and Belligerent Sock for that of the rewrite.]

[Onward and upward!]

XIV - The Wish

The Wish

“Unngh...”

Scootaloo rolled over and shielded her eyes from the light. So bright... She began to rub the sleep from them, but the touch of soft linen startled her. Wide-eyed, she looked at her hoof, which was bound in white wrappings. So was most of her body. She glanced about at the room’s fluorescent lights and plaster-white wall tile. It smelled faintly of bleach. A hospital?

“Morning, sleepyhead,” her father’s voice came from behind.

She looked over her shoulder and squinted against the fluorescent lighting. Celestia those are bright. As his figure slowly came into focus, she noticed he sat on the far side of a nightstand. He wore a stern expression.

“I thought I told you to be back by sundown.”

Scootaloo looked away, biting her lip. “Sorry...” She could feel his gaze on the back of her head and his shadow crawl overtop of her as his hoofsteps echoed on the floor. She shivered.

“How many times have I told you to always at least check in with me before sundown?” She tensed at the touch of his hoof on her shoulder, which whirled her around. His eyes burned with a fire she had never before seen. “Not only did you not do that, but I had to fly out to find you almost dead in the middle of nowhere?”

Scootaloo cowered away from him as his voice rose, and buried herself in her hooves. A pause overtook his fuming, followed by a sigh. A hoof wrapped itself around her, softly.

“I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Scootaloo breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever had happened, so was she.

The door at the far end of the room opened, and a unicorn stallion wearing a white lab coat and a smile stepped in. “Ah, I see you’re awake. My name is Doctor Stable. Are you feeling alright, Scootaloo?”

She rubbed her forehead. Her head hurt, her hoof pulsed uncomfortably, and her breathing felt constricted. She looked down at the bedding. “Well, my head and hoof hurt, and it’s kinda hard to breathe.”

The doctor walked to her bedside, saying, “Well, yes. You took quite a tumble last night and fractured a few ribs. You’re lucky that tree broke your fall and that your father got you here right away. Now, keep your eyes open for me, please.” He levitated a penlight from his coat pocket and shined it in her eyes. It hurt like hell, but she did her best to not clench them shut.

Smiling, he returned the penlight to his pocket. “Follow my hoof with your eyes, please.”

Scootaloo followed it up, down, left, and right before he made a big circle and booped her on the nose. She scrunched her face. “Hey!”

The doctor chuckled. “Pupil dilation shows some signs of a concussion and her x-rays show both a linear skull fracture and a broken rib, but they’ll heal in time. You’re all set to go if you don’t have any questions.” A clipboard at the foot of the bed glowed blue and floated to his side. “Make sure you drink plenty of water and take care of yourself, Scootaloo. Let those ribs heal up before flying again. About six weeks should do the trick.”

Scootaloo’s jaw dropped. “Six weeks!?”

“Yes, six weeks. Your bones need to set before you can start flying again, or else you’ll fracture them further.” His expression was sympathetic but unmoved.

Tyco carefully lifted her onto his back. ”Thanks, Doc.”

“Not a problem,” the doctor replied. “If you have any questions or concerns, don’t hesitate to ask.”

A bright morning sun greeted the two as they left the hospital. Sounds of a busy Ponyville drifted by on a listless wind, though were overpowered by nearby birdsong.

Scootaloo grumbled. Six weeks! Six freakin’ weeks! Six weeks of healing was six of not flying. What the hay was she supposed to do for that long? Knit a sweater? She gagged, sighed, and then laid down. Unconsciously, she moved to scratch her head, but winced. Bringing her hoof before her eyes, she studied the bandages. How did she get in the hospital? What happened last night?

“How’s your hoof feeling?” her father nearly shouted over the commotion of the marketplace.

Scootaloo looked up. “Okay.”

He laughed. “That’s good. He was right, though. You were pretty lucky...” He finished the sentence, but his voice seemed to trail off.

Scootaloo rolled her eyes. Nopony had told her what happened yet. Yesterday was just like all the others this month. That never changed.

“You seem pretty popular,” he said after a minute.

His statement came as a surprise, provoking a glance about her. Ponies in the streets eyed her with curiosity and concern. Being bandaged from head to toe wasn’t a common sight in Ponyville, and not knowing what had happened made it all the more awkward.

What did happen?

She cocked her head, squinching her mouth in concentration. Yesterday couldn’t have been any less than usual, but the cuts and scrapes that were a prize of some mysterious happening begged to differ. The doctor had said she flew into a tree or something. She tapped a hoof to her head. No—it broke her fall. But why she was falling eluded her. Probably had something to do with—

She shot up in realization. The sonic rainboom! Memories bubbled to the surface, clear as day: the moon, the pain, the blinding pink light, and then nothingness. A grin swept across her face.

“What are you smiling at?” Tyco asked as they neared their house. She only half-heard the question, her mind still spinning around the memories.

“Hey, I’m talkin’ to you,” he half-chuckled.

She looked up and noted his curious expression, hers becoming one of uncontainable excitement, then giggled.

“Well?” he pried as they stepped up to the front door.

“I did it!” she said, wiggling her hind legs.

“Oh?” He grinned playfully. “And what did you do?”

“I made a sonic rainboom!” She hopped off his back with a flutter of her wings.

He opened the door and chuckled, motioning her in. “Ah, so that’s what that light was last night.”

Scootaloo beamed as wide as her face would allow, stepping into a dark living room. “You saw it!? Was it awesome!?”

“Oh yeah.” He winked. “We all did.”

Pride turned to confusion. “W-we? What do you mean we?”

The lights flipped on.

“SURPRISE!”

Scootaloo nearly leapt out of her skin at the sound of confetti cannons and party horns. A half-dozen ponies jumped out from hiding spots around the living room and kitchen with excited smiles.

“Wha... what?” Scootaloo asked, her heart beating furiously. Sweetie Belle, Applebloom, Applejack, Rarity, Twilight Sparkle, and Fluttershy. What the hay were they all doing here?

“It’s your party, you silly filly!” came the high-pitched, excited voice of Pinkie Pie from behind. She slammed a party hat down over Scootaloo’s head with enthusiasm. A little too much enthusiasm.

Scootaloo stumbled around, then fumbled with the hat, finally prying it off of her head to see Pinkie Pie’s big blue eyes nearly pressed against her own. “Ahh!” She fell over backwards in fright.

Pinkie Pie beamed down at her. “Were you surprised!? Were ya!? Were ya!?”

Scootaloo gave a weak smile, hooves curled beneath her chin. “Heh, yeah...”

Pinkie Pie cheered, sending more confetti into the air before gleefully bounding off to do Celestia knew what, which gave Scootaloo some breathing room. She sat up and scratched the back of her head, unsure what to make of the situation. A hoof rested on her shoulder, and she looked up at her father, who was smiling.

“Happy birthday, Scoot,” he said.

The realization hit her like a slap to the face. Birthday? It was her birthday?

“Well, belated birthday. You kinda ruined the whole ‘on time’ thing last night when you didn’t follow them home.” He looked to Sweetie Belle and Applebloom, who were bouncing up and down on the livingroom couch.

Scootaloo smiled bashfully. “Sorry.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” He ruffled her mane. “Just... please don’t let it happen again, okay?” She nodded, and he smiled.

“That’s a good girl. Go have fun.” He trotted off toward the kitchen to help Pinkie Pie with what looked like milkshakes.

Scootaloo ran to the living room and was greeted by a round of congratulations.

“Hey, Scoot!” Applebloom said, jumping off the couch. “That explosion was amazin’!”

“Yeah!” Sweetie Belle added. “We could hear it and see it all the way from here!”

“It really was fascinating to see,” Twilight said. She sat down beside Rarity, who was sitting on an ottoman beside the bay window.

“Truly it was,” Rarity said, “but what in Equestria happened to you?” She gestured at Scootaloo’s bandages, her lip curled in a wince.

Scootaloo cocked her head. “What?”

Applejack sputtered. “Oh, please, Rarity. Scoot’s a tough filly. If she’s walkin’ n’ talkin’, she’s fine.”

Rarity made a face as if she had been called tacky. “How can you possibly say that! The poor dear’s all wrapped up like a mummy!” Applejack rolled her eyes.

“Um... I’m fine, Rarity,” Scootaloo said.

Rarity gave her a maternal smile. “Well... are you sure, dear? Somepony has to ask.” She glared at Applejack.

Pinkie Pie popped out from behind the couch. “Of course she’s alright! It’s her birthday!” She zipped beside Scootaloo and shoved a milkshake in her face. “Happy birthday!”

Scootaloo shied away from the offering. It looked as if it had enough chocolate to induce a coma. She gave a superficial smile. “Heh, uh, no thanks.”

“You sure? Well, okie dokie, then!” Pinkie Pie said before guzzling it herself. Scootaloo cringed. That couldn’t be healthy.

“Oh, oh! What do you wanna do first?” Sweetie Belle asked, poking Scootaloo in the shoulder.

“I know!” Applebloom said. “We should go out to the meadow and you could do another sonic rainboom!”

The three cheered, “Yeah!”

“Or you could tell us a little bit about last night, Scootaloo,” Twilight said. “I would like to hear more about your sonic rainboom. The purple light we saw was quite different from Rainbow Dash’s rainboom in Cloudsdale.”

Fluttershy cowed, and Applejack and Rarity both glared at Twilight for some reason. Rarity was the first to say something.

“I do quite agree—hearing about it would be most delightful.”

While the question was flattering, Scootaloo didn’t know where to begin. She scratched her head. “Well, I remember trying a whole bunch of times. I was going to come home after a bit, but then I decided to try one more time.”

“How come?” Twilight asked.

Scootaloo looked at her hooves. ‘Because she wanted to beat Rainbow Dash’ and ‘It was my last chance with such perfect weather’ sprang to mind as easy and true answers. But they were insufficient. Sure, they were the reasons she had flown back up for a final attempt, but not what had kept her there. “Because all the stars were out.”

Tyco looked up from where he stood on the other side of the bar table. He caught her eye, and both smiled. The others seemed to have taken notice of the unspoken message, and all the questions that may have been on the tips of their tongues died away.

A minute passed before Tyco walked in from the kitchen, a large birthday cake on his back. “Here’s to you, Scoot, for your sonic rainboom!” He slid the cake down an extended wing onto the coffee table sitting in the center of the room. Ten candles flickered in a ring around its edge, encircling purple frosting that read, “Happy Birthday, Scootaloo!”

“Wooow!” Scootaloo stared in awe. She had never seen such an amazing birthday cake before.

Pinkie Pie bounced up and down. “What are you waiting for!? Make a wish! Make a wish!”

Scootaloo grinned at her enthusiasm. A wish. There were many things she could have wished for: healed ribs, punching Rainbow Dash in the face, winning the Flier’s Competition in the first place. But instead, she wished for the strength and opportunity to see herself through this endeavor, to become what she aspired to be. She closed her eyes, letting the thought wrap around her like the bandages of yesterday’s triumph.

Her smile gave way to a deep breath, but she winced in pain. It felt like somepony had stabbed her in the ribs.

Tyco wrapped a hoof around her, a cringe on his face easing its way into a smile. “Why don’t we help you with that?” He motioned to Sweetie Belle and Applebloom, who both lit up in excitement. “Don’t forget your wish,” he added.

Surrounded by her father and friends, Scootaloo beamed. They really knew how to make any day better, no matter how great it already was.

“Three... two... one...” Tyco counted. Together, they breathed, then blew out the candles.

And Scootaloo made her wish.

[Author's Note: And here we are, back at the head of the trail. With me in the lead, and Belligerent Sock as my editor and guide, we will finally trod this path so long forgotten.]

[Onward and upward!]

XV - Granted

Granted

“Scoot.”

Something nudged her face. She shooed it away with a hoof and rolled over, groaning.

“Scoot, wake up.”

The something nudged her again, harder. “Five more minutes...” she mumbled into her pillow.

“Scoot,” the voice said, sterner.

“Mnhh...”

Suddenly, her warm, downy down comforter disappeared from around her, and a mid-winter chill clawed its way across her skin. She curled into a ball to defend what little warmth her body held, eyes clenching shut before opening to find the culprit.

Her father was looking down at her with mild impatience.

“Cold in here isn’t it?” he said nonchalantly before his eyes shifted to her bedroom window. She followed his gaze, then scowled at him. It was closed when she went to bed.

“Come on, I’ve got something to show you.” He extended a wing onto the bed. “Up up.”

Scootaloo rubbed her eyes before sighing. She wasn’t supposed to be up for another hour or two. She complied, climbing onto his back and yawning loudly to voice her complaint. What in Equestria did he want to show her at this ungodly hour? Couldn’t it at least wait until sunrise?

They entered the living room where a small paper sack and her Wonderbolts scarf waited on the coffee table. Without breaking stride, Tyco tossed them onto his back, then headed for the door.

The still morning air was frigid and chilled to the bone. If Scootaloo wasn’t awake already, she was now. Instinctively, she donned her scarf. It didn’t help much.

“Hold on tight,” Tyco said.

Scootaloo was about to ask why, but his outstretched wings answered her unspoken question. She had less than a second to grab hold before he launched into the air with a force she never imagined. It felt as if her brains had been smashed into her hooves.

He looked over his shoulder at her and smiled. “You don’t have to hold on that tight, you know.”

She blinked, then looked down to notice her hooves digging into his sides and promptly relaxed her grip. “Heh, sorry.” Her apology vanished from her mind as quickly as it had formed. Dad never flew—not since he was a Wonderbolt. Yet here he was flying, at a breakneck speed no less.

“Dad?” she said.

“Yeah?” He turned his head, curiosity peaking his brow.

“Why are you flying? I thought you said you gave it up after you were a Wonderbolt.”

He looked ahead. Though she couldn’t see, she knew he was looking down in thought. “I did. But it’s been a long time since then, and my grudge wasn’t helping anypony.” He looked back at her, a faint smile on his face. “Especially when someone I love is lost in the middle of winter.”

A pang of guilt tugged at the bottom of Scootaloo’s heart. Scaring him half to death was nowhere near on her list of things to do in life.

“Plus,” he continued, “if I didn’t get over it, I wouldn’t be able to show you what I’m going to here.”

Scootaloo smiled. She liked the sound of that. “What is it?”

“A surprise.”

She frowned. Surprises weren’t something she had the patience for. Regardless, she looked around to pass the time. Even in the morning darkness, she could tell they were headed toward the meadow, and quite quickly at that. Houses sped below in thatched streaks as the Everfree rose in the distance.

A sigh escaped her. Though riding on her father’s back as he flew felt weird, she couldn’t help the sense of contentment. He flew quickly, but fluidly, his stride and breathing efficient and rhythmic. It reminded her of the day Rainbow Dash carried her to the top of the mountain so long ago: her built-up excitement, Rainbow Dash’s enthusiasm, the chill wind of the peak.

Wait. He wasn’t going to throw her off a mountain, was he?

“Hey, wake up. We’re here.”

Scootaloo looked up, realizing she had been dozing off, and saw that they had arrived. It was the first time she had seen the meadow since her sonic rainboom nearly two months ago. Surprisingly, everything was exactly how she remembered, except the elm: the branches of one side were completely blown off and littered the ground. She ran an absentminded hoof along a faded scar on her chest.

Tyco extended a wing, which Scootaloo slid down onto the frosted ground. He then looked up at the sky where a massive storm cloud broiled. “I’ve been getting up early every day since your birthday to practice. I’m still a little rusty, but I think I’ve got the hang of it again.” He looked down at her and smiled.

Scootaloo gave him a curious look. Practicing?

With a mischievous smile, Tyco leapt into the sky.

Scootaloo watched in disbelief as he rocketed toward the cloud almost faster than her eyes could follow. Was he? She grinned. He was.

Though only a speck, she could see him pull back against the cloud’s underside. White sparks of lightning slowly gathered around him, flashing and crackling until they built to monstrous bolts of light.

Then, he fell.

Scootaloo’s grin turned to slack-jawed awe as the lightning followed, leashed about him, before breaking off to sheath its new master. His form became slender like an arrow, and he picked up speed. She felt the hair of her coat tug toward him.

The lightning that wrapped about him intensified, then vanished, gone in an instant as he fell motionless, his legs and wings becoming limp. He looked anything but worried that he was barrelling toward the earth. Calm. Relaxed. His eyes were closed. A filament of static snaked through his feathers.

He spun and fanned his wings to their fullest, like a great eagle swooping down upon unsuspecting prey. The lightning returned tenfold, trailing like a cloak and obscuring his wings from sight.

Suddenly, he pumped his wings, and the lighting warped beneath him, connected, and fired at the earth not ten meters below. It blasted through snow and dirt, and at the same time, surged upward, through him and toward the cloud far above, which became a blinding white as it met the upward charge with its own, bold and brilliant like the innumerable branches of a tree.

Tyco landed deep into the lightning-softened earth, and the white blaze consumed him before exploding outward. It crackled and snarled, deafening, as it tore across the meadow, like titanic chains ripped from the earth. One roared past Scootaloo. She felt the ground quake and hot dirt upon her face.

Birds echoed shrill cries and took flight from nearby treetops, some of which were caught in the devastation, their boughs steaming with the snow that had covered them moments before.

Scootaloo’s legs felt wobbly, her mind blank. She fell to her haunches and gawked.

Tyco freed himself from the pony-sized crater of mud and trotted to her, wearing a huge smile. “Well? What do you think?”

What did she think? What did he mean what did she think? What was the only thing she could think?

“That was awesome!”

Tyco laughed. “I’m glad you think so.” He ruffled her mane, then looked over his shoulder at the crater. “I learned to do that when I was a little older than you, but it wasn’t nearly as...” He looked around, surprise growing on his face. “Violent.”

Violent was an understatement. For all Scootaloo would have known if she hadn’t witnessed it, she would have thought a war broke out here.

“But anyways, that’s what got me into the Wonderbolts. You remember all those bedtime stories, right?”

Scootaloo nodded enthusiastically. Who wouldn’t? “Uh huh.”

“Well... now you’ve seen it with your own two eyes.” Smiling, he tried to mat down his frazzled mane, but it defied his efforts. “I figured this would be a good first half of your belated birthday present.”

Scootaloo raised an eyebrow. “Half?”

Tyco grinned. “Why do you think I showed it to you?”

Scootaloo stared blankly at him, trying to make sense of his words. When it clicked, her jaw dropped to the ground. “Y-you’re gonna teach it to me?”

Tyco chuckled. “Well, yeah that’s what I was implying. You do wanna learn it, right?”

Scootaloo had never heard a more stupid question. Of course she did!

“Yeah!” Scootaloo somersaulted before giving him a huge smile.

He smiled back. “Well, alright then. But first thing’s first. I wanna see this sonic rainboom of yours.”

“Huh?” Scootaloo perked up, unsure she had heard him correctly.

“I said, I want to see your sonic rainboom.” He sat down and tilted his head while smiling, as if to say, ‘I’m waiting.’

Jittery pride welled in Scootaloo’s chest, and she grinned before rocketing skyward through the cloud. Its vapors frosted on her coat as the air thinned and the drop in pressure popped her eardrums. A newfound intensity of wind sounded in her ears.

A glance toward the cloud below called many memories from the back of her mind, some good, most bad, one perfect; she had done it once, and she would do it again. She would see that pink light, that pulsing thread, and defeat it.

Her father was watching; he wanted to see it, and that meant the world to her.

She circled around, took a deep breath, and then she dove.

While old hat, the sensation of falling felt new and exhilarating. Scootaloo welcomed the thickening air that tore at her face and the fire that burned in her wings. They made her feel free. Empowered. Alive.

The cone formed about her as she punched through the cloud to see her father’s grin in the distance. She couldn’t help the pride in her heart. It beat loud in her ears, louder than the roaring wind.

Quicker than she expected, the cone narrowed and wrapped her in static before its tip unravelled to a glowing white thread. It became a swirl of fluorescent reds, blues, and yellows and caused her to squint against their brightness; though, they weren’t nearly as bright as she remembered.

She continued downward toward the earth, its snowy white still far below, of little concern. The thread’s colors swirled faster, racing each other up and down its length. Soon, they began to flee from the tip of her hoof, where a pink light grew brighter by the second. As the light consumed the thread, Scootaloo stared it down, ignoring the inferno it brought to her hooftip. She forced herself harder against it. But something felt different.

Her wings grew numb, and the chest pains laxed. She suddenly felt at ease. The blinding pink light turning a deep violet seemed normal, its note—a high ringing in her ears—natural. The clawing winds felt calm, like an afternoon breeze content to cool her face and nothing more. Her pupils grew wide, and her smile all too real. The thread snapped.

And Scootaloo laughed.

Everything went silent as color bled away, and she felt the weight of the world disappear.

The ground rose ever faster, but she shrugged off her concern. The sensation, the thrill of speed beyond sound, engrossed her: utter nothingness around, complete fullness within.

Everything about her was less—colorless, senseless. Mad. Something not meant for her. She was more, filled to the brim with the moreness that now made them less. Her heart beat with it. Her lungs breathed it. Her mind drowned in it.

And more she became as she pulled into an upward curve toward the expanding grey ring of her rainboom. She interlocked its grey with that of the trail behind her and looped back toward the earth, relaxing her speed and letting her moreness refill the world. Color returned to the forest and the twinkling snow upon the meadow. Sound returned to the birds that fled in terror and the wind that whistled playfully in her ears.

The thrill of life beyond its limits left her, taking all the wonders of her silent and full world with it. Scootaloo landed beside her father, legs jittery with adrenaline, but mind adrift.

“Ain’t that a sight...” her father whispered.

She looked up. Two rings of the most brilliant violet graced the sky, one cutting through the other as it blossomed like a flower. The force of the rainboom had blown a gaping hole through the cloud above, letting the sun shine down from a beautiful blue sky.

Scootaloo sighed wistfully as her father wrapped a hoof around her and drew her close. She pressed herself against his warmth and could hear his heart beat within his chest.

The two sat in silence for a long minute before Tyco gave her a gentle shake and chuckled. “I guess I should put that cloud back together.” In a gust of wind, he leapt into the air.

Scootaloo knew that pegasi controlled the weather across Equestria: she had watched Rainbow Dash and the rest of the weather crew clear away a cloudy sky many a time. But never had she watched them build one.

Her father was a master of this craft.

His orange form darted in and out of, around and through, above and below the cloud, weaving it back together with the steady finesse of a master loomspony. He wrangled and wrestled with vapors that dared try breaking free of the mesh. None escaped him. Within minutes, the hole in the sky had been closed, and the cloud grew darker than the deepest caverns.

His pattern changed. He began to loom his way up and down the cloud. Seconds of disappearance within traded with seconds of appearance without, wispy contrails in tow like thread following a needle.

Scootaloo raised an eyebrow. What was he doing now?

A low rumble met her ears, and her eyes shot wide. He wasn’t just rebuilding the cloud; he was rebuilding the lightning.

Her jaw fell slack as he worked his way back down the cloud in the same looming pattern. A bright flash near him set her on edge. It flickered twice before lashing out at him with a fork of white hot power. He dodged it and resumed his work without so much as a glance over his shoulder.

Scootaloo cheered, proud but disappointed. How could her father be this awesome and never tell her? She wanted to ask when he landed seconds later, but the answer came with his smile: actions speak louder than words.

“That should do the trick,” he said, giving the cloud an appraising glance. As if to affirm his statement, it flashed, then roared with the might of a lion. “You ready to give it a try?”

The question washed over her like an ice bath. Trying on that would be suicide. She may have been crazy, but not stupid. “Uh, shouldn’t I try it on a—” A bright flash lit up the sky as a deafening clap shook the world beneath her hooves. Her pupils narrowed, and her words left her.

“I would have had you practice on a regular cloud, but I’ve tried it before many times. It just doesn’t work—you can’t feel the cloud with your wings like you’ll see in a bit. But listen close, because this is very important.” The smile he wore evaporated, and a stern gaze took its place. “I know what doing this means to you, but you have to know what it means to me. Letting you do this goes against everything I’ve ever learned about being a parent. You have to promise me one thing. You’ll only practice this when I’m there with you.”

Scootaloo’s jaw dropped. “But—”

“No buts. This is extremely dangerous. I won’t have you practicing it out here alone. Not even with your friends.” He came face to face, a hoof around her shoulder.

“It can kill you, Scoot. And it will if you’re not careful.”

Scootaloo stopped, eyes fixed on his. The worry in his eyes reached out to her as if she were a lifeline. She looked aside. “Okay...”

Tyco nodded, solemn in expression and voice. “Good. We’ll start with the basics.” He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Speed is everything. It all comes down to your start. Since the whole trick is done upside down in freefall, you have to reach the cloud at the right angle and speed.”

“Why do I have to do it upside down?” Scootaloo asked.

“Because you don’t wanna turn your brain into a hardboiled egg.” He paused, then looked away, as if troubled by a distant memory. Prying for details was the last thing she wanted to do. Upside down would be just fine for her.

“Anyways.” He spread his wings to their absolute fullest, every feather discernible from its neighbor from tip to base. “When you commit, and you’re gliding beneath the cloud, you have to graze it with your wings.” To display what he meant, he extended them downward toward the earth, feathers still spread. Scootaloo nodded, eyes riveted.

“Only your wings. If anything else touches the cloud, you’ll circuit the charge back into it instead of building it up inside you, so you need to tuck your legs in. And if your wings aren’t touching the cloud at all, then it won’t work anyways. So as you can imagine, it’s a narrow window.”

“Wait, build it up inside you?” Scootaloo asked, her head cocked to the side. “Does it hurt?”

Deep within her heart, she already knew the answer before he cringed.

His eyes swirled with the words that tortured his spirit, knowing what was to come of her. “More than you could ever imagine.”

The chill in the air suddenly felt much colder. A breeze kicked up a dust of snow in the silence.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Scoot?” he asked. His voice was hollow, pleading.

She could sense how much it hurt him to let her practice such a dangerous stunt. But she also knew he loved her enough to push her toward success. Beating Rainbow Dash demanded the best. She looked up at the cloud, then grinned.

It would be worth it.

He matched her grin. “That’s my girl. Just one other thing: sometimes the clouds’ll rain depending on how saturated they are when I put ‘em together. I can’t do a thing about it. All you need to know, though, is that the rain can make holding the lightning inside you harder.”

Scootaloo nodded almost mechanically. His statement passed through her head, and guesses as to why it could be true formulated, eventually coming to rest on conductivity, and desired no more explanation.

Tyco smirked at her. “You’re nodding like you don’t even care how it works. Well, I guess it isn’t really that important, and we don’t have to deal with it right now, anyways.” He sighed away what could have only been disappointment for a lost opportunity to teach her something. “So... You ready to give it a try?”

The cloud let out another roar that resounded off the Everfree. Though her nerves quivered, Scootaloo nodded.

“Alright then, let’s get started.” He lifted himself into the air and circled about. His eyes met hers, and she felt safety wash over her like warm water.

Scootaloo followed him into the air and trailed behind as they flew toward the cloud.

Another flash. Another roar.

A lump formed in her throat, and her breathing began to match her racing heart. Just stay calm. Relax.

Tyco looked over his shoulder at her, catching her attention. “Go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.” He slackened his pace to fall behind while giving a reassuring smile and then nodding toward the cloud. Its darkened mass rolled over itself, churning and flashing faster the closer they came.

Scootaloo gulped as its deep bass vibrated her heart. Here we go.

Beating her wings for speed, she looped upward, straight at the cloud. Pulling back, she felt the unfamiliar sense of inversion settle in her stomach. She angled herself to graze the cloud, but didn’t pull back enough, and instead of gliding along its underside, flew into its soaking belly. Drenched, she fell out and spun rightside up to look at her father.

“You’re fine, just gotta try again,” he yelled over a peal of thunder.

So she did. Tyco right behind, she dove toward the earth to build momentum and carry herself back toward the cloud. She again pulled back to graze its underside, but missed entirely, falling a whole meter short. She knocked herself on the head. Focus, you idiot!

Righting herself from her second try, she shot her father a glance, then the cloud. She gritted her teeth. She could do it. Third time’s the charm.

And a third time she tried. The cloud’s underside flashed a warning, and a low rumble met her ears, but she returned it with a glare, undeterred.

She began to loop into a wide half-somersault and beat her wings as hard as she could. Louder every second did her heart pound in her ears as the cloud came within hoof’s reach, and her heart gave a sudden flutter.

Only your wings can touch.

She flattened her legs against her body and extended her wings toward the cloud. Its soft wetness broke around them like waves in an ocean. Then, the oddest sensation began to work its way through her.

It twinged and tingled down her wings like thousands of tiny needles and quickly spread to every inch of her body. The pricks in her wings became stabbing flames, white hot, as the cloud flashed inches from her face. Her breathing became nervous and choppy.

Streaks of lightning spooled around her wings as she began to fall away from the cloud. They followed in thick, spidering, sizzling trails before snapping off from the cloud and vanishing within her.

She felt the charge inside, exactly how her father had described in his stories—wild like a caged animal. From muscle to bone to tendon to skin and back to muscle it leapt in an endless circuit of flame. Every fiber of her being screamed for its release.

Faster than she could react, the sensation built at the base of her wings. It snaked upward through her feathers in white coils to collect at her wingtips. Scootaloo gasped. Too soon.

“Scoot, watch out!”

The lighting in her wings snapped together and fired toward the cloud, which returned its own. She braced for the incoming bolt, but quicker than the lightning itself, Tyco intercepted both strikes. The charges showered outward in a deafening clap that shook Scootaloo from the inside out.

“Dad!” she cried, unable to hear herself over the ringing in her ears. She spun about and dashed toward his tail-spinning figure. Feathers scattered in smouldering tufts, and the smell of burnt flesh flooded her head.

His wings whipped awkwardly about as he tried to regain control, which gave her time to catch him. She wrapped her legs around his back and beat her wings as hard as she could, but wasn’t strong enough to carry him. The two crashed to the earth in a heavy thud and cloud of fallen snow.

Sprawled on her back, Scootaloo stared at the grey sky, heaving for air, head swimming, lungs compressed. She rolled over and saw her father curled in a ball, wing muscles pulled unnaturally taught, breathing erratically.

“Dad!” Pain shot down her foreleg when she stood to wrap him in a fear-filled hug. She felt him convulse uncontrollably. “Dad!” Her vision began to blur. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she leapt over him to look into his pain-twisted face.

“I’m okay,” he said with heavy, trembling breath. “I’m-I, I’m okay. J-j-just give m-me a m-m-minute.” He rested his head on the ground and heaved for air.

Scootaloo could see the hot steam of his breath and blood trickling from his nostrils. She looked away, unable to bear the thought that she was the cause of it, but then heard the shuffling of hooves and turned to see him trying to stand. His knees wobbled, and his head was bent low, as if it were too heavy for his neck to support.

He looked her in the eye and gave her a weak, almost creepy smile. “And that’s why I don’t want you doing this alone.” His front hooves gave out, and he fell to his knees.

“Dad!”

“I’m alright. I’m fine.” Though it attempted to be sincere, his smile held cracks clear as day. He looked up at the cloud and chuckled. “I think that’s enough practice for one day, don’t you?”

Scootaloo bit her lip. The idea of gauging practices on how much pain she could cause him didn’t appeal.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, I’ve been through worse.” His smile became genuine, and she couldn’t help but return one, despite its implications. “Now come on, help me up.”

His sudden, struggling movement startled her. She rushed to his side and pushed up into his chest to help him stand. He wavered for a second before catching his balance and giving her another fatherly smile. Celestia only knew how he could after being struck by lightning. A moment passed before he tried to spread his wings, but they were curled in awkward positions, one still twitching ever so slightly.

Scootaloo gaped at the blackened and twisted tufts of feathers that clung desperately to his wings. She clenched her own tight against her sides.

“Yeah... dispersing the lighting through your wings does do a number on them, but its better than letting it go straight through you. Feathers grow back real quick though, so we’ll pick this back up in a day or two.”

Scootaloo attempted a nod, but was too fixated on his wings to know if she had. It looked beyond painful. And to think he was dismissive of it. Even if it was the lesser of two evils, the sight worried her.

The cloud flashed and roared above, and they both looked up. “That’s probably our cue to head back,” Tyco said. “Come on, I’ll make pancakes.”

That sounded like a good, safe idea. They started for home, Scootaloo close beside, to catch him if he stumbled. Though their walk was slow, it bothered her none. All that mattered was her father's warm smile, and the anticipation fluttering in her heart.

When they reached the outskirts of Ponyville, she cast a glance behind her, and grinned.

[Author's Note: Thanks to Belligerent Sock for his review of this chapter.]

[Onward and Upward!]

XVI - Unretainable

Unretainable

Scootaloo sat on the town hall’s porch, tapping her hoof against the hardwood. A cold wind blew through her coat. She shivered, pulling her Wonderbolts scarf close around her and ruffling her feathers. It was far too cold for a Spring afternoon. It should have warmed since Winter-Wrap Up. She huffed loudly to make up for the fact that no pony could hear and sympathize. And maybe ask why she was sitting there all alone. Then possibly ask why her father was taking so damn long to get off work.

She frowned at the large double doors of the town hall. He never worked this late.

A grandfather clock within chimed the half hour. Scootaloo groaned. “Hurry uuuuup...” Another wind blew across the porch and swept a dusting of snow in her face, as if to chastise her impatience. She groaned again. There wasn’t enough time to be sitting around waiting for him.

Fed up, Scootaloo peeked inside a window. The word “chaos” came to mind at the sight of dozens of ponies running helter-skelter, stamping and signing and rolling and sorting hundreds of papers, but her father wasn’t among them.

She stomped toward the door to knock as hard as she could and vent her annoyance. Her knocks made little noise on the fine, solid oak, which didn’t help her frustration. “What’s taking so long!?”

As if on cue, the door opened, and out stepped Tyco, saddlebags bulging. Papers forced themselves against the straps like inmates trying to break free of their cells. He had a look of mild surprise when he saw her.

“What took you so long?” Scootaloo half shouted, half whined. “You’re always done by five. I’ve been waiting out here forever!”

“I saw you from the window,” he said levelly. “You got here ten minutes ago. And you know Town Hall’s a public office, right? You’re allowed in out of the cold.”

Scootaloo glared at him. He really needed to stop acting so matter-of-factly sometimes. “Can we just go already?”

Tyco stepped off the porch. “Not just yet. I have to take this stuff home so I can work on it tonight.”

Scootaloo raised an eyebrow. Take work home? But home was for not-work. That’s why he went to work to work. Right? She glanced over her shoulder at the window, at his saddlebags, then hopped off the porch to follow beside him, eyes still glued to the rolls poking out the flaps. “Why do you have to work at home?”

“Because we’re really busy this time of year. Lots of work to do, so I’m taking some of it home.”

“What kind of work?”

“Tax reports, mostly.”

“Why’s that so important?”

“Because it keeps the roof over our heads.” He chuckled.

Scootaloo looked up. “What roof?”

Tyco blanked. “Uh, nevermind.” He cleared his throat. “Anyways, the mayor is a very timely pony, so she’s really up about getting these done quickly.” They stepped up to their door, Tyco fumbling for a key that dangled from his saddlebags.

“But you’ve never brought this stuff home before.”

He fit the key in the lock while managing to drop only a half dozen rolls of paper. “Yeah, I know. Stamps’ daughter’s getting married in Manehattan this weekend, so I agreed to help with his share in exchange for some time off next week.”

He opened the door, and they stepped inside. The belt around his waist fought with him as he tried to undo it. When it gave, he lifted the saddlebags from his back and dropped them with a loud thud on the living room floor, then sighed in relief.

“But why?”

“Because we’re ponies. We help each other when we need it, even if we don’t want to. Doesn’t matter how big or small the problem is—we just do. Life happens, Scoot, and we work around it. I’ll try not to let it get in the way of your practice time these next few days. Besides, your practice is especially why I agreed. We’ll need all the time we can get as the seasons change.” He smiled at her, and a few rolls took that as cue to fall out of the bag. He chuckled. “Well, you ready?”

Only for forever! Scootaloo was out the door before he had a chance to blink. “Come on, dad, let’s go!”

“Haha, alright, I’m coming, I’m coming.”

They flew to the meadow at a brisk pace, mostly because Scootaloo desired making up for lost time. Her energy flowed to her father, and before long he had built a storm cloud that would have cowed the most experienced weather pegasi. It began to rain in thick sheets, and thunder boomed over the din.

“You ready?” he asked.

A single, resolute nod was her only answer as she stared up at the monstrosity. Courage carried her toward it, and practice along its underside. The engulfing fire felt numb after months of experience, if only slightly. The days since her first attempt were filled with it, and it grew on her, almost like a friend. It was a welcomed pain—just as that of the mach cone so long ago, and its prize just as hard to reach.

Scootaloo fell away from the cloud, shaking off the static of yet another failed attempt. She grumbled. Gathering the lightning was simple now—instinctive—but there was something about the idea of containing it that lost her. It was too wild and powerful to control. Her father had shown her many times, but she simply couldn’t follow through. The reason why gnawed at her.

Speed was her game, as proven by the rainboom. Her discipline, however, left much to be desired. Luckily for her, she was made of persistence—or felt as much, anyways. So naturally, she tried again. And again. And again.

“You’re getting better at it,” Tyco said after a dozen more tries.

“I don’t feel like it.”

“You might not feel like it, but it’s true. Before you know it, you—ahh!” Residual static shocked the hoof he had extended to hug her. He chuckled casually, but Scootaloo knew him well enough to know he was blushing beneath his coat. “Before you know it, it’ll be just as easy as that rainboom of yours.”

They shared a smile.

“Besides, since you’re getting better at it each try is taking longer, so there’s that, too. Come on. Time’s a-wastin’.”

Though happy for the compliment, she frowned. Less practice wasn’t something she looked forward to. He was right though, time was wasting. Without a second thought, she dashed toward the cloud.

Like clockwork, she looped over backwards, drew her legs in tight, and grazed her wings along its underside. She could have closed her eyes if she wanted, as the lighting built, but she braced herself for the coming struggle. It seeped in through the pores of her skin and sunk its teeth deep into every muscles of her being.

She hurtled toward the earth like a meteor, muscles tensed to retain its power, eyes blinking away tears that obscured the ground below. Just a little farther. The lightning’s dance within became more chaotic. Just a little. It tore at her skin from the inside like knives carving their way out. She twitched in response to the pain, and the lightning fizzled out in a shower of sparks.

With just enough time to pull out of freefall, Scootaloo landed on the snow-crusted earth, then stamped it with a hoof.

Tyco landed beside her. “Scoot, what’s wrong?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. I haven’t gotten any farther in the last two months.”

“What do you mean? You’re doing great! Don’t you see how easily you get right into it? You just gotta keep at it like you did your rainboom.” He put a hoof over her shoulder. “You’ll get it in no time.”

Though she wanted to believe him, Scootaloo wasn’t so sure. She knew how overly supportive he could get, especially when considering variables like the rain. Whether or not his gibberish about rain and retention was to be believed made no difference. His storms always poured the same, making his efforts for comfort in that regard moot.

On all others, though, his case fell short of convincing. The beginning was easy, not the ending. Somehow, he just didn’t see that. Whether it was that she couldn’t do it or was simply doing it wrong, she couldn’t tell. All she knew was that she hadn’t.

Maybe she was doing it wrong. What a great feeling that was after so many practices. All for nothing! She started for home.

“You’re done already?” Tyco asked.

Scootaloo didn’t bother replying. She flew home, head hung low. It was her sonic rainboom all over again—those eternal days and nights out in the meadow beating her head against a wall in hopes it would eventually tumble down. Though it did, and she had overcome such a great obstacle, this was different.

She never expected lightning calling to be so tedious, so exact. Her dreams and his stories made it sound like a clap of the hooves. Fighting it head on, though, was an entirely different matter. This wall was taller, thicker. It didn’t budge, unlike the last. And that one only budged because she damn near killed herself doing so.

The precision this one would take was beyond sight, a mountaintop hidden in the clouds. But she needed to do it, had to. There wasn’t time for wussing out.

That thought hit her like a punch to the gut. The little motivation she had left to fly that day evaporated. She landed on their doorstep, a complete failure.

She tried the door handle, but it was locked. A grunt escaped her before a hoof rested itself on her shoulder.

“Hey, come on. It’s alright.” her father cooed.

In no mood to listen, she looked away until he opened the door. She dragged her hooves across the living room, toward her own.

“Scoot.”

She stopped, staring at the floor.

“We’ll try again tomorrow, okay?” His voice was soft, assuring.

A moment passed. Scootaloo nodded. They would try again tomorrow.

Author's Note: Thanks to Belligerent Sock for his review of this chapter.]

[Onward and Upawerd!]

XVII - Lightning Calls

Lightning Calls

One month remained.

Rain poured over the meadow from obsidian clouds like a flood from endless caverns in the sky. Unlike her father’s, they were natural—by the Everfree’s standards, anyway. To Scootaloo their size and ferocity made her father’s storms look like gentle Spring showers. She smirked at the thought, but then squinted at the sky, a tremor in her heart that matched those within the black, swelling bellies above.

She was alone in the cloud-darkened early afternoon—as it was long before her father returned from work. Time ticked away too quickly in the past months, and results had been scarce. Risks had to be taken. And they had been taken many times before. With too much at stake, she lifted herself from the drowning meadow and into the sky.

The blanket above flashed its warning, much grander than Scootaloo was used to. You can do this. She pulled into a loop beneath the cloud, her wings connected with the its underside, and the twinge of lightning worked its way down into them in a building flame. It engulfed her like hellfire and turned the icy, stabbing rain to steam when it touched her skin.

Relax.

She fell away from the cloud, centered on the thought in defiance of her body’s screaming protests. Rain droplets that fell beside her slowed, then climbed into the sky above as she outpaced them, tugging filaments of static away from her.

The lighting within her thrashed about like a frenzied tiger against the bars of a cage. She clenched her teeth and went rigid to contain it, but the bars bent.

The lightning coiled out of her skin like a wire that had been wrapped tightly around a spool and then suddenly released. Scootaloo grunted. She flicked her wings to expel any lingering traces of lightning that still hid within.

She let her heart settle in her chest by circling just above the treetops. Calling lightning wasn’t so much a physically grueling trick as it was mental. As her father had put it long ago, dancing with death was unnerving, to say the least.

A sudden, deafening clap sent her tumbling into a tree. Branches lashed at her like whips as she fell through, snapped and torn down with her. Mud squelched against her chest, cold and wet, and sucked the wind from her. She gasped like a drowning foal breaking water, heaving in spite of a stabbing pain that refused her lungs air. Lightning played brilliant reflections off the water that bogged the forest floor, snapshotting an enormous tree split down the middle by the lightning strike. It creaked and moaned under its weight like a dying pony bewailing its fate before crashing to the ground, mere hoofsteps from where she lay.

Despite the profoundness of it, she felt nothing; the wanton destruction of her training was normal—routine. She sat up and giggled at that fact, humoring the thought of when she would be the unfortunate victim.

The sky lit up to a crash of lightning exploding another tree, and she took it as a signal to try again.

Her muscles complained, and her brain cried out against the coming torture. But she knew better than to listen. Giving in to their calls was weakness. Doubt was her worst enemy, and every word they spoke dripped with it. Ignoring them was her only option for success.

She gritted her teeth and blasted into the sky. The ground came close, but the lightning wrenched itself from her as if it had a mind of its own. Scootaloo roared as loud as the thunder itself.

Why was she even out here? It was hopeless.

She landed in a puddle of mud beneath the elm to collect her saddlebags. The feeling of drenched cotton around her midriff was uncomfortable, but the taste of carrying it in her mouth would have been more so: strapping it up already left a nasty aftertaste in her mouth.

Wings poised to carry her home, Scootaloo looked toward where Ponyville would have been if not for the thick curtain of rain. Visions of home swept through her mind, but were hardly appealing—not right now. She needed progression, not comfort. Yet, at that moment, comfort was exactly what she longed for most.

She looked up at the underside of the tree, the dark green that pattered like a thousand drums beneath the rain. Droplets here and there dribbled down into little puddles at her hooves. She gazed into one and saw herself staring back through the ripples. Teeth clenched, she stamped a hoof into it, but then closed her eyes and sighed.

Patience. She repeated the word in her head, slow and steady—let it fill her. Focus.

She took a deep breath, held it, and let it go, raising her head to let a new dribble of icy rain run down her face and wash away the mud. The chill was beyond what she would have normally considered bearable, but it had a calming effect. It was out there—her mark was out there. She need only reach out a bit further and take it, just like the rainboom. The lightning would bow. She just needed to find out how.

A smile crept across her face and she turned to loosen her saddlebags, but there was the distant wail of a bell—four faint but distinct tolls.

Scootaloo snapped to. Crap! Her father would be getting off work soon. With haste, she shot through the blinding rain for Ponyville. She landed upon the Town Hall porch much harder than she would have liked, almost cracking the floorboards, but her timing couldn’t have been more perfect; her father had just stepped out the front door of town hall. He turned from closing the door and raised a brow at her. She returned a false smile. Hopefully, he wouldn’t suspect anything thanks to the rain over Ponyville itself.

“What’s up with you?” he asked, his tone belying the blank expression he wore.

“Just, uh, warming up some before you got out.” Her smile widened, strained. “Come on, let’s go!” she added while leaping into the air in hopes that excitement would help cover her tracks.

“Alright, alright, relax. I’m coming. I don’t know how you have this much energy.”

The rain intensified as they flew toward the heart of the storm over the meadow. Scootaloo was glad that he hadn’t suspected anything, but she could feel that he was worried, his face as grave as the clouds ahead were black. He had told her how much he disliked the Everfree’s clouds—too rampant, as he put it. It was for this reason that their practices had shortened over the last few months. And why Scootaloo chose to brave it alone without his knowing.

“This one’s pretty bad, Scoot,” he yelled over the rain. “It’s a lot worse than the ones before.”

Yeah, she knew that already, her heart beating fierce like a stampede of cattle. Alone it didn’t worry her in the slightest, but with her father present it was just the opposite for some reason. She did her best not to show fear.

The storm beckoned them in with a blinding flash. Thunder rolled away like a freight train into the artificial night as pockets of the cloud lit up in scattered frenzy—a gesture of loathing for the intruders it desired to end once and for all.

Scootaloo and Tyco steeled themselves against its gnashing teeth. They looped underneath in tight formation to tickle its underside, provoking the beast. It filled Scootaloo with its rage, the charge it spewed forth like the rain from its bowels. Lightning thrashed about inside with the fury of a tiger and the heat of flame. Muscles tensed to hold it fast. Steam wafted from her drenched, falling figure.

Hold it together! she pleaded her body. Come on! Skin and bone fought to contain the monster within. Teeth clenched. Silk-like threads of energy hissed between the hairs of her coat, tethering her to the droplets of rain falling beside her. They became thick like flickering, forked snake tongues reaching out to taste freedom.

Again.

The duo looped beneath again, stealing away the cloud’s power. Scootaloo wrestled with its spasms and jerkings, striving for a harmony to subdue the unseen flames. One. Ten. Twenty times. Still the storm refused to bow.

Hatred beyond reason resurged the torrent, doubling its effort to drown them out like sewer rats. But they were defiant—just as unwilling to submit. A particularly savage bolt laid waste to the forest below only brought them a moment’s pause.

Scootaloo wiped her bangs out of her eyes. A futile but compulsory effort. Her heart had settled after its initial panic of returning with her father. His finesse reassured her of his guardianship amidst the surrounding chaos. She gave him a glance, though could hardly make out his figure through the sheeted rain. Somehow, she sensed he was on edge—not for the danger that flashed about them, but for accomplishment. He was always optimistic, but equally realistic. With only a month until the auditions, there were cracks in his façade. It riddled his voice.

“This storm’s getting worse, Scoot,” he shouted nigh inaudibly over the rain.

Scootaloo nodded with little regard for whether or not he saw. It could get ten, a hundred, a thousand times worse than this for all she cared. Time was of the essence. And walls always fell if hit hard enough.

She shot upward to tackle her obstacle head on, but her father shouted again. “Scoot!” She stopped. He had come closer, close enough to see the concern on his face.

“This storm’s too strong to practice with right now! There’s too much rain to control anything! We’re not going to get anywhere! We’ll only get ourselves hurt!”

Or worse. She shook the thought away. Great success comes at great risk. She would never progress without putting her nose to the grindstone as she had the rainboom. But if his constant reminder of the rain’s effect on containing the lightning was true, then she needed to do something about that.

Memories of how pegasi scattered clouds over Ponyville flitted through her mind like leaves in the wind. They kicked and punched them into more manageable chunks. But that would take way too long. She would need something bigger—something to blast it all away.

A sonic rainboom might do the trick.

The rainboom she had done the day her father first showed her how to call lightning came to mind. The way it had blown a hole in the cloud like dynamite. That would work.

Scootaloo shot up through the cloud like a rocket for the moon. A cry from her father was barely noticeable over the roaring thunder.

She flew blind, the bowels of the beast darker than moonless night. Lightning lit the swells of vapor with malice. Just as quickly as she had entered, she broke free of the thunderhead. Contrails followed her into the high atmosphere like claws reaching up to drag their prey back down. She stalled above the sea of darkness and let gravity draw her into a swan dive.

The tearing wind was familiar upon her face, like icicles to her rain-soaked skin. The pain made her smile; she was on home ground now.

Almost instantly, the cone formed and narrowed about her. It began glowing with its own light—vivid purple—as it unravelled at her hooftip, playing off the swirling shadows of the cloud’s inner mass. She stared it down as she had that day so long ago, teeth gritted. Nothing would stand in her way.

The thread snapped. Everything fell away into black and white, and the resistance of the universe was washed away as if she had plunged headlong into an ocean. All was silent, except a faint hissing.

Over her shoulder, Scootaloo saw a gaping hole in the cloud expanding like a sinkhole into the clear grey of an afternoon sky. Lightning arced through the open space and skittered beneath the wound.

Below, the cloud was still intact, its bulk far too enormous for a single rainboom to have cleared. Sparks bounced around behind the veil and wormed their way past her. Some lashed out like snakes from invisible warrens. They sunk their teeth into the meat of her wings and wouldn’t let go.

She burst through the belly of the cloud to a thunder of its anger, and the world returned in sight and sound as she slowed to let the sound barrier reclaim her. Tyco met her halfway between ground and sky, and both landed in the marsh. His frown was as fierce as the cloud itself.

“What the hell was that about!?”

Scootaloo felt the pangs of his worry, but they were stifled by revelation. She shook herself from head to tail, sending sparks and rainwater helterskelter. Residual traces still glowed within her like kindling. She had been doing it all wrong from the beginning.

“Scoot! Listen to me!”

She knew the chastisement that would be waiting for her, but she had to try again. His shouts were again lost to the storm in her dash skyward. The crater her rainboom had made was slowly reforming, as if the curling, twisting lightning was a dozen needles sewing it back together.

Good. She would need more cloud to practice on.

Far above the anvil-head she flew. She paused in the thin atmosphere to gaze down at it, calculate her dive. An angle would give her the most time within the cloud, maximizing the charge she could draw from it. A moment’s focus prepared her, and she dove.

She started out in a nose dive to build initial speed, just enough for the cone to form as the beast swallowed her whole. Lightning ran alongside her on the other side of the veil like wolves behind brush waiting to strike. The faster she became, the more the cone narrowed, the closer they dared come. The cone flared purple with the power of a comet, and the lightning again nipped at her wingtips.

The world white-washed away when she broke the sound barrier, a fire building inside, slow and steady. Rather than riding upon the grace of air that was supersonic flight, she powered her wings harder, in hopes that higher speeds would draw more in.

Even in the blackness she could see and feel her sight smearing around the edges. The fire within her breast, separate from the thunder’s flames, burned like a furnace packed with dry leaves. It billowed out to wage war against the chilling rain and wrestle the thunder within.

She dared a glance behind her. Thunder danced like spider webs through the tunnel she had bored and swatted at her tail as if it were a toy. It was chasing her.

She tore free of the cloud, still gazing over her shoulder in hopes that it would follow. White like the fangs of a lion, it reached out from the hole, grappling with her tail and slowly inching downward to clamp its jaws around her.

Never had a smile so wide swept across Scootaloo’s face. Her heart fluttered. She refocused on the ground, seeing it grow large and defined, and the pony who stood gazing up at her. Though a small figure, she could see the wonder in his eyes, the suspense in his raised forehoof, the hope in his partly agape mouth.

All at once, everything felt right. The roiling flames inside her danced in chaotic harmony. The silence of the supersonic world rang an undertone to the hiss of her charge—her gateway to the divine. Black and white and shades of grey befriended the absence of touch. All was at peace in this hollow yet full dimension, this world of her design.

And it was hers alone.

Her smile cracked, slowly letting forth a giggle that had welled up from her belly—foalish and playful. She let it break free and sound into the silence of her world. It washed through her like a tide upon a shore, wetting the beaches of her desires.

It splashed upon the earth far below and receded to her ocean of life that she had only just touched with the tip of her hoof. She watched its ripple ride undiminished into the distance. Slowly, she pulled back from the waters, let the lesser world again take hold.

The thunder redoubled its roars, as if to make up for her deafness to it moments ago, and the ground lurched upward as color filled her vision. She spread her wings wide and thrust them earthward with a single, powerful stroke.

Lightning warped about her and snapped between her wingtips. It fired at the ground below and rebounded up through her into the sky. A hotter flame had never before touched her skin.

In an instant, before she knew what had happened, the cold chill of mud embraced her like a friend.

The rain poured. The wind blew. Scootaloo sighed.

The lingering traces of her world escaped on her breath, burning away like mist beneath a rising sun.

“Scoot!”

She blinked to, shaking her head, before looking up in the direction of her father’s voice. She was almost neck deep into the earth, unable to move her legs or wings.

“Scoot!” She felt a hoof plunge into the mud by her chest and wrap underneath. It heaved her from the sucking muck and brought her into the embrace of another hoof and a warm, albeit soaking wet, body.

“You did it, Scoot!” he said. “You did it! Haha!”

She did. She definitely did. The thought was almost mind numbing. For so long she had fought head-on against the lightning, only for the answer to lie in outsmarting it. Her father was able to do it one way, but she was not him. She was her own pony capable of her own abilities. If only she weren’t so stubborn, the idea might have struck her earlier, unlike the rainboom. But that didn’t matter; it was hers, as was the lightning.

Somehow, the rainboom and lightning felt intertwined, like they were meant for each other, designed as such—that her combined stunt wasn’t merely a fluke. Maybe there was more to it.

“Scoot...” His voice was low, laden with awe. His hug had evaporated into an absent hoof about her forelegs, which dangled in the air. She looked at him, and his face reflected his speech. He was staring at her flank. Slowly, as if her head resisted the motion, she followed his gaze.

Golden wings shone through streaks of rain-washed mud like an unearthed treasure. Their bases honed to a needlepoint haloed by a silver mach cone thick with futile resistance. It spread out toward her tail as hair-thin lines to envelop the wings, which fanned inward and seemed compressed by supersonic flight. Every feather was distinct from its kin, and grew in size and brilliance toward the wing tips like shining swords raised in victory. Scootaloo stared for what felt like years at what she finally came to realize was her cutie mark.

“I knew you could do it.”

She squinted up at him through the rain. His hair was matted down and dripping, coat just as worse for wear, but he smiled. It was a once-in-a-lifetime smile—brief in all its glory, but never forgotten. Such love and pride could never be washed away by the downpour of rain or future memories.

She would hold that smile forever in her heart.

And it was for that smile that she returned one; though, hers grew into a wide, mischievous grin. She wanted to see it again, and the only way to do that was practice.

She had a month to go, and a lot of work in between.

[Author's Note: Thanks to Belligerent Sock for his review of this chapter.]

[Onward and upward!]

XVIII - Transcendence

Transcendence

The day had arrived.

It came like any other. No grand orchestra or trumpet call heralded its arrival; there were no flags or banners waved in joy or celebration. Only the early morning sun and its light shining off wood and window bid it welcome.

The sun had only half risen when Scootaloo and Tyco took to the skies for Fillydelphia, and a warm, muggy tailwind hastened their flight. It would be hot this day.

They flew in silence, the only noise between them the whistling of the wind in their ears. Scootaloo desired concentration, and her father was more than apt to allow it. He wore a small smile, one Scootaloo would not have noticed if not for a chance look in his direction. It reminded her of the one Rainbow Dash had given her before her first 5K—almost devilish in its certainty. It made her own all the brighter.

The fields surrounding Fillydelphia were a sea of moving colors. Ponies swarmed like ants around stalls and makeshift marketplaces far below. Scootaloo remembered this from the last time she was here. It was as if nothing had changed—time had been frozen for a year and then thawed. Her eyes wandered toward the far end of the crowds, where a semblance of organization stood amidst the chaos. Specks of azure dotted the grass and clouds at the other end of the field, and she knew that was where she needed to be.

They didn’t waste a second getting there, and when they did, curious eyes followed. The whispers of ponies met their ears. “Isn’t that the Wonderbolt from forever ago?” “Is that his daughter?” “What’s she doing here?” Scootaloo huffed them away, keeping her head down.

The two skirted around a couple deep in conversation to see Spitfire, wearing a crisp, dark-blue commander’s shirt adorned with medals and ribbons, aviators resting on her forehead. Rainbow Dash sat beside her, empty eyes reaching for the far horizon. Scootaloo stopped in her tracks, her heart rooting her in place. A slow heavy breath escaped through her nostrils, and death simmered in her eyes.

Spitfire caught sight of the two. Curiosity steepled her brows, and she glanced at Rainbow Dash for a long moment before looking back at them with what felt like wary interest, the slightest smile turning the corners of her mouth. She turned to walk for another group of Wonderbolts, her eyes remaining on Scootaloo for a couple steps before shifting ahead. In that time, Rainbow Dash had only slightly lowered her head.

Scootaloo felt her stomach turn at knowing Rainbow Dash dared not look her way, as if such manners were beneath her. The urge to scream consumed her, but she held her tongue. Rainbow Dash would see soon enough.

“Don’t worry about her, Scoot,” Tyco said in her ear. “Just do what you do best and the rest is history.” He patted her on the head, and it was a long while before she was able to pry her glare from Rainbow Dash. He was right; she had to prepare.

“I’ll go get your cloud ready for you, and then I’ll be out there cheering you on, okay?” He gave her a smile worth all the medals of the world. “You’ll do great.” A ruffle of her mane, and he was off for a large cloud rolling over the nearby forest.

Scootaloo smiled as she watched him go. Thanks, Dad.

A soft wind drifted across the plain and she closed her eyes, listening to the bustling commotion of preparation. Shouts and catcalls rang over the sparse birdsong and distant cries of vendors selling their wares. Cut grass filled her senses with the rich dew of Summer. She released a sigh she didn’t know she had drawn and opened her eyes.

The far reaches of her memory served to recognize a hoofful of the competitors stretching and flying about. Many new ones filled the open field, one particularly noticeable dark-orange pegasus among them.

A cold vice gripped Scootaloo’s heart for an instant, but then melted away like ice to a flame. She walked toward Pyra.

No longer was she the filly Scootaloo had known. Grace had gifted her length of wing and leg, and hard work a subtle movement of muscle beneath the skin. Early adulthood had grown her cocky smirk into a spirited smile so cool and calm that it could have extinguished the wild flames of her mane and tail. Pyra passed this smile over her, and Scootaloo felt the heat of the morning relent, if only for a moment. She cocked her head, and a lock of orange shifted to hide an eye and the intrigue glowing within.

“Aren’t you a little small to be in this race?” she said.

The words were friendly, if not provoking. They had a ring to them that rode the line between coy and amorous, reminiscent of the last time they had spoken, though more mature. It held greater restraint on the undertones of competition that used to prowl like a wolf about its prey.

“You’re gonna find out real soon,” Scootaloo said back, trying her best to return the hidden threat. Pyra giggled, almost more of a chuckle.

“Tough words. I beat you last time...” She blinked, and it was as if a spark flashed within her eyes. “Think you got what it takes?”

Scootaloo certainly had what it would have taken to put a hoof between her eyes, but she let the pot simmer and only gave a half grin.

Pyra laughed. It made Scootaloo feel as if worms were wriggling over her neck.

“Good luck,” Pyra said as she turned to leave, her smile lingering upon Scootaloo a second longer.

Scootaloo watched her go, watched her long, curled tail sweep back and forth like fire trying to torch the ground in her wake. She had her work cut out for her, even with what she had up her sleeve.

A shake of the head cleared away her worry. She took a deep breath. Starting box. With an objective in mind to stave off uneasiness, she headed for the nearest unoccupied square painted in the grass. It was freshly made, the noxious smell of spray paint lingering in the air. It mingled with the scents of grass and light humidity. She filled her lungs with them.

The grass was soft and lush beneath her. She ground her hooves into it to listen to the ripping and feel the cold touch of dirt, an unconscious but comforting feeling. An ant bobbed on a blade of grass in the slight breeze. She took another deep breath. Focus.

Here, other racers stretched and flew in near silence, hoofsteps and wingstrokes the only sounds heard. They were focused, none of them even noticing her age let alone existence. Chiseled and lean, they stood as specimens of athletic perfection. Not an ounce of excess fat or skin clung to them. They were beings of victory, built and bred. And they were many. You’re out of your league.

She closed her eyes and listened to the deafening sound of silence—true professionals readying themselves for their moment of glory, their purpose in life. Good luck...

She released a shaky breath and took another. It all came down to this. Her legs quivered as she searched within for something—anything—to cling to. Applebloom. Sweetie Belle. Dad. Friendly faces, but they vanished as quickly as they appeared to leave her alone. Then she paused, her breath catching in her throat. The sonic rainboom. Lightning calling. Everything that had lead her to this very moment. All the pain, sadness, and exhaustion she had endured to be here this day. She looked at her cutie mark, and the tension in her heart laxed. She began to grin at it, then at those around her. They’re gonna need it.

“Alright! Listen up, all of you!” Spitfire wore a stern glare that she swept over the competitors, many of which shrank as it passed. It landed on Scootaloo, pausing for a split second before continuing down the line. Her curiosity from before showed like a crack in a suit of armor. “First thing’s first. You’ll all line up in a starting box and wait for my signal. When everypony is silent and still, I will blow my whistle and the race will begin.

“As you can see, this is no ordinary course. This is five thousand meters of hell designed to test your limits in speed, agility, and control.” Spitfire glanced casually up at a maze of clouds above. The crowd began to whisper, some nervously, others dismissively. “Most of you won’t even qualify.” Spitfire’s eyes flicked in her direction.

Scootaloo felt them trying to drill into her, break her, but she stared right back. She had her cutie mark.

Spitfire scanned the crowd one last time. A grin curled the corners of her lips, and she huffed with satisfaction. A quick nod and she took flight for a large cloud above, where the other Wonderbolts sat waiting, Rainbow Dash included.

Scootaloo looked her dead in the eye, but Rainbow Dash wouldn’t meet her gaze. She was a statue upon the cloud, staring into nothingness ahead of her. Scootaloo gritted her teeth and spit her disgust into the grass.

“Racers to your marks!”

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them to the white strip before her. She set her hoof just behind it. The air became still, as if holding its breath. She let the familiar numbing focus fill her mind like it had every race before. Just another race. Another gold for the pile. It was her and the sky, and nopony else.

“Set!”

The world went silent. Her heart beat aloud its fear and excitement. Twice it pumped in a soundless second, waiting for the call. Her eyes rose to the labyrinth above. Hooves ground themselves into the earth.

“Go!”

A whistle pierced the air to thunderous cheers and an explosion of wings. Bodies bumped and jostled for space in the flurry of feathers all around, the heat of their breath sticky in the humid air.

Not a hundred meters above, a cloud marker signalled a sharp right through a tunnel of cloud. Scootaloo dashed ahead to win the first turn, but others had the same idea. The pack collapsed upon itself like a wave breaking overtop a wall. In the chaos, a blue stallion shouldered her into the marker. Its dense vapors broke slowly as if she had flown through a feather pillow, and clung to her like molasses.

She shook her head to dissipate the rage swelling in her bosom. A death glare had to suffice for the moment. She would catch him soon enough.

Little distance was there between the marker and the tunnel, making catching up impossible. Scootaloo looped around the outside of the pack to take a spot at the end and avoid the skirmish. The heavy breaths of the racers echoed within the tunnel like a thousand steam engines, and the sun disappeared for a second before piercing the darkness at the far end.

A loud whistling overpowered the breathing, slowly becoming like the roar of a tornado. One by one, the racers were launched out the end of the tunnel sideways. Scootaloo felt herself instinctively slow, body reared back slightly, teeth clenched. No time for fear! Go!

She surged her wings to make up for the lost second and clear the end of the tunnel. A wind stronger than the largest tornado she had ever seen or made blasted her from the side. She shut her eyes to the onslaught, feeling her body torn from the path she desired. Earth and sky became one and a cloud caught her in the face just, as she had taken a breath, and filled her lungs with vapor.

The missed breath forced a fit of coughs against all desire for air, the world around her a spinning terror. Deep within her mind, a plea for control cried out against the screams of instinct to panic. Wings became stiffer than boards in response. She twisted them with the wind, catching the swirls and eddies and whips that sought to destroy her, and pulled out of her spin just above the heads of a spectating crowd.

Their cheers and jeers were lost in the distance almost instantly, Scootaloo’s gaze already fixed to the next cloud marker above, and the lead racers already banking around it. Her cheeks burned hotter than molten glass, but she quickly redirected the energy to her wings.

Gouts of flame wound their way through her muscles in the climb, egging her further on. The race was too far ahead to compromise with her body’s cries for pace. Far above the cloud marker waited, pointing to a series of dive rings that corkscrewed toward the earth, already filled with a blurred rainbow of bodies.

Scootaloo forced herself to the peak of the dive in hopes of using it as a breathing point. Parts of the rings had been warped and vaporized by the speed of those ahead. The world pulled taut in her eyes as she gave a single surge of her wings into the corkscrew.

A tip of a mach cone formed at her hoof. The thought of a sonic rainboom now was tantalizing—an easy gap closer. But it would lessen the impact it would have in the second round, and the loss of agility would prove deadly at the end of her dive, where a cloud arch on top of a hill marked an upturn toward a distant helix. She blinked away wind-shorn tears.

A pink pegasus was the first of three racers she caught in the dive. All gave incredulous looks, barely seen out the corner of her eye, forcing a brief grin before flaring her wings to take the upswing as sharply as possible. Blood flooded her legs to bursting, a shadow fell over her vision, and an odd feeling of detachment washed over her.

Time slowed, and something rang in her ear.

Before she could understand what was happening, the world snapped back like a rubber band. She took a breath before noticing one of the pegasi overtaking her. She gritted her teeth.

The two paced neck and neck into the sky toward the massive helix. Pyra was distinct among the pack just nearing the base, the flames of her mane like a spark to its fuse. The pack was halfway up when Scootaloo reached the helix.

She banked inward to ride an unseen upcurrent that followed in the pack’s wake. The wind picked up speed, pushing her onward, pulling her forward. The pegasus flying abreast fell away as if Scootaloo alone felt its effects. Stragglers dropped back one by one in the dizzying spiral.

At the helix’s peak, Pyra arced her head as she flew inverted over the center. A goading flame roared in her eyes and would have billowed smoke from the wide grin that plastered her face. She and the pack were gone over the top in less than a second, but the sight burned like an afterimage of the sun.

Faster.

Numbness worked its way through Scootaloo, starting in her wings—a concordance of the lava in her veins and the air in her lungs. A daze filled her head like honey, vision hazed just slightly, mind slipping into self awareness.

One more section...

She cleared the final spiral of the cloud structure and dove over the side for an immense fog that covered the green of the earth. The tail end of the middle pack had just entered as she surged into the unknown.

A dense chill wrapped about her like a wet blanket. Noise faded away into distant echoes and far off gusts of wind, a low howl and her heartbeat pervading the broken silence.

Lightning ripped through a swirl of vapor like a wolf leaping for the throat. Scootaloo skirted to the side just in time, the electric heat searing the hairs of her underbelly. Before she recovered, a cloud marker suddenly appeared in the fog, pointing left, deeper into the invisible labyrinth. She cut a near-right angle in the nick of time. In the half second after, she allowed herself a sigh of relief, then gritted her teeth. Without sight, sound and reflexes would have to guide her.

A crosswind started blowing from the left. It grew in strength as she barrelled through the maze, forcing her to fight it. But compensating left her wingspan tilted, her heart beating desperation and nervousness, as a sudden change in wind could send her wildly off course. The instinct seemed to have been shared by a hooffull of others, who either dared for headway or slowed for control. Those without the guts to fly against the wind she passed within seconds.

At the end of the long straightaway, the fog relented enough to reveal a curved, half-tube of cloud that formed a hairpin turn back into the dense vapors. She banked hard, forcing every ounce of energy into her strokes to maintain speed through the turn.

There was a scream and a crack of lightning. The veil at the end of the turn became engulfed in a swirling bolt of lightning and was sucked in by a vortex of mist and shadow. Scootaloo flared her wings to escape its pull, but was caught in its grasp before she could flee.

Grey swirled and roared the rage of a vengeful lion as it threw her every which way. Faster than it had happened, she felt herself launched out the other end of the vortex. Instinct stiffened her wings as lightning flashed in the unseen distance.

She heard the hiss before it struck.

It leapt from shadows and eddies of cloud. Hundreds of bolts screamed as they shot past and back into the nothingness beyond. The fog slowly formed a tunnel that disappeared around a bend. Blindly, she fired down it, spiralling and looping to avoid the screaming lightning.

The tunnel wormed a chaotic path far into the unknown. A pair of racers fought for room in the narrowing tube ahead. Excitement coursed through Scootaloo at the sight and redoubled her speed. She looped up and over them, smirking at an expletive one of them seethed.

But her grin was short lived as the tunnel came to a dead end before she could react. She burst through the fog and was immediately caught in an upward draft. A hiss and flash above caught her eye. A quick surge of her wings snapped her to the side just as the bolt tore past, but was thrown tumbling sideways by a cross-sectional jetstream.

The two racers overtook her in the maddening spiral, they themselves collected and in control. In the split second she had to look them in the eyes, she saw nothing but contempt.

Silence returned to the world around her by the time she caught the wind beneath her wings and rode the jetstream through the fog that quickly brightened with the day it tried to fend off.

The sun blinded her as she burst from the labyrinth, its thick contrails vaporizing in the brilliance. Through squinted eyes, she saw the two stallions, and the remainder of the pack not twenty meters ahead of them. Pyra was in the lead by a nose, just crossing over the cloud marker signalling the dive to the finish.

Scootaloo was far too behind to work into a final sprint. She had to go—now. Come on, wings! The last reserves of sanity propelled her forward through gritted teeth. Grunts and heaves for air came loud from the two stallions as she overtook them just before the dive. Their struggle added to the impending victory that throbbed in her chest, gave an extra flair to the final stroke overtop the marker.

If the wind wasn’t already roaring in her ears, it was now.

The finish line sat like a speck upon the distant earth, growing ever nearer around the frames of the final three racers ahead. Their tails billowed in the wind to mime inextinquishable flames, Pyra’s the most vibrant. Her body undulated slightly with each wing stroke, a signal she had not yet kicked, still had some speed hidden up her sleeve.

Third place fell off pace, his fading wheezes audible even over the wind. Scootaloo came abreast of second, a thin mint-green mare with an eye that snuck a glance at her approach. It blazed death over the hissing of clenched teeth and trailing saliva. She took Scootaloo’s pace, the will to win filling her every move.

They came abreast of Pyra, who looked at them for only an instant. Concentration held her face stoic. For a fleeting moment, Scootaloo believed her to be spent. But a faint grin on Pyra’s face denied her hopes.

The mare shot forward as if launched from a catapult. Scootaloo grunted away the pain stabbing at her sides. She clenched her eyes shut to wring out the last drops of energy. A cone began forming at the tip of her hoof, but she held fast, not wanting to risk its desired shock value in the second round.

She again came neck to neck, the grin on Pyra’s face as calm as ever. Its impossible coolness sparked what could only have been fear in her heart. A cone started forming at the tip of Pyra’s hoof. No.

There were no second chances, no second places. No exceptions.

Scootaloo kicked one final time to force her cone to its breaking point. The thread unravelled and snapped to leave the pain of the world behind. The finish line and its spectators wizzed by in a blur of grey as she tilted her wings to shoot skyward.

She could see and feel their cheers and awe-struck gazes. The triumph she had felt after her very first 5K flooded back like an undammed river. She smiled, letting the world return to color and sound, craning her neck back as she looped upside down to look for her father. He was no more than a tiny speck among the crowd, but his distant grin shone bright like the sun. None of the others mattered.

A laugh, filled to the brim with pride, escaped her as she glided toward the coolers behind the finish line. The cheers had died down to whispers and murmurs by the time she landed, her smile now contained.

“That was pretty cool,” came Pyra’s voice after a moment’s daze.

Scootaloo turned to meet her eyes. Even in defeat, they were cool and collected.

She was walking past her for the water coolers. “Can’t wait to see what else you got.” A wink, a turn ahead, and she was already chatting up a Wonderbolt tending the coolers.

Scootaloo shook her head. How Pyra was so carefree all the time was beyond her. It was like she had no reason to be there, simply was. Whatever the case, it was hers to deal with.

Flanked by two Wonderbolts, Spitfire landed not far from where Scootaloo stood. She cast a curious eye over Scootaloo before turning to one of her attendants. He saluted and took flight for the fog.

Spitfire walked slowly forward, eyes toward the finish, calculating, analyzing as the remaining racers finished. The thoughts training through her head were hers alone to know, but the way she held her shoulders high spoke volumes of her confidence. She stopped in the middle of the finisher’s box and waited until all were accounted for.

“I’d like to congratulate you on a job well done,” she said, her voice a note higher than usual, either genuine or out of surprise. “This wasn’t the fastest bunch overall, but it’s the first to have nopony drop out in the middle of the race. That said,” —her voice returned to its normal bark— “we already know who our candidates are.” She scanned the group with a stone-like gaze, mentally culling the herd.

“Blink, Shiftspark. Both of you showed keen awareness in the fog maze. You’re through.” The blue stallion that had shoved Scootaloo and a brown mare blinked wide, then grinned and sighed relief respectively.

“Jetstream, Torque, Far Flung,” Spitfire said. “You three had great acceleration—something I like to see in recruits. You’re in.”

Scootaloo glanced up at the clouds—where most of the Wonderbolts sat watching, searching for Rainbow Dash—eager to see the look on her smug face. The mare sat on a mid-hanging cloud, tail spilling over the side. Her face was blank, eyes hollow and glazed.

“As is custom,” Spitfire continued, “first, second, and third place are automatic qualifiers.”

Scootaloo huffed and lowered her gaze back to Spitfire.

“To the rest of you, better luck next year.” There was a general murmur of disappointment among the unchosen, but all began dispersing. “Qualifiers, follow me.” She took flight.

The group followed her out to a clearing, where newly-laid grass failed to cover the scars of last year’s auditions—gashes and divets pockmarked the entire area, a brighter green than the rest. The Wonderbolts gathered to the side, just within a bright-orange fence that circled the clearing. Earth-pony spectators crowded around outside, clamoring for a front-row view, and pegasi made high clouds low with their piled weight. All was strangely quiet.

Spitfire wheeled around on the racers. “Alright.” Her voice echoed off the rolling hills and nearby forest. “We will begin the second phase of the auditions momentarily. Soarin, will you please explain.”

The stallion named Soarin stepped forward. He was impressive in his full flight suit, goggles secured tightly over what could have only been a stern, practiced gaze. He cleared his throat.

“Ever since this team was founded, the Wonderbolts have always striven to improve upon perfection. We look for only the best to add to our ranks, and their stunts to our repertoire. The second phase of the auditions is simple...” A small smile cracked the corners of his lips. “Wow us.” His smile was contagious, spreading to the other Wonderbolts gathered, Spitfire included.

“Simply put,” she said. “Now let us begin. Ascending order. Blink, you’re up first.”

The stallion reared back at the mention of his name, eyes wide. He recovered quickly before nodding, and was almost an invisible speck against the sky in a matter of seconds.

Scootaloo watched with rapt attention, analyzing every movement he made. She had her ace in the hole, but that was no excuse to brush aside the competition. But it was as Blink began his first dive that she noticed Pyra sitting next to her, eyes skyward but absent—as if she was waiting for the right moment to speak. That time came just as Blink finished his routine of downward spirals through cloud rings to roaring applause.

“Nice rainboom, by the way,” she said, the usual hint of mockery or challenge absent from her voice. Something else had taken its place.

“Thanks,” Scootaloo replied after a moment, not expecting the compliment.

“Just so you know,” Pyra said, “I’m sorry for everything that happened.”

Scootaloo raised a brow at her. Her tone hadn’t changed, was still edged with an unknown quality. Scootaloo couldn’t read her.

Pyra met her eyes, and for once there was an emotion within hers that Scootaloo had never seen: sorrow. It tensed the very tips of Pyra’s brows, the slightest of winces attempting a smile beneath them. “With you and Rainbow Dash, I mean.”

Scootaloo’s brow would have raised further if it could. “What do you mean?”

“I...” Pyra looked away.

Scootaloo mirrored the gesture. “What do you care, anyways?” she said venomously.

A single laugh, soft and knowing. “Because... we’re kinda in the same boat.” Scootaloo didn’t respond, waiting for her to continue. Pyra took the hint, and nodded at Spitfire at the far end of the enclosure. She was glaring their way and held her gaze upon them for a long while before shifting it above.

“Spitfire and our dad have always hated each other,” Pyra said, “something about her mom and him.”

Scootaloo glanced back. “‘Our dad?’”

Pyra chuckled and shook her head. “Yeah. Spitfire and I are sisters. Well, I mean, half sisters. I was his golden girl, though—treated me pretty much like I was his only.” She shrugged, letting the noise of the auditions punctuate her words. “He always wanted me to join the Wonderbolts, and he even tried getting me in through her.”

She laughed again, derisively. “Like that would have helped, anyways...” She looked into the sky, where the white stallion named Jetstream was circling about. Cheers of the crowd surged over them and ebbed into tense silence, ready to rush over them again at a moment’s notice. Scootaloo shifted on her hooves, watching the stallion, unsure what to make of this outpouring.

“Of course,” Pyra continued, “she told him no every time. Eventually made Dash train me when she first joined just to get him to shut up. And she’s a really great coach, too—best I’ve ever had.” There was silence.

“It was always you, though.” She turned to Scootaloo, smiling.

Scootaloo looked her in the eyes, ears half-swivelled toward her.

“Every day she complained about something I was doing wrong, always comparing me to you. ‘Just you wait,’ she kept saying to me.” Her smile began phasing through Scootaloo, into a distance not measured physically. She cocked her head in a half-shrug and looked down at her hooves. “And, well, I guess we both know the next part. I don’t know why she did that, but I figured you should at least know what I do. And...” she shrugged again. “Now you do.”

The crowds roared in a frenzy, almost deafening, as the two let their own silence build between them.

“I guess I’m just sorry for screwing up ponies’ lives like I usually do.”

“Pyra!” Spitfire barked. “You’re next.”

Pyra looked up from her slump, ears perked forward, shoulders suddenly squared. A fire absent from her eyes rekindled itself to a roaring blaze. Spitfire was impassive. The half-sisters stared each other down for a long second. It was only broken when Pyra cracked a smile, turning it to Scootaloo. “Well, here we go.” She spread her wings to take flight.

“Hey,” Scootaloo said.

Pyra stopped and looked over her shoulder. Scootaloo grinned. “Kick some flank.”

“Oh, hey, don’t be jinxin’ me like that,” Pyra said, forming a mischievous grin of her own. She laughed away the worries of her world, and Scootaloo felt them breeze by with the gust of her wings. Out the corner of her eye, she watched Spitfire gaze upward with intense zeal.

The same boat, huh?

Pyra flew high toward an empty cloud sitting in the middle of the audition space. She brought it low for all to see more clearly. Slowly, she flew around it, punching and kicking, condensing the cloud until it was less than half the size it once boasted.

A grin, and a glance skyward. She shot above for another. It too was brought down, made to envelop the thick mass of the first cloud. Whispers pervaded the crowd like brushfire.

Before they had a chance to rise to shouts and cheers of anticipation, Pyra was already far above, stalling into an inverted swan dive. She beat her wings for speed, barrelling toward the cloud with all her might. Gasps rose from the crowd as she neared.

Headlong into the cloud she plunged, the puncture point sucking the cloud into itself. It billowed out the sides like the one so many months ago, and Scootaloo braced herself for what was to come.

Pyra burst out the underside of the mass, her legs wrapped around the dense, inner cloud. She clicked her hind hooves together, and the vapors trailing from both the ball in her hooves and cloud ignited.

The sonic boom of the cloud’s eruption set many of the spectators on their hindquarters, the remaining few shielding their eyes from the blinding light and scorching heat. Scootaloo stared undeterred, the blaze before her nothing compared to the light of a mach cone. But seeing Pyra carrying the second cloud as it burned in her grasp loosened her jaw.

Pyra’s face was set in a staunch grimace, whether by pain or determination or both. She clenched tightly to the sphere as it blazed like a hot coal to leave a glowing trail of flame and ozone in her wake. She pulled upward toward the sky in a wide arc and at the peak of her climb, released the cloud and kicked it like a soccer ball. It soared far above like a flare into the heavens that were cast into shadow by the false sun.

It sizzled into nothingness for a brief second, waiting, baiting the audience into desiring more. Their wish was granted when the night-like sky exploded in orange and yellow. It swirled on its axis as colossal tails of flame spun outward, spewing forth their power into the open sky. And just like that, the miniature suns vanished.

The crowd began roaring its applause as Pyra landed, a smug smile on her face aimed directly at Scootaloo. The wind from her landing was cold on Scootaloo’s sweat-drenched coat. She walked over, the smile never leaving, but anticipated words of competition never leaving her mouth.

Scootaloo smirked. “Well?”

“Well, what?” Pyra asked, matching her expression.

“Aren’t you gonna tell me to top that?”

Pyra chuckled. “I know better than to go double or nothing.” She flicked her eyes at Scootaloo’s cutie mark, then winked. “Good luck.” She strutted off for the gathering of auditioners by the fenceline.

“Scootaloo.”

She turned to the voice. Spitfire was staring at her, impassive, before a faint grin cracked one side of her lips. “You’re up.” A din overtook the crowd, the high hisses of whispers and disbelief like knives swishing through the air. Scootaloo held Spitfire’s gaze, letting the expectation fill her. A brief glance to Dad and his winning smile among the many crowding the spectator clouds, and she was off.

The air was heavy with humidity, and equally hot. A sweat broke on her brow just as she reached a large thunderhead drifting over the nearby forest—the one Dad prepared. Piece by piece, she moved the monstrosity over the clearing. Each patch growled with the electricity it held within, and grew loud and threatening as she neared completion.

By the time the final piece was in place, thunder boomed off forest and hill alike. The crowd had stepped back from the fencing quite a ways, cloud beds pushed back twice as far.

The blood in Scootaloo’s heart vibrated with the power of her creation, and she couldn’t help the grin that showed through the face of concentration she tried retaining. With a final glance down at her father, she rose up through the beast.

It was cool within the cloud, like the morning after a nighttime Spring shower. Flashes of white went off like the cameras of paparazzi all around. She breathed deep of the momentary silence, readying all her worldly worries to be stripped away by the coming roar. The boom was louder than any she had ever witnessed, and it left her in an even deeper silence than the one before, pervaded only by a muffled ringing.

Above the cloud the temperature rose back to Summer’s scorching fury. The sun shone brighter, as if trying to fend off the creature encroaching upon its territory. Scootaloo laughed away the sweat and heat. She took a deep breath to fill every crevice of her lungs, held it, closed her eyes, and smiled it all away as she leaned over backward into a dive.

A small poof brought the coolness of her inner world back to reality, the winds building in her ears and mane. White lightning flashed to her left, and a bolt lashed out like a snake after its prey. Scootaloo stiffened her wing to dodge, the bolt grazing just against her stomach. She smiled over her shoulder with a “Hah!” and redoubled her surge earthward.

The cloud’s belly scattered as she broke free of its clutches. It roared in anger, striking out in blind rage with its streaks of power. None came close as she focused her sight on the tip of her hoof, where a mach cone formed.

Scootaloo gritted her teeth, pushing harder against the cone, but pulling back against her will. Her timing had to be perfect.

The cone snapped to a sharp point, reds and blues and yellows swirling up and down its length. Static sizzled about the tip of her hoof. Closer. It dissipated, tearing away the myriad of colors with it. Too close. She relented her assault, slightly, minutely. It answered with a widening cone. Come on.

Thousands of backlashes had prepared her for this moment. She would not be denied.

A white sheen overtook the swirls within, turning them shades lighter and eventually draining them utterly away. It flickered. Now.

Scootaloo clenched her wings to her sides as tight as possible. With all the effort she could muster, she tucked her head in and flipped just as the cone pulled taut against her hind legs to suspend her in the air for the briefest of seconds. Like an ethereal springboard, the cone backlashed to launch her skyward. A single powerstroke of her wings thrusted her through another cone and rent it apart at its seams.

The world went grey instantly.

Cloud and lighting alike parted for her as she blasted upward, wings surging with all their might to draw the vapors in around her. Heat worked its way through her wings, clawed into her chest, pumped through her veins. It twinged and leapt across skin and bone, building toward her backside and out her tail as she outflew the charge. A month of dedication had taught her not to look back, and trust it followed loyally, leashed itself deep within the core of the beast.

She burst through the top of the cloud and into the grey light of a dimmed sun. Exhaustion flooded its way through her like the fires of lightning. She spread her wings rigid, letting the life of the lesser world return for a short moment, a respite amidst the sea of distress. You’re not done yet.

When the first specks of color bled their way into sight and the cone returned her to its grasp, she shrugged off the dizzying fatigue and pushed back against its force, again aiming for the shining white and subtle flicker. Focus.

No less did the cone desire mastery than she, and it fought to keep her from its prize. Red traded with blue as both rushed overtop yellow and green fighting for a place within the gossamer. It need only defy a second longer. Control.

Again the cone blazed white in submission and flickered with a final chance for revenge. Scootaloo tucked her head in, and her body followed to be caught within the cone’s grasp. Lightning wrapped itself around her in the split second she remained motionless, and was abruptly blasted away by the force of another sonic rainboom.

Everything Scootaloo had left she put into her dive through the lightning funnelling up from the hole. It pushed back with all the force that nature could supply to drown her in its burning fury.

The smell of singed hair and ozone filled her nostrils, and a heavy blackness cut jagged scars up her foreleg. There was no distinct pain. Don’t panic.

Scootaloo felt the lightning coursing through her, so condensed that its leaping stings became like a coursing river. She felt its upward force slowing her, pushing her toward the cliff of her greater, colorless world. Her foreleg blistered instantly, blood oozing and boiling off in a steam that mixed with the swirls of cloud vapor. Fight it.

She pressed through the lightning and into the center of the cloud, plugging the fountain. Against her will, her eyes closed to defend against the heat both within and without. This is it! Everything now!

A final stroke brought her to the very core of the beast, and the lightning was stoppered completely. With nowhere else for it to go, it went the only way it could...

Out.

The entirety of the cloud surged away in a deafening explosion, a torrent of dazzling white spidering and arcing through air and fur. The upward force relented, and Scootaloo powered herself downward anew, the cosmic storm irradiating the sky that funneled in behind her.

Even in her enlightened world the lightning hissed and snarled like a thousand snakes, nipping at her tail with their fangs of white fire. It gave noise to what would have been the wind if not for her speed, chasing her toward the slate-grey grass below. She set her jaw, squinting to gauge the distance. Not a split second passed before she grinned. Perfect.

Scootaloo spread her wings wide and angled them to catch the wind like a propeller blade. The shades of grey all around blurred together like the lines of a record player. A cone formed about her as color drizzled its way back into reality upon the spinning earth. It warped about her, contorting to her dive and sucking the lightning into the vortex it channelled behind her.

At her speed, she held herself so for only a second before flaring her wings to brake. A cloak of lightning draped over her wings and back so great that it could have shrouded the sun.

Not twenty meters above the earth, she gave a single stroke of her wings. The cloak warped beneath her, connected, and surged for the ground. The earth cratered as if beneath a meteor, and then heaved skyward like a volcano erupting with dust and blazing grass.

Her hooves found purchase in the molten dirt, carving a deep circle as her body rotated. Razors of wind tore at her hide while fire channeled through her veins, the tornado bearing down upon her with its full, electric fury. She pulled her wings in to her sides to keep from being ripped in half.

Slowly, the strength that tried crushing her billowed out and away as the tornado collapsed upon itself. Lightning shot out in massive arches that ripped spiralled lines all around, dying down until there were only filaments of static dancing between blades of grass like dew-laden spider webs.

Scootaloo wrenched her hooves free of the dirt and stepped out of the crater. Little threads of electricity lapped against her legs like waves upon a bluff as she shook herself from head to tail and observed the crowd’s reaction. There were no cheers, only gaping faces.

A long moment passed before the awe wore off. At the flip of a switch, the crowd went wild. The sound boomed like cannon fire all around, an unending roar of excitement. But the only thing Scootaloo could do was look directly at her father. He was the only pony not moving in the crowd, a statue among wheat on a windy day. She did not need him to join in the chaos or shout her praise to the heavens. All she needed was the smile upon his face, and the pride glowing in his eyes. And she was content.

Scootaloo shook off the remaining static in a shower of sparks and walked toward him, head held high. Spectators, Wonderbolts, and newsponies rushed in to congratulate and question. They pressed in thick, shouting above each other. She pushed through the crowd, ignorant to their desires, only looking forward at Dad, who had landed at the far end of the clearing.

Pyra and Spitfire were sitting outside the crowd, both grinning at her. Scootaloo couldn’t help but smile back. Words needn’t be said. She returned her gaze to Dad, her smile still present, a lightness in her chest she hadn’t felt in many months, wanting nothing more than to wrap him in a hug and head home on the swell of his pride. But it was as she neared him that she noticed the crowd had quieted, and she stopped, sensing a presence behind her. Ahead, Dad’s smile turned grim.

“Hey.”

She took a breath. Rainbow Dash’s grated, hollow voice echoed in her head. A sound once so full of life, now frail like that of a withered mare on her deathbed. It trembled with emotions that she could only guess. She briefly closed her eyes, not turning to look.

There was a pause. “I just...” It came out as a sigh, as if the words were too difficult to say. “I’m sorry.”

Scootaloo didn’t respond, looking slightly, almost absently, down. Those were the two words she had desired most—needed like oxygen—since the Flier’s competition. But as they drifted across the space between, what to say didn’t come, only silence.

“There were a lot of reasons why I did what I did,” Rainbow Dash continued. “But I shouldn’t have... I know that.”

The words felt toxic in Scootaloo’s ears, a pathetic phrase meant to smooth over too deep a hole. The muscles in her legs tensed in rage, but she held herself together. “Then why?”

There was a sharp intake of breath. Scootaloo could see the wince as clearly as if they were face to face and imagined a turning aside of the head.

“I... I was humiliated...” Rainbow Dash said. “Angry that we worked so hard, and that it all just... fell apart.”

Scootaloo took a deep, silent sigh. What she had seen that day long ago as she lay upon the cloud was true, then—that Wonderbolt poking fun at her.

“It was my fault, though,” Rainbow Dash continued, voice quivering. “We didn’t practice at Cloudsdale’s altitude. That’s what threw you off.”

“So you knew I’d screw up,” Scootaloo spat to the side.

“No, Scoot, I didn’t. I swear. I didn’t think about it. I was... by that point I wasn’t thinking about Cloudsdale and how it was higher up. I wasn’t thinking about your tornado, or anything. I... wasn’t thinking about you...” The tone of the last sentence took an abrupt turn from defensive to submissive.

A breath clenched within Scootaloo’s lungs slowly laxed and was released. She couldn’t blame Rainbow Dash for that, not when she was just as worried about the auditions. She looked down at her hooves, at the scars and calluses of her labors.

They stood as a symbol for everything she had desired from the moment Rainbow Dash had kicked her to the curb, her dedication to a dream she lusted in realizing. How Rainbow Dash herself must have felt the same way becoming a Wonderbolt while still being there each and every morning, despite the exhaustion that could have jeopardized her success.

There was love.

“After the competition, I was angry.” Rainbow Dash took a hard swallow. “I...”—A hard breath—“was angry. I know I shouldn’t have been, even then, but I was anyways. I-I couldn’t control myself.

“I didn’t realize until later that I screwed up.” She choked on the final words, and the rest she forced out between sobs. “But I couldn’t go back on that—not after what I said to you. I didn’t... I didn’t know what to do.

“Scoot...” There was a pleading in her voice that Scootaloo had never heard before. The hairs of her forelegs stood on end. “I was scared.”

Scootaloo took a slow breath and held it in like it was the only thing she had ever owned. “You could have told me. All I wanted was you back.” The silence between them drew tighter than a noose. “You called me a nopony.”

“I...”—A trembling sigh—“I know. But I don’t know why. I wanted to take everything back, but since I thought I couldn’t, I just... I just wanted to get out of there—get away from everything.”

The admission danced through Scootaloo’s mind. Rainbow Dash turning tail, too afraid but desiring nothing more than to muster the apology on the very tip of her tongue. If only she had...

“I’m proud of you, Scoot.” Scootaloo felt her heart skip a beat. Her mind’s eye could picture the mare standing tall, a smile curled farther up one side of her face than the other, a glimmer in her eyes. “I always was. I just wish I had shown it.”

The image became a dejected frown hung low toward the earth, ears reaching for the grass, tears spotting the corners of her eyes. Hooves stepped closer, slow and cautious.

“Scoot... won’t you just look at me?” A hoof touched Scootaloo beneath the chin to turn her head, but she pulled away. It retracted, and others stepped back. Rainbow Dash gave a stifled gasp.

“Scoot,” she whispered. “Please... I just want to see you.”

Scootaloo’s mind raced through all the memories she had cherished between them. Her first flight over Equestria blended with the early morning workouts and flashing colors and ringing bells of the Fillydelphia meets. She felt the warmth of Rainbow Dash’s fur against hers, the beat of her heart against her cheek, joyful tears dribbling on her head as hooves clenched her tight. But Scootaloo didn’t turn to look her in the eye, gazing only at her father, who stood waiting in the distance. Her voice was slow and level.

“I don’t care.”

There was a trembling of breath behind her and a swishing of grass beneath the weight of a heaving body. Pity, scant and unaffecting, tugged at her, asked her to turn and grant the smallest of favors upon the one that had once stood as a beacon of worship. But there was no room left in her heart amidst the pain she had felt since her condemnation. So much loved, so much lost. But now, after all was said and done, there was nothing left to feel.

So she walked away.

Pleadings and mewlings of a forgotten pony faded into nothingness, but they lingered in her mind, grasping at her like vines of long-dead ivy. She moved slowly, marching through them toward her father. His expression was level as she came to a stop before him. He gazed at her, then over her shoulder.

“You ready?”

Scootaloo did not look up at him. She listened to his words, let them resound in her head, set in stone what was to come once she spoke. They carved her answer upon her heart.

“Yeah.”

He held his gaze past her for a moment longer before nodding with a grunt and taking flight for home. Scootaloo waited, feeling the newfound heaviness in her chest. Its presence was unwanted, but claimed—a weight she would have to bear for the rest of her life. But she would not bear it alone, her eyes rising to the figure climbing into the sky. Dad would be there, as he always had, to see her through and never again be taken for granted. She drew a sigh, let it to the wind, and spread her wings.

The vines pulled taut against her as she followed, but were snapped or uprooted and fell away, too brittle to hold her down. Not a tear was shed as she flew skyward to leave the broken trophy of her past where it would forever remain.

And she never looked back.

Author's Note

Patience is a virtue—something I kept telling myself throughout the writing of this story. I would like to deeply extend my thanks to all of you who have been here from the beginning. I hope the conclusion was well worth the wait.

I would like to once again extend special thanks to my editors, both past and present, for their immeasurable help in making this story what it is: Cassius, whose crass(ius (har har)) and brutal review style slapped me down for all my previously terrible writing and showed me how to be an effective author (I’ll admit, I had quite a few personal breakdowns while working through his comments—which is the mark of an excellent reviewer); Drakmire, for his help with the second rewrite of the story; Cold in Gardez, whose story, Maiden Flight, was the main inspiration for Transcendence (go read it; it’s brilliant Scootalove), and he himself always an author worth aspiring to be; SecondarySpine, for his witty comments and reviews of the middle chapters’ second rewrite; Sessalisk, for her help in the final version of chapter eight (without her, that one would have flopped harder than a fish out of water); and last, but certainly not least, Belligerent Sock, for his keen eye and fun sock-based humor throughout the final rewrite.

It has been a pleasure working with these people over the last ohgoditsreallybeenthatlong two years. I genuinely hope it has been just as great an adventure for all of you as well.

[Onward and Upward!]

≈≈≈×≈≈≈

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Teaser: Birds of a Feather...

Author's Note

The Sequel is out! Go read this chapter over here!

Teaser: Birds of a Feather...

Five minutes. That’s all Spitfire would allow. It was more than enough.

It had been just three days since Rainbow Dash last saw Scootaloo, but it felt like a lifetime. She had only those moments between events during the Wonderbolts Tryouts—those little glances her way, the tiny smiles she snuck. The separation was eating at her.

Scootaloo's house stood out among those around it, indistinguishable but for the countless times Rainbow Dash had spiralled down toward its little thatched roof. Instinct found her way to its door, not sight.

She raised a hoof, heart staying it, leaping for both joy and dread. Making the Wonderbolts meant everything to Scootaloo, but Rainbow Dash knew what it meant for the two of them. This would very well be the last time she’d see her for a long while.

But the longer she hesitated, the more she’d have to catch up with the team. Not that their gliding pace was anything intensive; she had to make a good first impression.

Still, she couldn’t bring herself to knock. All she could do was stare at the door. A solid, heavy door. She had grown fond of it, the short moments they shared before it swung aside to those large violet eyes that never failed to make all the extra training worth it. Those eyes wouldn’t be very happy when she’d have to break the news to her.

No, it wouldn’t be news. Scootaloo wasn’t stupid. She’d always known—just too brave to show it.

For all her hesitation, the door opened without her knocking. There on the other side stood Scootaloo, sleep still dragging down the corners of her eyes, staring up at her like the world had been turned upside down. Rainbow Dash could only grin before she felt herself tumbling over backwards from the force of a cannonball against her chest. She laughed, the warmth of the hooves wrapped around her worth ten Wonderbolts acceptance letters.

“I couldn’t wait to come show you,” Rainbow Dash said, casting a brief glance to her blue-and-yellow flightsuit. “I’m glad you’re happy, Scoot.”

Scootaloo grinned ear to ear. Sometimes, Rainbow Dash wondered what was running through the little filly’s head, what thoughts were behind that adoring smile. It had changed since they first met. Not a fanfilly smile anymore. Something greater. All Rainbow Dash knew was she would find a way to raise the sun itself if that’s what it took to see it.

“It means a lot,” she continued. What little of her mind cared for anything beyond that smile reminded her that time was short. She brought a hesitant hoof up against Scootaloo’s chest, and she loathed the gentle push she had to give.

Likewise, Scootaloo resisted the notion. She fought against the push but for a moment, though she stood. She took her time doing so, her smile turning for the worse.

It took all the strength in the world for Rainbow Dash to quell the lump in her throat.

Be strong. For her.

She managed a smile, and with it a hoof to bring those sad eyes back toward her. Don’t cry. Not in front of her. “What’s wrong, Scoot?” Like she didn’t already know...

Scootaloo looked down, body trembling. Her voice choked, and she pulled away again. “I don’t want you to leave.”

There it was. She had wished it would be easier, that Scootaloo, though surely wanting her to fulfill her dreams as a Wonderbolt, wouldn’t make a scene, would just be happy and nothing more. There was fear in her eyes—fear of a future apart.

Keep it together. Keep her happy. “Hey,” Rainbow Dash said, gently. She traced a hoof down Scootaloo’s cheek, cherishing its softness, committing it to memory for the days ahead. She drew those eyes back to hers and willed the best smile she could to her face. “This doesn’t mean I’ll be gone forever. You know I’ll see you at the Best Young Flier’s.”

Scootaloo seemed insistent on hiding her feelings. Again she turned way, but Rainbow Dash could see the tears rolling down her cheeks. “I just want to be with you.” She barely got the words out. Her heart was breaking before Rainbow Dash’s eyes, and she herself held the hammer.

Don’t lose it now. “I know it’s hard, Scoot, but we all have to grow up.” Rainbow Dash wiped a tear from Scootaloo’s cheek. She was a strong filly, but needed firm ground to stand on.

Be her rock.

“Can you do that for me?” Rainbow Dash asked.

Her words found a smile buried somewhere deep inside, and Scootaloo wore it bravely on quivering lip. “Of course. I’ll grow up to be just like you!”

Rainbow Dash laughed. Somewhere within herself she found the same smile, one that knew the filly standing before her had already grown up in her own way. The one she knew was more than she could have ever hoped to call a part of her life.

“No,” she said, soft, almost a whisper. “No you won’t. You’re not gonna grow up to be some dumb, old Rainbow Dash. You’re gonna grow up to be Scootaloo. The Scootaloo, the best flier in all of Equestria.”

Before she knew it, Scootaloo had wrapped her hooves around her, holding tight to never let go. Rainbow Dash felt the hot tears stain through her flightsuit. “I love you, Rainbow Dash!”

The lump surged up Rainbow Dash’s throat, eyes welling with tears she couldn’t show—not now. She prayed to Celestia for the strength to hold them back, and for the courage to spread her wings in the imminent moments she wished would never exist. Tyco appeared in the doorway, curious, but stopped upon seeing them, smiling.

She returned the smile for a moment, then closed her eyes, drawing it out with a deep breath the last few seconds she held Scootaloo in her hooves, gently stroking her mane, listening to the sobs. There was something comforting about them, that somepony hated seeing her go. Beyond friendship. Beyond admiration. Somepony cared about her. It made her hold Scootaloo all the tighter.

But as much as she wanted to stay there forever, the Wonderbolts were waiting. “Hey.”

Scootaloo quieted down, wiping her nose. She looked up, equally sad and happy.

“I have to go now, but just remember one thing for me. When you think you’ve got nothing left…” She nodded over Scootaloo’s shoulder, at Tyco. “You do.”

Tyco’s smile widened, leaning as he was against the doorframe. He returned her nod, a silent ‘go on’ on his lips, eyes bright with well-wishing. He would be there in her stead, like he always had. He shared a bond with Scootaloo that she could never replace, never outdo. No matter what happened to herself, it would get Scootaloo through this. That was all that mattered.

Time to go. The shorter the farewell, the easier. Rainbow Dash took off. She would need the momentum to keep herself from staying there forever. Over her shoulder, Scootaloo gave a few steps of chase, a beaming, hopeful smile on her lips.

“One month!” Rainbow Dash yelled. There was no return shout, but Rainbow Dash didn’t need one.

That smile said it all.

She turned ahead, feeling the cool tailwind lend her speed. The sun had risen fully in the east, and it shone warm on her back.

It was going to be a beautiful day. She could feel it.

Before her the world lay bare, waiting, expectant of the wonders she would accomplish, the name she would carve out for herself, the dream she would realize. Beyond the horizon lay Vanhoover, and all its crowds and adoring fans awaited the debut of this year’s new Wonderbolts.

A brief thought back to Scootaloo. That smile, wishing her the best of luck despite the distance between them, was all she needed—her own little solace she could hold close in the month ahead. Scootaloo would be there for her. And at that moment, as she kicked off from a cloud for an extra burst of speed, she shook her away to focus on the performance ahead.

It was the last time she had ever been happy.

IX - Within and Without

Within and Without

Waking early was not on Scootaloo’s to-do list the following morning. The magnificence of dreamland and the warmth of her sheets were top priority, and would have stayed so if not for an odd sense of wakefulness.

The first thing she saw was her nightstand, dimly lit by a not-quite-risen sun. She rolled over to look out the window. A light fog hazed her sight of the house across the street.

Scootaloo rolled back over and shut her eyes to return to the rocketship she and the other Crusaders had built to explore the far reaches of space, but her mind refused slumber. She sat up and sighed.

It was cool for a mid-summer morning, her window having been open to let in the breeze. Cicadas hummed outside. Morning dew scented her room. With nothing better to do, she got out of bed.

The hallway was warmer than her room, and had a stuffier smell to it. Homely, for sure, but nothing enticing like the breakfasts she was used to on weekend mornings. Dad never woke this early.

Much the same was the living room, silent but warm—cozy like a lit fireplace on a cold winter’s night. She looked around, mouth slanted aside, brow furrowed. Something felt out of place.

It wasn’t the couch on the far right wall, or the chair and ottoman beside the bay window. Her father’s spreadsheets were scattered across the coffee table like always. The kitchen was clean. The light filtering through the blinds held no answer. Scootaloo fidgeted at how uncomfortable she felt standing there not knowing why. Then she jumped at the realization.

She shouldn’t be there; she should be flying.

Waking daily at the crack of dawn for the last few months had conditioned her in doing so. Today was no different than yesterday, according to her body. Still, she had no reason to be up at this ungodly hour of the morning.

She looked about the room one last time. With a shrug, she trotted out the door.

It was like stepping back in time. The cicadas apparently realized she had come outside and redoubled their efforts from their hiding places in the grass and bushes. The trees swished with wind, telegraphing the breeze that soon ebbed across her face. It tugged at her. Up.

She followed.

It drew her over the thatched rooftops of Ponyville. The few pedestrians awake at this hour became like ants crawling through cracks of pavement.

Higher. Faster. The wind picked up speed, pushing her onward, pulling her forward. She gave chase.

Clouds drifted above, slow and steady. They were like massive, white beasts grazing in an endless field. She passed through them and their misty wetness.

Still higher. Still faster.

Scootaloo smiled as she felt the strain of flight in her muscles, gouts of fire spilling out from the furnace within her breast. She fed it the wind on which she flew.

Hours seemed to pass. Left. Right. North. South. Wherever the wind turned, she followed. It drew away sweat that formed on her brow.

Scootaloo grinned, pursuing its twists and turns and spirals and dives and climbs, ever nipping at its heels. The fires burned like rivers of lava through her veins.

She laughed. Full-bellied, eyes closed, wholeheartedly.

She opened her eyes. And she came to a stop.

A great mountain spired up from the distant earth like the finger of the god that had forged it. Its peak was a flat, rocky plateau.

Scootaloo landed. Despite the altitude, all was calm.

Jagged peaks reached above the far end of the plateau. Out in the distance, Ponyville sat like a mote of dust on the landscape.

Always keep your cool.

She looked down at the dirt beneath her. Hooves smaller than hers had scraped across it, off the edge.

Rhythm and efficiency.

Mountains squatted in the distant blue, beyond the unending sprawl of myriad greens that led to the mountain’s slate grey far, far below.

Have fun!!!

The ledge swallowed her. Downward she fell, through the roaring and tearing wind. The world smeared at the corners of sight. Death rose with open maw to meet her. Yet she remained calm. Every muscle relaxed, as if asleep. She closed her eyes.

She was at peace.

Slowly, her wings opened, and her body narrowed. She pulled her head back to feel the wind cut against her chin. Her body followed, and her feathers were spread wide. The wind quieted.

Breaths, soft and full, counted the lifetimes she drifted through the clouds, enthralled by the crisp, open air. Only after an eternity did she open her eyes.

The world lay bare its grasslands and meadows and forests and rivers to her. Its faraway mountains and distant clouds. Ponyville. Canterlot. Equestria.

A long-forgotten path sitting hidden among a forest came into sight. She landed upon it and turned toward the mountain. It stood alone, as did she. And she smiled.

[Author’s Note: Thanks to Belligerent Sock for his review of this chapter.]