I'm Afraid of Changeling (and other short stories)

by Cold in Gardez

Rating: everyone
Tags: Anthology, Main 6, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Spike, Cutie Mark Crusaders, Other
Length: 54271

Short sketches about being human. Except, you know, with ponies.

A collection of short stories. A little bit of this, a little bit of that. All, hopefully, about what it means to be human.

Except, you know, with ponies.

I'm afraid of Changeling: Drone 42531 is insecure and decides he needs to see a professional, whether or not the professional wants to see him. [Comedy] [Random]

One thousand and one: A family keeps a long vigil, regardless of the cost. [Sad]

Uncoordinated: Twilight Sparkle and the Cutie Mark Crusaders conduct an experiment. Accidentally. [Comedy] [Random]

But the Greatest of These: Every pony has to grow up someday. Every dragon, too. [Slice of Life]

Wonder: Pinkie Pie's farm is grey. The sky is grey. Her sister is grey. The world is grey. Until, one day, it isn't. [Slice of Life]

The Apple of my Eye: Apple Bloom finally gets her cutie mark. It's not what she wanted. [Comedy] [Random]

Bookworm: Twilight Sparkle finds an odd message in her books. [Dark]

At the End of the Day: Just what does Pinkie Pie do in her free time? [Slice of Life]

The House at the End of the World: Some promises shouldn't be kept. [Adventure] [Dark]

Pantone Perfect: Rarity and Twilight Sparkle enjoy a refreshing argument at the spa. [Comedy] [Random]

Medium Rare: In which we learn the secret, scarring horror that was Fluttershy's first experience with a dragon. [Comedy] [Random]

One Thousand Flowers: How long do gifts take to grow? [Slice of Life]

Tempest: A pegasus teaches his son the nature of the rain. [Slice of Life]

No Natural Predators: The days have grown longer as the world winds down. [Adventure] [Dark]

Six More Weeks: The first day of Spring is a wonderful time to be a pony. Just make sure you get the date right. [Comedy]

Derecho: A daughter starts a long quest in a forgotten city.[Slice of Life]

O Death, where is thy sting? Human Flash Sentry travels across the multiverse. [Adventure]

The Lotus Eaters: Heaven is different things to different people. A Friendship is Optimal vignette.[Slice of Life]

Tour of Duty: Duty can be lighter than a feather, or heavier than a mountain. [Slice of Life]

Nickel-Iron-Cobalt: An explorer discovers a world without life. Perhaps. [Anthro][Adventure]

(Based on prompts from the Thirty Minute Pony Stories tumblr. All written in 30 minutes – give or take – unless otherwise noted.)

Published 2013-03-08 04:10:02 UTC
Last updated 2019-09-13 01:14:17 UTC

One Thousand and One

I woke up alone. Again.

The cold bed and empty space beside me were hardly new. How many dawns does three years encompass? Over a thousand, I suppose. So for the thousand-and-first time I woke and ran my hoof over the rumpled sheets. Cold, yes, but still bearing a hint of her scent, of rain and the sting of ozone that filled the air before a thunderstorm. I pressed my nose into the spot and drew in a deep breath.

Time to go fetch her. I rolled out of the blankets and onto the soft cloud floor of our home and started up the stairs. Outside, through the windows, the night had just begun its long surrender to the day.

* * *

“Aurora?”

I thought she might have fallen asleep at her post, but her head lifted and turned toward me as soon as I called her name. Even in the faint light of dawn I could see the delicate sparkle of her mane, the vibrant blue of her coat. There were streaks of grey in there now, and perhaps a wrinkle or two around her eyes, but she was still as beautiful as the day we met.

Or more, I sometimes thought.

“Good morning.” She stood from her nest atop our cloud home, stretched, and stomped her hooves to get the blood flowing. Pegasi were not bothered by the cold, but being outside all night like that could still stiffen a pony’s limbs.

“Any sign?” I asked softly. I knew the answer already – the same as the past thousand dawns, but she needed me to ask, just as she needed to answer.

“No. I thought I might have seen him at one point, but it turned out to be a bird.” She laughed lightly, and Celestia help me, it sounded real. “Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

“Maybe. Get some rest.”

She paused to give me a peck on the cheek before descending the stairs back to the bedroom. I hoped the bed was still warm for her.

Behind me, the sun finally broke over the mountains, filling the valley below with pink light. The cloud tops caught fire and began to drift apart as they slowly warmed. For a moment, I could have believed them an ocean, and me a captain, searching for land.

I settled down in the nest and waited. It smelled faintly of rain and ozone, like the air before a thunderstorm.

* * *

The sun was well on its way to its zenith when I left the nest. Despite what Aurora thought, a few hours absent from my post wouldn’t matter to anypony.

Alto was already up when I reached the kitchen and was munching on some oat cereal she had fetched for herself. I gave her mane a quick nuzzle and poured myself a smaller bowl.

“Is mom asleep?” She looked up from her cereal after she spoke. A trail of milk dribbled its way down her chin.

I nodded. “She had a long night. She’ll get you from school, though.”

That was probably not true, but Alto knew nothing would come from correcting me. Instead she returned to her cereal, and we finished eating in silence.

I took the extra time to fly her to school. In the grand scheme of things, it was no loss.

* * *

Aurora was waiting when I returned. Less than four hours of sleep, but she was up on the walk . I could see the anger burning in her eyes even before I landed, and I steeled myself for another confrontation.

“You left,” she said. It was more an accusation than a statement.

“I had to fly Alto to school. She needs more time with us.”

Aurora snorted. “She’s tough, she’ll be fine. What if Cirrus had come back while you were gone?”

Then he would have woken you, and we’d have rejoiced, and it wouldn’t have mattered that I was gone for a few hours. I didn’t say it, of course. I couldn’t, not when she was in a mood like this. I bit my tongue and turned back to the ocean of clouds and resumed my watch.

Eventually she grew tired of staring at me, and mercifully left.

* * *

“Daddy?”

Alto’s voice jerked me out of my reverie. The sun was dipping toward the mountains again, and below us the cloud tops were tinted grey with the incipient night. I cursed myself quietly and turned toward her with what I hoped was a cheerful smile.

“Hey, angel. How was school?” Nevermind that we forgot to pick you up. Hopefully the flight home wasn’t hard.

“It was fine. I, um, I made something for you and mom. In our craft class.” She reached over her shoulder, where a large package sat between her wings. Delicately, she set it on the clouds between us and stepped back. I could see her wings fluttering, and her left hoof ground against the cloud.

Huh.

I leaned forward and carefully pulled the lid up. Inside was a paper lantern, the same pale grey as his coat. Before I could reach it, Alto darted forward to grab the wire handle in her teeth and lifted it out for me to see.

On its side were three wispy feathers, laid atop each other like clouds. I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“You made this?”

She nodded, setting the lantern swaying on its handle.

I stretched out a hoof to brush the lantern. “You remembered his mark. That... this is beautiful, sweetie.”

She set the lantern down to speak. “I used one of mommy’s pictures. The one with him in his uniform. I thought... I thought you could hang this lantern for him, and then you and mommy wouldn’t have to wait outside all the time.”

My vision blurred, and I blinked away the tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks. After a moment, I nodded.

“It’s worth a try, angel.”

* * *

“What is this?”

I winced at the steel in Aurora’s voice. She had never liked surprises, and the lantern hanging from the nest was certainly a surprise.

“It’s a lantern,” I said, as though that weren’t blatantly obvious. The candle flame inside danced in the light wind, and if I stared long enough, I could almost believe the painted feathers on its side were alive.

“Alto made it,” I continued. “She put Cirrus’s mark on it, see?”

“Hm.” My wife’s expression softened when she saw the mark. For a time, only the sound of the wind and the swaying lantern filled the darkness.

I took a chance.

“She wanted to hang it for him, so he would see it when he returned.”

Aurora nodded faintly. Still she stared at the lantern.

“And we... she hoped you could leave it out, and come back in with us.”

The hope hung in the air between us. I waited, barely breathing, barely dreaming that this thousand-and-first night might be the last. That I might share a bed with my wife, and let my lost son rest in his grave – the wind.

She reached out a hoof and gently unhooked the lantern from its post. With a careless toss she sent it over the side, and it fell like a star into the clouds below.

“Go to bed,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Author's Note

Written for Thirty Minute Pony Stories prompt 279: Changing of the Guard.

Uncoordinated

Sometimes Twilight Sparkle’s experiments went so well, she just had to sing.

Tonight’s test was getting close to that point. The bubbling solutions in the flasks before her were all transforming nicely, just as the textbooks had predicted. The fumes were all easily contained in the giant metal hood above the table, and she was barely dizzy at all this time. Her lab coat was a bit worse for wear, splattered as it was with dozens of tiny smoking holes where one of the solutions had gotten a bit too enthusiastic in its reaction, but a lab coat was a small sacrifice in the name of science.

Besides, she had a closet full of the things.

Almost good enough to start singing, but not quite. She made do with humming for now, entirely unconsciously, and filled page after page in her notebook with observations.

There! That flask! The test strip sitting in the bottom of the clear fluid was turning a dark shade of purple, indicating the presence of free, unbonded protons. She squealed, wrote another note, and continued humming.

She could barely hear the shouting and crashing from the floor above, where the Cutie Mark Crusaders were doing research of their own for some new project. She’d wanted to help them, but these experiments weren’t going to conduct themselves, and you couldn’t really leave bubbling flasks alone without burning down the laboratory. Again.

So she’d told Spike to help them. From the sounds of things, he was doing a fine job.

She finished the final note and hummed louder, and for a moment a snippet of song slipped from her mouth.

“...the extra electron just gets in the waaaaayyyyy...” She adjusted the flame beneath one of the flasks. “And that’s why they call it beta decay!”

And then she heard something unexpected. Something odd and deeply troubling.

From the floor above, absolute silence.

She waited, then turned away from her experiments to the stairs. Atop them, the door leading to the rest of the library was open, and the three fillies gazed down at her with curious expressions on their faces.

“Oh, hey girls!” Twilight said. She set her notes down, pulled off her goggles and trotted toward them. “How’s your studying going?”

“Great!” “Good, I guess.” “Boring!”

Twilight gave Scootaloo a little frown. “If it’s boring, you must not be doing it right. Didn’t Spike show you how to use the card catalogue?” She paused. “Also, where is Spike?”

“Uh, he said he had to go outside for a bit.” Sweetie Belle said. “I think he’s mad at us for making a mess.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, girls. Spike loves cleaning!” Twilight tilted her head. He did love cleaning, didn’t he? She’d have to ask him later. “Anyway, do you want to see a really neat experiment?”

“Is it an experiment in how to get cutie marks?” Apple Bloom asked. She took a tentative step down the stairs, followed by the others.

“Huh? No, I’m measuring the organic oxidation potential of various compounds. In particular, I’m testing for direct electron transfers in a one-electron reduction reaction...” She trailed off, realizing the stairs were empty. The three crusaders were back up at the door, getting ready to close it.

“Uh, acids!” she shouted. “I’m making acids!”

That got them. They stopped, the door open only a fraction, and stared down at her. Seconds passed in silence.

“Acids?” Scootaloo asked. “Those sound... kinda cool.”

Twilight nodded, a smile on her face. “Not just cool, girls, they’re fun! Come take a look!”

Slowly, reluctantly, the crusaders returned down the stairs. They paused at the bottom and gazed about the laboratory, staring for a moment at the complex array of smoking beakers and flasks behind Twilight. Then, to her great disappointment, they turned as one to a different corner.

“What is that?” Sweetie Belle asked.

“That?” Twilight turned to give it a frown. “Just an old experiment on quantum coordinate engineering. It didn’t work out very well, I’m afraid.”

The portal in the corner was a flashy thing, both figuratively and literally. Bright sparks shot from its glowing rim, occasionally filling the laboratory with their bright actinic light. Inside the swirling maw, bands of indigo and violet churned around each other, all spiraling toward a central point that seemed to swallow all light.

“It’s, uh...” Apple Bloom blinked. “What is it, again?”

“I told you, it’s an experiment on quantum coordinate engineering. Don’t stare at the center too long – it emits pretty strong ultraviolet radiation.”

“But what’s it do?” Scootaloo started to reach a hoof toward the circle, jerking it back when a sudden spark shot out toward her.

“It’s like a portal. The array around it confuses the universe’s underlying coordinate system, so objects that go through it come out somewhere else.”

“Come out... where?” Sweetie Belle took a step closer.

“Hm.” Twilight paused. “You know, I’m not sure? Could lead anywhere, I guess.” She turned back to the table filled with her smoking flasks. “Anyway, these are the solutions I was talking about. Do you see that strip of paper at the bottom? When it turns blue, it means there are free protons in the solution, indicating the successful production of a redox compound! And look! This one’s already starting to turn! Isn’t this exciting?”

Silence. She turned around to see an empty room.

Hm.

“Sweetie Belle? Scootaloo?”

Nothing.

Up above, there came the sound of a door opening and closing, followed by clawed feet on her wood floor.

“Spike!” she called. “Are the girls up there with you?”

“I thought they left!” he shouted back. A moment later he stuck his head in the door and then walked down the stairs.

“So... you haven’t seen them?” She gave the portal a nervous glance.

“No, why? Where’d they go?”

That was an excellent question, and the potential set of answers included almost the entire universe. The entire universe, with the exception of the laboratory and the floor above, which she had already determined did not contain the girls.

“Umm...” She was saved from answering by the sudden loud ring of the laboratory’s telephone. Spike walked over and picked it up.

“Hello? Oh, hi Rarity! How are...” he trailed off. Faintly, Twilight could hear the high, almost shrill voice of her friend on the line. Spike held the phone away from his ear.

“Uh huh. Uh huh. I see. Are you okay?” More shrill words from the telephone, and now Spike was staring at her. “Oh. Oh, that’s terrible. No, I’m sure it will be fine. Yes, of course. No, I’m not just saying that. I don’t care what your mane looks like, you’re still the most beautiful pony in town. Uh huh. Uh huh. Wait, what? She... he is? Okay. Okay, just... just hold on. We’ll be there in a minute.”

He set the phone down, still staring at her. A bead of sweat started trickling down her temple.

“So... how is Rarity?” she asked.

“She seems fine. Oh, she did mention that a dark, terrible hole in the universe appeared in her boutique, filled it with smoke and tentacles, then suddenly vanished in an explosion of flame that ruined her mane.”

“That’s... good?”

“She also mentioned that Scootaloo, Apple Bloom, and Sweetie Belle were there when the smoke finally cleared.”

Ah, mystery solved, then. She smiled and was about to congratulate herself on another successful experiment when Spike continued.

“And she added that Sweetie Belle is now a colt.”

“A... colt?”

“Yes, as in, not a filly. Male.”

“I see... Well, I’m not sure how any of that could have happened.” Her traitorous eyes darted toward the portal.

He followed her gaze and sighed.

“Again?”

Author's Note

Written for Prompt 284: Down the Rabbit Hole

(Closer to 40 minutes, actually, because I had to stop and look up some organic chemistry. Man, I used to know that stuff.)

But the Greatest of These

“Bit for your thoughts?”

Spike heard Rarity approaching long before she spoke. Dry leaves fallen from the trees around them littered the forest floor, turning it a dozen shades of red and orange and yellow and brown. They rustled beneath her hooves, and the dainty, careful pace that accompanied them could only belong to one pony.

“Just thinking,” he said quietly. Around them, the wind picked up and filled the air with blowing leaves. It carried a faint chill, a reminder that the easy days of autumn, beautiful though they might be, were a fleeting thing.

“I gathered that.” She stopped beside him and sat, a small smile on her face. “Either that or you fell asleep on your feet again.”

“Hey, it’s been years since that happened. I’d like to see you stay awake during every single one of Twilight’s lectures.”

“Ha! And I thought we were friends. I wouldn’t wish that fate on anypony.”

“Eh, they’re not so bad.” He turned his head to gaze at the others. They lounged around a picnic basket atop a hill across the clearing, chattering with the animation that came from spending time with one’s best friends. The basket itself was tipped over on its side, its contents long since devoured by the hungry ponies (but mostly Pinkie and Rainbow Dash, the latter of whom appeared to be napping on a tree branch).

Rarity followed his gaze. “You’re right, of course. She may be a bit of an egghead, to use Dash’s term, but I love her all the same.” She paused and turned back to him. “But you’re evading my question, Spike. What thoughts pushed you all the way over here? The view is certainly nice, but no better than back with us.”

“I was thinking.”

“Yes, so you’ve said. What about?”

“Well...” he looked down at the scales covering his chest. “I’ve been growing a lot.”

“Mhm, master of the obvious today.” Rarity took a moment to look him up and down. He was taller even than Applejack now, and his growth showed no signs of stopping. Tiny wings, still uselessly small, flapped occasionally against his shoulders. Someday, she knew, they would be as large as sails, and sound like thunder.

“Is that what has you moping?” she continued. “You’ll always be our little Spikey, you know that, right?”

“How do you know that?” He sat, his tail curving around him, so Rarity could meet his eyes without craning her neck.

“Oh, come now. You’re just like one of the girls! Can you imagine Twilight trying to run the library without you? It’d burn down within a week.”

“That’s... probably true,” he said. “But I’m not one of you girls. I’m not even a pony. I’m a dragon.”

“So? You know we don’t care about that.” Rarity’s eyes flicked away for a moment.

He pretended not to notice. “I know, and it means a lot to me. But how many full-grown dragons do you see living with ponies?”

Rarity was silent.

“I’ve met four mature dragons, Rarity, and they all live alone. They don’t have friends, or families, or even long-term mates. They’re not like us. Like you.” He glanced again at the picnic in the distance.

She opened her mouth, paused, and after a moment tried again. “You know, Spike, I think you’ve spent enough time alone. Why don’t you come back to the picnic?”

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Young dragons aren’t like that. Remember those teenage dragons I chased around? They had friends. They cared about each other. But at some point they just...” He flicked his claws, as though shooing away some invisible fly. “Go away. They go away and that’s that.”

She frowned. “You’re speaking as though it’s a done deal, Spike. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you aren’t like other dragons. Twilight raised you from an egg, and I’d like to think some of what it means to be a pony has rubbed off on you.” She reached out and brushed her hoof against his shoulder.

“How do you know that, though? Any day, I could wake up and feel like taking a walk, and just never come back. You’d never even know what happened to me.” He looked up at the mountain rising above the crimson trees. “I’ll be up there, or in some other cave, and I won’t care about any of you any more. I won’t even realize I should care about you.”

She swallowed. Her throat bobbed, and her mouth worked noiselessly before she found the words to speak. “Are you... are you feeling like that now, Spike? Like... just walking away?”

He listened to the wind before answering her. It had nothing to say. “No... But I worry I might.”

She let out a quiet breath. Her ears, which had started to wilt, suddenly sprang back up. “Well, that’s good to hear.” She paused and glanced back at the picnic. “Do you want to know what I think, Spikey?”

“Always.” He brushed her cheek with the back of his talon, and she closed her eyes to rub against it.

“I think other dragons don’t worry about this,” she eventually said.

“So? Are you saying I shouldn’t?”

“No, I’m saying you should keep worrying about it.” She opened her eyes and looked up into his. “That sets you apart from other dragons, who don’t worry. Who weren’t raised by ponies. Who don’t have friends. Who aren’t loved.”

Now it was his turn to struggle for words. His mouth suddenly felt dry as a stone.

She stood, and before he could begin to compose a response, trotted away, back toward the picnic. She paused once to cast a glance over her shoulder, and then she continued on her way.

The wind brushed against him, chasing away the delicate lilac scent that always followed her. Behind him, the mountain loomed above the treetops, waiting.

It could wait a bit longer, he decided. He stood and started back toward the picnic, where six friends greeted him with joy.

And love.

Author's Note

Written for Prompt 283: "Don't you put any stock in this destiny hogwash!"

Wonder

“Do you think it will snow this year, Inky?”

Inky looked up from her work with the same expression she always wore around Pinkie – annoyance tinged with disappointment. Her gaze flicked over to Pinkie, down to the small pile of rocks her sister had managed to collect, then back up. The skin around her eyes tightened, the only sign of her displeasure.

“I think you should stop worrying about the weather, and worry more about your rocks,” she said.

And that ended their conversation for the day.

* * *

“I think the snow would be neat.”

Inky didn’t respond for some time, so long that Pinkie wondered if maybe she hadn’t heard. That would be unusual – normally Inky’s ears were sharper than a bat’s, and ready to pick up the slightest hint of misbehavior from her sisters. Pinkie opened her mouth to try again when Inky suddenly spoke.

“Why do you think that?”

Pinkie’s mouth clopped shut. Inky wasn’t scolding her, or ordering her back to work, or telling her she was a foolish filly with her head in the clouds who would never keep the farm running if she didn’t buckle down and learn some good old-fashioned earth pony discipline.

Or earth pony work ethic.

Or earth pony sense.

Or earth pony stoicism. Whatever that meant.

Inky stared at her, and then she shrugged and returned to her rocks, pushing a tiny piece of brown quartzite into a hole and covering it with dirt. She planted four more stones before Pinkie found her voice.

“Because it’d be pretty! I think?”

Inky snorted. “How would it be pretty? It just covers everything and turns it white. You can’t see the ground or tend your crops if there’s snow everywhere.”

Pinkie looked around at their farm. A thousand shades of grey stared back, a slate rainbow that devoured happiness and joy. Grey clouds smothered them. Grey mountains warded them in. The grey earth stretched away, featureless and plain.

“I just think it’d be nice,” she said. It was too quiet for even Inky to hear, and her sister went back to her work.

* * *

“I heard it might snow tomorrow.”

Inky snorted. It was the closest she ever got to laughter. Her charcoal mane, tied back in a sensible bun, bounced in time with her steps.

“It’s not going to snow tomorrow, Pinkie. It never snows here.”

“But Comet said—”

“Comet is a pegasus. You know you can’t trust them. They’re flighty and shiftless and steal from the earth pony families.”

None of those things were true in Pinkie’s experience, except possibly the flighty part. And so what if Comet had taken some food from their farm? It wasn’t stealing if Pinkie left it out on purpose. She frowned and was about to offer a rebuttal when Inky continued.

“Besides, it’s too warm to snow.” She tilted her head up and sniffed at the air. “And it doesn’t smell like snow.”

Pinkie took a deep breath in through her nose. It was true – the farm smelled like it always did, of wet rock dust and earth pony sweat.

“Maybe it will get colder,” she said. But her voice lacked even the faint conviction borne from foal’s hopes, and her sister didn’t bother to respond.

* * *

“What would you do if it snowed, Inky?”

“Hm? I would clear it away, so we could keep working.” She dug at a soft clump of soil with her hoof, unearthing a large piece of feldspar that had grown over night. She gave it a lick to test for ripeness, nodded, and set it in the cart Pinkie was pulling beside her.

“What if there was so much snow you couldn’t? What if we couldn’t work at all?”

Her sister paused for a moment, as though the question caught her off guard. “Then we’d wait for it to melt.”

“But, uh, what if it never melted?”

“You’re being silly again.” For most ponies, the word ‘silly’ was a term of endearment. For Inky it was not.

“I think if it snowed, I’d come out and play in it all day.” How did you play in snow? Pinkie had never tried, but it seemed more fun than playing with rocks.

Inky stared down at the hole she had started to dig. Her eyes seemed to lose their focus, but before Pinkie could look any closer, she shook her head, and the same old look of annoyed disappointment returned. “You would. That’s why you’ll never run this farm.”

Maybe I don’t want to. She couldn’t say so aloud, of course, but she thought it as hard as she could and wished for snow with her next heartbeat.

* * *

“It’s supposed to snow tonight.”

“I know.” Inky kept her voice down, so as not to wake their parents. “It will probably melt, though, just like last time.”

Pinkie blinked. “You’ve seen snow?”

“Oh yes. The year after you were born, there was a small snowstorm. It covered everything for a few hours before the sun came out and melted it.”

They were silent for a while after that. Pinkie tried to imagine her sister, with her charcoal mane and slate grey coat, walking around in the pure white world.

“Was it fun?” she finally asked.

“Why would it be fun? It’s just snow.”

“Yeah, but you could do anything if it snowed. You wouldn’t have to plant rocks or turn the mill or sweep the path or do anything but play!”

“And who would do your chores for you, hm? Me? Or maybe mother could do them for you?” Inky’s voice dripped with scorn.

“I’d do my chores! Just later.”

“Right, later. After you finished playing.”

Pinkie frowned. Her sister couldn’t see the expression in the darkness of their room, of course, but she had never been one to hide her emotions. “Maybe. Maybe after I played in the snow, I could do your chores, and you could play.”

Inky’s snort sounded from the darkness. “You’re being silly again, Pinkie. Go to bed.”

* * *

The house was silent when Pinkie woke. Silent and bright, filled with brilliant light that streamed in from beyond the curtained windows. She trotted over, curious, and pulled the curtains aside.

The world outside was white. The frosted window concealed the rest.

She dashed down the stairs and out the door. Her sister sat on the porch, a dark blot against the blinding white glare all around. Pinkie scrunched her eyes tight, until after a few moments the glare subsided, and she could open them again.

Fat flakes of snow fell in utter silence all around them. They speckled Inky’s coat and filled the distant air with veils. The mountains were dim white shapes in the distance. The wind smelled like ice. The ground was...

The ground was gone. All the rocks, all the pebbles, all the bare and ugly grey earth was gone, replaced by a thick blanket of snow. The whole world was transformed into something strange, something different.

Something wonderful.

She took a step off the porch and sank to her fetlock in the snow. It crunched quietly beneath her hoof, the loudest sound she had heard since waking up.

“It’s cold,” she mumbled.

“What did you expect, silly?” Inky asked. She didn’t seem to notice the snow on her coat and mane. “Of course it’s cold.”

Pinkie pushed at the snow with her hoof, forming a little mound. New flakes fell upon it, creating odd geometric forms that slowly vanished in the pile. She looked up again, at the alien world.

“It’s so different,” she said. “It’s like the farm is gone.”

Minutes passed before Inky answered.

“I know. It’s beautiful.”

Author's Note

Written for Prompt 277: A change in season.

(Technically, this was more like "45 Minute Pony Stories.")

The Apple of my Eye

The Cutie Mark Crusaders’ clubhouse was normally a bright and cheerful place, filled with laughing, shouting fillies, drunk on life and youth and the promise of tomorrow. Rarely did a day go by in Ponyville that some harebrained scheme was not hatched there, and when the inevitable chaos and destruction that followed the three fillies around like a duckling after its mother finally occurred, often involving pine needles and tree sap, there were few tears to be found. Most ponies simply smiled, and maybe thought back to their own days, waiting for fate to show its mark on their flanks.

Today was not one of those days.

Utter, unearthly silence filled the treehouse this day. The three fillies inside said nothing, did nothing, barely breathed, so horrified were they. Only the rustle of leaves outside, and the faint whistle of the wind through the rafters separated their scene from a lifeless painting.

Something terrible had happened.

The first of them had received her cutie mark.

And it was bad.

“It’s not that bad,” Sweetie Belle said, finally breaking the long silence. It was a lie, of course, but she was already learning from her sister. Her voice barely quavered.

“Your family will, uh, really love it. And you. They’ll still love you. Probably.” Scootaloo was not as good a liar. She couldn’t look into Apple Bloom’s eyes as she spoke.

“Definitely. They’ll definitely still love you.”

“Oh, yeah.” Scootaloo tried to smile. Somewhere, a mirror broke. “It’s, uh, awesome! And radical! I’d love to have a mark like that.”

“Me too!” Sweetie Belle piped in. “I’d show it to Rarity, and she’d be like, ‘Oh Sweetie, that’s a wonderful cutie mark! I won’t disown you or hate you forever for it!’”

“Girls, ah appreciate it, but–” Apple Bloom spoke like one already dead. Granite held more life than her voice.

“Pinkie would throw a party for me if I got that mark!” Scootaloo broke in. “I mean, she might not know why, but she’d probably throw me one! Cuz she’s cool! Just like you!”

“Really cool.”

“Super cool. The coolest!”

“Girls, you can stop. It’s too late.” Apple Bloom set her head on her crossed hooves. “I just want you ta know, I really enjoyed bein’ your friend.”

“Oh, uh, we loved—love! We love being your friend too! We’re still your friend!” Scootaloo sat beside Apple Bloom and draped a wing over her back. “Friends forever!”

“She’s gonna kill me.” Apple Bloom poked at the blemish on her flank, shuddered, and turned away.

“She’s not going to kill you,” Sweetie Belle said, settling down on Apple Bloom’s other side. “She’ll still love you, because you’re her sister, and sisters are family, and families don’t kill each other. Often. I think.”

Silence again.

Outside, the afternoon’s light began to dim. Shadows lengthened across the woods, and the quiet sound of farmwork outside drew to an end. Soon their sisters would come looking for them, and then the world would end.

“I don’t understand.” Apple Bloom sniffed. “It was just a glass. That’s not a talent! How do you get a cutie mark just from drinking a glass?”

The others had no answer. Across the room, the detestable glass lay spilled on the wood where Apple Bloom had dropped it in the first moments of her horror.

“It’ll be fine. Really.” Scootaloo said. She gave the glass a wary look, and then turned back to her friend. “Right, Sweetie?”

“Huh?” Sweetie started, jerking her gaze away from the glass. “Oh, uh, right! Applejack will maybe be surprised, a little, but that’s all! No killing. Not even a little bit.”

“Ya... ya think?”

“Y-yeah! Cross my heart!”

“Hope to fly!” Scootaloo flapped her little wings.

“Stick a cupcake in my eye!” They mimed the gesture and turned their smiles – now a bit hopeful – to their friend.

Apple Bloom sighed. “Ah guess. Will you two come with me?”

Scootaloo leaned back. That sounded dangerous. “Uh, this sounds kinda personal. Maybe you should just...” She caught sight of Sweetie Belle’s glare and stopped. “I mean, uh, of course we will! Just be sure to tell her in public with lots of witnesses, okay?”

“It’s not your fault. It was the glass’s fault,” Sweetie said. All three glared at the glass again.

“Thanks girls.” Apple Bloom pressed her cheek against each of their’s in turn, and then rose to her hooves. She wobbled a bit, but didn’t pause as she walked to the door, followed a few steps behind by her friends.

The orange on her flanks practically glowed in the evening light.

Author's Note

Written for Thirty Minute Pony Stories prompt 280: "Cross the Stars." Are we ponies stuck on a set course, only able to fulfill the destinies set out by our Cutie Marks and the stars above?

Bookworm

Twilight Sparkle discovered the note entirely by accident.

She was reshelving books, normally a job she left for Spike, but he had earned a day off after helping her catalogue Lamplight the Thoughtful’s Compendium of Astronomical Phenomena the day before, and now he was off romping around with the Cutie Mark Crusaders. It was unlikely he’d be back before dinner, and equally unlikely that he’d escape the three fillies’ clutches without a few scrapes and bruises.

The slip of paper fell out from the leaves of the last book on her desk just as she was about to slide it back in place. It was tattered and thin, like a piece of ancient paper worn away by the years and too many hooves. Curious, she lifted it with her magic and unfolded it.

“Bookworm,” it read. She frowned and glanced at the tome it had fallen from, a collection of accounting practices in the gryphon kingdoms.

“Huh.” She gave it another moment of her attention, then shrugged and dropped it in her wastebasket.

* * *

She found the next note in Peony’s The Field Pony’s Guide to Monstrous Carnivores, Third Edition. Fluttershy had returned the book some days earlier, and it rested untouched in her ‘to shelve’ pile.

It was easier to find than the first – the edge stuck out from the pages like a bookmark, and she opened it, fearing that perhaps Fluttershy had left it behind. It seemed as old as the last, filled with creases ground sharp by time, and the writing on it was clean but faded.

“Canterlot Library,” she said, eyeing it. Why on Equestria would Fluttershy leave that there? She flipped to the book’s cover, where sure enough the Books and Branches library stamp sat proudly on the first page, just below her own initials.

“Weird.” She crumpled the note and slid it back on the shelf, next to the other zoology texts.

* * *

“Spike, have you been leaving notes in these books?”

“Huh? No, why?” Spike poked his head around the corner, still wearing his chef’s hat.

Twilight frowned at the note on her desk. It had fallen from another one of her books, this time a collection of simple spells for foals she’d kept from her days in Magical Kindergarten. It looked just like the others, decades or centuries old, written in some dark graphite.

“Archival Wing.”

“This is the third or fourth one of these things I’ve found,” she said. She nudged it with a hoof. “Have you seen them before?”

He gave it a quick glance. “Nope. Someone playing tricks on you? Sounds like a few ponies I know.”

That it did. Twilight chuckled at the thought of Rainbow Dash and Pinkie slipping notes into her books. Whatever they were up to, though, it was pretty subtle by their standards. No pies in the face or water buckets perched over doorways.

“Yeah, I guess it does. Let me know if you find any more, okay?”

* * *

Spike never found any notes. Only Twilight did.

She frowned at the latest one, a small scrap hidden in a collection of Zebra short stories that she could have sworn no one had checked out in all the years she’d lived at the library.

“Aa-Ab, third shelf.”

Well, whoever was pranking her apparently knew the Dewey Decimal System, which meant it was either Spike, or she was leaving these for herself in her sleep. The latter didn’t seem too likely (though she didn’t rule it out entirely – for years she’d refused to believe she snored in her sleep, until Spike had produced a recording).

Perhaps it wasn’t a prank? A message, perhaps? Perhaps... she gasped at the sudden thought, a clue!

There was a mystery afoot, and she needed to get her pith helmet.

* * *

Seven days passed before she next found herself in Canterlot. Some part of her had wanted to find an excuse to visit the next day – no, that very night – but the Library wasn’t a 24-hour a day operation (despite the plea she kept dropping in their suggestion box), and it would’ve been a bit embarrassing to go to the trouble of travelling to Canterlot if the notes turned out to be a joke.

So, a week later, she found herself on the steps of the Canterlot Library. Its wide marble portico stretched out nearly a block to either side, and soaring columns carved in the shapes of standing ponies supported its massive roof. A pair of huge doors, large enough to admit ten ponies marching abreast, were propped open and seemed to beckon her in.

She smiled as she passed beneath the lintel and its carved message, “Knowledge for All.” As a foal, she had once spent a full hour staring up at that sign, attempting to puzzle out its secret meaning. Eventually the Librarian himself came out to fetch her, and reassure her that the Library was indeed free for all ponies to use, even for her.

The library smelled as it always had, of paper dust and ink and the wax they used to polish the marble floor. It smelled like her childhood, bundled into a single sensation. It smelled wonderful.

The archival wing didn’t see much use during the day, and in fact required a key even to enter. She checked it out from the librarian on duty and marched through the endless rows of shelves toward the thick door that held the library’s oldest works.

As she expected, no pony else was inside. She let the door swing close and inhaled deeply, and the the scent of the ancient books settled into her brain. Here, here was the accumulated knowledge of generations, all waiting to be discovered. She exhaled, smiled happily, and started toward her destination.

The row titled Aa-Ab was near the west end of the wing, and was still in shadow so early in the morning. Eventually the sun would cross the sky, and the light streaming through the windows would illuminate it too, but for now she had to squint to make out the words. Finally, annoyed with the darkness, her horn glowed with the light of a dozen lanterns, and the archives were cast into the sun.

Much better.

The third shelf was long, stretching across the entire wing, and easily held a thousand books. She sighed at the sight and was about to reach for the first when a tiny spot of color caught her eye. There, on the floor, sat a note, just the same as the others. She smiled and levitated it before her.

5532.11b

So, it was as specific book she was after. She let the note drift back to the floor and walked down the canyon of books.

5300... 5400... 5500.. She slowed. 5520... 5530... 5531.

The books in this section were ancient, so old that some of their covers were solid pieces of wood rather than the canvas of later years. She skimmed their spines, counting down the volumes, until she reached one without a number.

Huh. Beside it was 5532.11a, and on the other side was 5532.11c. The label must have fallen off. With a shrug, she lit her horn and pulled the book from the shelf.

It was huge, easily the largest book she had ever held. Another unicorn less powerful than she, or a pegasus, would have had trouble just holding it. Its cover was some odd, soft, pebbled texture, smooth with the years, and completely bare of writing.

It’s leather, her mind whispered. She nearly dropped it. No books were made of leather – it was obscene even to contemplate. Her hoof trembled as she slowly turned the cover.

How odd, the pages looked like teeth.

* * *

Hours later, the bookworm picked itself up off the floor and began the agonizing crawl back up the shelf to its home. Down the aisle, a small slip of paper reading "5532.11b" evaporated like mist.

And the archives were quiet for many more years.

Author's Note

Written for prompt 284: A Case of Mistaken Identity.

At the End of the Day

“And you see the dark clouds near the top of the frame? Those represent the ill feelings in the hearts of the warring tribes as they gathered in the plains below.”

“Mmm. Interesting.” Paint Daub’s potential customer, a well-dressed earth pony stallion, gave her painting a look that bordered on interested. “How much did you say it was?”

Daub put on her best smile. “Well, sir, this one took several days to produce, but to be honest I haven’t had much luck selling any paintings this week. I suppose I could part with it for 50 bits.”

“Hmm... 25.”

Daub nearly choked. “Twen... sir, that would barely cover the cost of the canvas, frame and paints, much less my time. No less than 40.”

“Thirty. No more.” The tone in his voice was unmistakable. This was the highest he would go.

“Well...” She grimaced and tried to find some silver lining. “As a first-time customer, I suppose that would be... acceptable.”

No more was said between them as she wrapped up the painting, and he forked over her pitiably small earnings. It was all she could do to keep the smile on her face until he was out of sight.

Then she sighed. The rest of her wares, unsold, stared back at her from the street corner she had set them out upon. Dozens of canvases filled with splashes of color, detailed character studies, portraits, landscapes, abstracts and murals, all of a quality at home in any museum in any of Equestria’s cities.

But museums didn’t pay for paintings – too many ponies donated them. And she couldn’t afford to donate her paintings. She could barely afford food.

“Sorry guys,” she said to them. “Maybe tomorrow, huh?” She started to reach toward them, to pack them up for the day, when a perky voice sounded behind her.

“Hey, are these your paintings? These are neat!”

Daub turned to see a garishly pink mare eyeballing her works. Her mane was a mass of pink curls that somehow defied gravity, and she held it out of the way with a hoof as she pushed her face up against one of Daub’s canvases, presumably for a better look. Or perhaps a taste.

“Yes, I, uh...” She cleared her throat and tried again. “These are mine. Do you see any you’re interested in?”

“I like them all! But especially this one!” The mare said, bumping a small work with her nose. It barely even qualified as a painting, just a small scrap of canvas Daub had used to mix paints. Then, just as quickly, her mood seemed to deflate. “But I’m sorry, I don’t have any bits today.”

Of course she didn’t. Daub held in a sigh. “It seems like no one does. If you really like that one, just take it. It’s not even worth the space in my bags.”

“Really?” The mare somehow said the word while gasping. “But... really?!”

“Uh huh.”

The strange pony beamed at her. “Thank you! Oh, here, have this!” She turned her head and from somewhere – magic? – produced the largest cupcake Daub had ever seen in her life, balanced perfectly atop her nose. She held it there for a moment, like a seal doing a trick, then with a slight toss of her head sent it in Daub’s direction.

She barely caught it in time with her magic. It was nearly the size of her head, a masterpiece of chocolate and fudge slathered with an avalanche of pure white icing. By the time she remembered to look up and offer her gratitude, the odd pony was already gone.

* * *

Firefly waited until the other foals were gone before she started to cry.

She wasn’t the only filly they picked on – most of the other foals in her class had suffered their bullying at some point. But today they had gone too far, stealing her doll and stomping on it until the stitches burst and the stuffing spilled out onto the ground. Then they laughed, kicked it back to her and toddled off, already reminiscing about it.

She didn’t understand cruelty yet; she was far too young for that. But she knew pride, and knew she couldn’t show her pain to them, lest they feed on it as well.

And so she waited for them to leave before she cried.

Eventually the tears dried, and she realized she wasn’t alone. Sitting on the porch beside her was a full-grown mare, pink as the inside of a shell, with a poofy mane that looked like a cloud that had somehow gotten stuck on her head.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Firefly sniffed. “Nothing.”

They were quiet for a while. The mare’s gaze settled on the remains of the doll spilled out at their hooves.

“Was this yours?” she asked.

Firefly nodded. “Her name is Prancie.”

“Did some mean bullies break her?”

Firefly nodded again. She remembered their laughter, the sudden squeals of pleasure as Prancie’s side had torn. Her vision swam as the tears threatened to return.

They were silent again. When Firefly finally managed to blink away the tears, the strange pink pony was holding Prancie in her hooves, cradling her like she would a foal.

“You know,” she said. “One of my friends really knows how to use a needle and thread. I bet if we asked nicely, she could fix Prancie for you.”

“R-really?”

“Mhm. Cross my heart, hope to fly!”

That made no sense at all, but the smile on the pinke mare’s face said more than her words ever would. Firefly pushed herself back onto her hooves, and together they walked down the street.

* * *

The sun was well below the horizon when Pinkie finally got home. The tips of her hooves dragged with each step, and she barely made it to the Cake’s couch before collapsing.

Mrs. Cake walked in a few minutes later, apparently drawn by the noise. “Why, hello Pinkie Pie. I haven’t seen you all day! Been busy with your friends?”

Pinkie nodded. Her throat was too tired from cheering ponies up all the day long to try and speak.

“Oh, I remember what it was like when I was your age, always running around with Carrot or his friends. Ha! We were so young then.” Her voice trailed off as she wandered into the kitchen.

Silence followed. Pinkie felt her eyes start to drift shut. Before the dreams caught her, she briefly saw an artist with a full belly; a filly holding a mended doll, crying with happiness.

A ghost of a smile appeared on her lips, and then she slept.

Author's Note

Written for prompt #287: Pinkie Pie smiles again.

Pantone Perfect

“Mmm, I swear, these massages are the best.”

Twilight Sparkle was inclined to agree with Rarity’s observation. They were laid out on a set of thin mats in the steamy recesses of the Lotus Luxury Spa, with one each of the Lotus sisters perched upon their hindquarters, vigorously running their hooves up and down the muscles beneath them. Twilight couldn't help the quiet moan that escaped her as Aloe found a particularly tight knot in her back and ground at it remorselessly until it surrendered and melted away.

Yeah, that was good.

“And these oils!” Rarity continued. “Just look at how they make my coat shine! We’ll be the talk of all the stallions, no doubt.”

“Uh huh.” It was the most Twilight could say. Aloe’s hooves pressed down on her hips with enough force to actually lift the masseuse’s weight. She can probably do CPR really well.

“It’s especially important for girls with light coats to keep them oiled. Imperfections show up just a tiny bit more easily. Oh, sometimes I wish I had a nice, dark coat like yours, Twilight!” She laughed. “Ha! No, really, I don’t.”

Twilight’s ear flicked in irritation. Only the obscene pleasure of the massage kept her from retorting.

“Still, it’s the price beautiful mares must pay, I suppose,” Rarity said. Prattled, actually. Yes, this was prattling. “Especially with a pure white coat. Oh, it’s hard sometimes, but so worth it!”

That was enough, Twilight decided. “Well, almost pure white,” she said. Softly. Almost inaudibly. Rarity shouldn’t have been able to hear her over the sound of her own voice. And yet...

“I’m sorry, dear?” Rarity’s voice had an edge to it. She had turned her head to cast an arched eyebrow in Twilight’s direction.

In for a penny, in for a pound. “Almost pure white,” Twilight repeated. “I mean, your coat’s not really pure white. Almost, though.”

“Dear, I assure you, my coat is absolutely, unadulteratedly pure white.”

“Almost.”

“Almost!? Darling, Twilight, you know I love you, but I know my colors. It’s white. Pure white.”

“Rarity, it’s fine. The color doesn’t matter. And anyway, anypony can see it’s really more like dove white. Fluttershy?”

“Meep!” Fluttershy tried to hide behind her bangs as their gazes suddenly swiveled toward her. Her wings were splayed out to her side, still drying while she waited her turn for a massage. “Um, I think your coat is beautiful, Rarity.”

“See, Twilight?” Rarity smirked. “She thinks it’s white.”

“She didn’t say it was white, she said it was beautiful,” Twilight countered. “Fluttershy, what color would you say Rarity’s coat is?”

Silence. Fluttershy’s eyes darted back and forth between them.

“Well?” Rarity said. She tossed her mane to the side. “Come on, Fluttershy. Just say it’s white.”

“Almost white.” Twilight shot her a frown.

“White!”

“Off white.”

Rarity huffed. “Off white? Why, I never! You take that back!”

“Uh, Miss Rarity...” Lotus sounded nervous. “Perhaps you should just enjoy ze massage, and continue zis—”

“It’s the truth!” Twilight shouted. “Fluttershy, tell her!”

“Umm—”

“She will do no such thing!” Rarity pushed herself up onto her front legs, nearly dislodging Lotus. “Fluttershy, please inform Twilight Sparkle that my coat is the purest, whitest coat you have ever seen!”

Silence. Even the spa ponies turned to stare at the quivering pegasus.

“Well, um...” She swallowed. “It’s a very pretty white, Rarity. But it has just a little, um, you know, grey in—”

Rarity’s scandalized gasp silenced her. Twilight felt a grin stretching across her face.

Sweet victory.

“Don’t worry, Rarity,” she said, all smiles and friendship now. “Your coat is one of the whitest I’ve ever seen. Why, the only pony with a more pure, whiter coat is Princess Celestia herself!”

Rarity spluttered. “You... what? No! I’ll have you know, Miss Sparkle, that Princess Celestia’s coat is more like beige! It has pink in it!”

“What? No. You’re being silly, Rarity. Calm down and enjoy the massage.” That last part seemed unlikely, as the spa ponies had dismounted the mats and were edging closer to the doors.

“I will not! You will apologize and admit that my coat is white, whiter even than the Princess’s—”

No. No she didn’t. Twilight stood. “You shut your whore mouth before I shut it for you!”

“Eeep!”

“I will end you, Sparkle!”

“Ha! You and what off-white army?”

The next few seconds were a blur for Twilight. Rarity’s horn glowed, and then suddenly Twilight was in the mud bath, her hooves flailing for purchase upon the slippery sides of the pool. Across the room, Rarity smirked.

“Okay, okay.” Twilight took a deep breath, let it out, and stood from the mud. “It’s on.”

* * *

“So we’re not allowed to go back for how long this time?”

“Two months,” Rarity said. “It would’ve been three, but I offered to pay for that table you broke.”

“That’s very kind of you, Rarity.”

“Well, you know, generosity and all. How’s your leg?”

“Eh, fine. It might be a bit sore tomorrow.” Indeed, she was already limping as they walked away from the police station. “How many times is this, now?”

“Oh, who keeps track of such things?” Rarity said. “Anyway, I know this lovely spa in Canterlot. Same time next week?”

“You bet. Fluttershy?” Twilight paused. “Hey... where’d Fluttershy go?”

They paused and turned. Fluttershy was nowhere to be found.

* * *

Back at the spa, Fluttershy let out a quiet, happy sigh. Alone, at last. Except for the two spa ponies pressing their hooves into her back. Her wings fluttered as Aloe ground her hooves into the thick muscles between her shoulder blades, and Lotus went to work on her hips.

Friendship was a wonderful thing, she reflected. It could conquer any differences, and put to rest any disputes. She couldn’t wait for Twilight and Rarity to be able to visit the spa with her again.

But that wouldn’t be for a few months. Until then, she would just have to come here alone.

And that was worth a smile.

Author's Note

Written for prompt 290: Funny thing about black and white. You mix it together and you get grey. And it doesn’t matter how much white you try and put back in, you’re never gonna get anything but grey.

I don't think this is what the prompt writers had in mind.

Medium Rare

“Welcome back to the final round of Pony Chopped, contestants. You’ve both done very well to get this far, but after this round there can be only one champion.”

Star Anise spoke to the two remaining ponies from her spot beside the judges' table. Across the stage, standing behind their identical mini-kitchens, a pair of nervous ponies stared at the closed baskets before them.

“Please open your basket of mystery ingredients,” she said. They did, and she continued: “Your ingredients for the entree round are: alfalfa sprouts, acorns, dandelion sap, and dragon steaks.”

Fluttershy squeaked at the sight of the steaks. Beside her, her competitor, Coriander, shook his head in disbelief.

“You have 30 minutes. Your time starts now.”

* * *

“While our chefs start their cooking, let’s meet the judges,” Anise said. The camera promptly panned to her right, stopping first on warm orange earth pony mare.

“Butternut is the owner of The Squash Haus, the oldest continuously operating restaurant in Fillydelphia.” Butternut gave the camera a polite nod as Anise spoke.

“Next we have Dill Weed, the owner and executive chef at The Green Truffle in Canterlot, author of What The Hay? a cookbook for young ponies, and our token stallion.

“And finally we have none other than Saffron, the executive chef at The Drunken Snail in Manehattan, and the only pony to ever defeat two iron chefs in Iron Chef: Equestria. Judges, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Star,” Dill Weed said. “I can already see that Coriander is slicing his dragon into nice, thick sections. It looks like he has some experience cooking with this rather exotic meat.”

“Well, we saw in the appetizer round that he’s willing to take chances with some unusual ingredients. What he did with that ostrich egg was amazing,” Saffron said.

“That’s true, but let’s not forget what Fluttershy managed to do with those cattails,” Butternut said. “They might have been a bit under-salted, but they were clearly the best item on anyone’s plate.”

* * *

“The first thing my eyes go to when I open that basket is the dragon steaks,” Coriander, looking far more calm and collected than on the stage, said to the camera. “I spent a year in Gryphonia studying with the best gryphon chefs in the world, and dragon is one of their most prized dishes.

“I immediately decide to go with a twice-baked potato blended with an acorn and alfalfa puree, complementing a grilled dragon steak glazed with a dandelion sap and parmesan sauce. The slightly bitter sap should offset the saltiness of the cheese nicely.

“Most ponies don’t know how to cook dragon correctly. They think it has to be very well done. The secret is to just barely cook it at all – a little flame kiss, if you will.”

* * *

“Um, as soon as I saw the dragon steaks I knew I was in trouble,” Fluttershy said. “I’ve cooked bunnies before, but I don’t think dragons are anything like rabbits.

“I decide to grind the dragon into a patty, and use the alfalfa and acorns as a topping for a gourmet dragon burger. I can infuse the dandelion sap into the meat to keep it nice and moist.”

“Um, if that’s alright with you.”

* * *

“It looks like Fluttershy is searching for something... Oh my, is that the grinder she has?” Dill Weed said, surprise registering on his face.

“It is. Do you think she’s going to grind the steaks up?” Star Anise asked.

“That’s a risky move if so... Oh, look, she is grinding it up. I’ve never had a dragon burger before. I hope it works out for her,” Butternut said.

“I’m not sure I like that plan,” Saffron said. “Dragon steaks are an almost sacred meat, very hard to come by. Grinding it up for a burger seems disrespectful.”

“Well, we’ll just have to see how it tastes.”

* * *

“I look over at Fluttershy’s plate and realize she’s going for a burger, and I immediately start to worry. Dragon meat isn’t the best for burgers, that’s definitely what owls are for, but it’s such an original idea I’m afraid the judges might give her some credit for it simply because it’s so audacious.

“I cut my steaks and set them aside. They won’t go on the grill until there’s just a few minutes left. I spend most of my time trying to reduce the sap and get the cheese to melt with it. I was afraid it might start to burn, but by keeping the temperature low enough, it all mixes together nicely.”

* * *

“Oh, um, I realized after the patties were down and cooking that I needed some kind of sauce for the burger. Ketchup wouldn’t mix well with the sap, so I decided to whip up some chipotle mayonnaise instead. I’ve heard that dragon is a very spicy meat, so hopefully the chipotles will restore any of that spice lost due to the sap.”

* * *

“I look up and realize there’s only two minutes left, and I need to get those steaks cooking. The grill is already nice and hot, so I just toss them on and start plating the baked potato.

“As soon as they hit the grill, the most delicious smell just rises from the stove. I’ve got this in the bag.”

* * *

“I toasted a poppyseed bun with a bit of butter and set it aside. The acorns went into a sautee pan to soften up a bit, and I added the alfalfa at the last minute. I didn’t want it to wilt down to nothing, but if I waited too long, it would’ve overpowered the rest of the dish.

“The patties didn’t hold together as well as I’d hoped. The sap was supposed to bind the ground meat together, but instead it just acted like oil and they started to fall apart. Hopefully the judges won’t notice.”

* * *

“Five seconds left contestants...”

Fluttershy and Coriander didn’t look up at the announcement. Both were bent over their dishes, frantically rearranging little pieces of food and wiping away stray drops of sauce. Coriander’s steaks looked nearly raw, with only a thin sear on the sides, and his baked potatoes were a curious blend of yellow and green, with slivers of chopped acorns poking out of the top. He frowned at the plates, and in the final moments added a sprig of parsley to each.

Fluttershy’s burgers were harder to judge from a distance, as they were mostly concealed by the buns. Still, from the sides, a low camera angle was able to capture a delicious-looking sauce drip down their edges onto the plate. As time ran out, she added a daub of her mayonnaise in a small porcelain tureen to each dish.

“And time is up! Contestants, please bring your dishes forward.”

* * *

“Contestants, both your dishes were well prepared and delicious, but I’m afraid only one of you can be the Pony Chopped champion.” Star Anise grabbed the cloche with her hoof. “And the dish that was chopped is...”

Both contestants leaned forward, beads of sweat dripping down their faces. The moment dragged on, and on, and on into the final commercial.

* * *

“...the dish that was chopped is...” Star Anise waited a moment longer, then with a dramatic flourish pulled away the cloche, revealing a poppyseed burger.

Fluttershy let out a quiet gasp as her dish was revealed. Beside her, Coriander visibly sagged, relief written on his face.

“I’m sorry, Fluttershy, you’ve been chopped. Judges?”

“Fluttershy, we loved your dish,” Dill Weed said. “But in the end, we couldn’t get over the loose patty. We thought the sap might have been better used as a sauce or in the mayonnaise. It was a hard decision, but in the end, Coriander’s steaks were just a little better.”

“That’s fine,” Fluttershy said with a sniff. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

“Thank you, Fluttershy,” Anise said. “Oh, and we should’ve mentioned it earlier, but the dragon whose leg we used for the steaks is very upset with us. While you two were out, we also voted to tell him that this show was your fault. So, uh, you might be getting a visit sometime soon.”

Author's Note

Written for prompt 293: Why is Fluttershy afraid of dragons?

Again, I don't think this was what the prompt writers had in mind. Also, I spent 37 minutes on this one. Sorry :/

One Thousand Flowers

“Go talk to her,” the tall grass whispered.

“What? No. You go talk to her,” I said back, keeping my voice low. The dogwood shrub concealing me shook in the wind and filled the air with the faintly floral scent of its early spring blossoms.

“You’re older!”

That was true. I wasn’t older by much – just a few minutes – but I barely went a day without using the fact to claim some primacy over my younger brother. Whether it was a better toy or a new saddle or the top bunk on the bed, age had its privileges.

And, occasionally, drawbacks. I glanced through the waving stalks of grass at our target.

“Come on, just go! Go go go!” Vermillion whispered.

Fine. Fine. I took a breath and struck out from the foliage hiding us.

If the tall pegasus at the edge of our family’s fields saw me approach, she didn’t show it. She kept staring at the ground beneath her hooves, digging at the loose soil with the clumsy motions of a pony not used to farm labor. I snorted in disdain as I drew closer.

“Excuse me, miss?”

She didn’t look up. Whatever was in the ground must’ve been fascinating. Her mane, a dark speckled indigo, concealed her face, and the rest of her body was just a shade or two darker. She was unusually tall for a pegasus, and I realized as my shadow touched her hooves just how high she would tower over me, if she stood upright. The thought held me back for a moment.

But this was our land. I frowned again and plowed forward.

“Miss? I know you don’t mean any harm, but this farm here is private property, and I need you to—”

My words died in my throat as she looked up. She looked up, and her eyes met mine, and her mane drifted like a cloud in an unfelt breeze, and her horn rose like a wicked thorn from her brow, and my words died in my throat as she looked up.

We stared at each other for a while. Or, rather, she stared at me, while I stood still in shock. My heart climbed higher and higher in my chest, setting my whole body vibrating as it thump thump thumped like I had just run the longest race of my life.

Monster, my mind whispered.

“Princess.” My lips made the shape of the word, but no sound emerged.

She held my gaze with hers, held it with her eyes like I might hold an egg, ready to smash it against the rim of a bowl and empty it, and when she was done she looked back down at her hooves and the small holes she was digging there.

Eventually my breath returned. My lungs reinflated, and I remembered how to speak. “Princess... my apologies... ah... can I help you?”

Minutes passed before she answered. She dug more holes, seemingly at random, inspecting them this way and that. Finally, she dug the hole she’d been looking for. She gave it a small, satisfied nod, and then dropped a tiny seed into it from her mouth. With a sweep of her hoof, she toppled the mound of dirt back into its home.

She dug a thousand more holes, and planted a thousand more seeds, before she finally answered.

“No.”

* * *

The next day she was still there.

None of the other ponies wanted to talk to her. I didn’t blame them. Hell, I didn’t want to talk to her. But she was on my parents’ land, and planting her crops on my parents’ land, and in the Riverlands you just didn’t let other ponies plant their crops on your parents’ land. At least not without asking your parents.

So I went to talk to her again.

“Good morning, Princess,” I said from a safe distance away. I nearly had to yell.

No answer. She stared down at the thousand tiny mounds at her hooves.

I trotted closer and tried again. “Good morning, Princess!”

A flicker of motion. Her ear twitched toward me. I licked my lips and moved forward.

“Good morning.” I no longer had to yell; she was right there in front of me. Her ears swivelled forward, and after a moment her head rose.

“You again,” she said. Her voice wasn’t what I expected; it wasn’t deep or terrible or haunting or icy or breathy or seductive. It was just a pony’s voice, a little tired, a little worn around the edges.

‘Yeah, uh, hi... hello. You, uh, you trying to grow something, there?”

She nodded slowly. The tip of her horn traced a perfect vertical arc through the air.

I waited for more. Nothing came. She wasn’t very talkative, it seemed.

“Mind if I ask what?”

Her eyes flicked down to the tiny mounds, then back up.

Perhaps she wanted me to guess. “Apples?”

No response.

“Oranges, then. Cherries?”

Nothing.

“Flowers?”

Silence.

Alright, then. This was my parents’ land. If I wanted to dig something up, I could, and nopony could stop me. I kept repeating that in my head as my hoof edged toward one of the little mounds. If she didn’t want to answer, I could find out myself.

“I’m not sure.” Her words caught me offguard. I stood on three legs, the fourth extended toward the little mound.

“You’re... you’re not sure?”

She shook her head.

“But...” I frowned. “Where did you get them?”

“A gift.”

“From who?”

No answer. We both stared at the little mounds of dirt.

Finally, she asked a question. “How long will they take to grow, do you think?”

How long did gifts take to grow? “I’m not sure. A while, I think.”

“Very well. I’ll wait.”

* * *

And she waited.

Not like a statue. She moved – her mane flowed in the unfelt breeze. Her chest rose and fell with each breath. Her feathers fluttered in the wind. Her shadow spun round her form. Her eyes shifted from hole to hole to hole, all one thousand, as she waited.

And finally, weeks later, the first tiny shoots of green sprung from the dirt.

* * *

“Can I get you anything, princess?”

No answer. She was too busy staring at her plants.

“Can I get you anything?” I repeated without her title.

She shook her head. “They’re growing faster. They love the sun. They drink her light.”

I glanced up and squinted my eyes against the sun’s glare. “I suppose they are. What do you plan to do with them?”

“It depends what they are.”

I could have told her what they were, of course. Even as shoots they were distinctive. Any farm pony would recognize them. But she wasn’t a farm pony, and she didn’t want me to ruin the surprise.

There was a spark near one of the buds. My eyes flicked toward it just in time to see a speck of ash drift away.

“Bug,” she said.

And that was enough for one day.

* * *

There was a dead rabbit at her feet the next morning. Its head was twisted completely around. Its eyes, tiny black beads on white fur, stared out uncomprehendingly at the quickly growing forest around it.

“It tried to eat one,” she said.

* * *

“Did you know?” she asked. She didn’t look upset. But then, she never looked upset, even when she was killing the birds and rabbits and bugs and other pests that tried to eat her plants.

“I did.” I felt safe. Hell, I wasn’t going to try and eat them.

Time passed. Our shadows drifted around us as we stared at her garden.

“I think this is one of her jokes,” she said. She frowned at the flowers, like they had somehow wronged her. “Or maybe its an apology? She does that too, sometimes.”

“She?”

“My sister.”

Ah. I squinted up at the sun again. “Well, what are you going to do?”

She thought for a while. Uncaring, unthinking, a bird landed on one of the flowers and began to peck away at it. She let it live.

“I guess I’ll go home,” she finally said.

“I think she’d like that.”

The princess, if that’s what she was, nodded. “Yes, yes. That’s what I’ll do. And you may keep these, as payment for the use of your land.”

“It was nothing. It was my pleasure.”

“Take them anyway.” She stood, for the first time in weeks, and stretched her wings. They were like sails, longer and wider than any pegasus I’d ever seen. She flapped once and was gone, already a speck in the sky.

The field of one thousand sunflowers swayed in her breeze.

Author's Note

Written for prompt #302: Princess? What princess?

Second short in the Vermilion/Cinnabar arc.

Tempest

“Are you ready?”

I saw Cirrus swallow, the knob in his throat bouncing faintly beneath his skin. He licked his lips and checked his footing for the fifteenth time; the cloud beneath him hadn’t moved. The wind was barely a breath against our coats. To my left, the newborn sun was just peeking above the high mountains, painting the sky orange and pink and yellow as it burned away the nocturnal mists that collected around us like an ocean.

“Y-yeah.”

I smiled at his brave show. “Remember. Just like I showed you.”

“Right. But what if—”

“Just like I showed you.”

He nodded and gave his wings a gentle flap, enough to lift him from the cloud and drift along beside me. We floated like bees to the side of a small, fluffy cloud I had harvested the previous evening, just for this purpose. It was dark, like a bruise, and practically dripped with with the night’s collected moisture. An easy cloud to draw rain from. It wanted to explode and drench the world beneath it.

Cirrus turned away from the cloud and drew his hind legs in. His eyes crunched closed, and after a heartbeat of hesitation, he bucked the cloud with all the force his little body could summon.

Pegasi are not naturally good at bucking. We aren’t earth ponies, to whom kicking is like breathing. For us, flying is everything. Using our hooves is something we have to practice. Like this.

Cirrus’ hooves smacked the wet cloud and sank several inches into the grey cotton. Rivulets of water poured from the twin holes, soaking his fetlocks, but after a moment the stream died to a trickle. The rest of the cloud rumbled in frustration and then went quiet.

“Not bad,” I said. “Not bad for your first try.”

“It didn’t work!” He pulled his legs out of the cloud and whirled around to glare at it. His hooves dripped onto the ground far, far below.

“No, but it didn’t shock you either, did it? That’s not bad.” I gave the cloud a tap with my hoof. The air around us shook as the cloud rattled, and from deep within a flash of light hinted at the incredible power waiting to be born.

Cirrus floated away from the display, and only returned when the cloud had quieted. He gave it a tap of his own, earning a wet squish for his efforts.

“Don’t worry,” I said to my son. “It gets easier.”

* * *

We stood atop a high bank of clouds above the valley. Even the mountains to the east looked up at us. It was the highest I had ever taken Cirrus.

He leaned over the edge, his wings fluttering to keep him from falling. His coat seemed darker than normal, set as it was against the blinding brightness of the white cloudtops. Aurora’s coat, our friends said, but my eyes.

He turned to catch me staring. “Dad?”

“Sorry, just thinking.” Green eyes, like grass emeralds. I shook my head to clear away the cobwebs.

He let it slide. “So, how does this work? Is it like the rain?”

“Not quite.” I drew my hoof along the cloud, stirring up a cloud of snowflakes that drifted away in the breeze, eventually to join the white blanket coating the mountains below. “Snow isn’t frozen water, it’s frozen water vapor. If you smack them around like a raincloud, all you’ll get sleet.”

He made a face at the word. Sleet ruined pegasus wings, clogging the spaces between our feathers with ice. It was nasty, nasty stuff.

“Scratch it,” I said. “Coax the snow from it.”

He gave it a try. Patches of the cloud tore away from his hoof and floated off into the void. He frowned at them and tried again, harder. More of the cloud broke free.

I brushed the cloud with my hoof, sending a curtain of snow spraying into the air. It sparkled in the noon sun like a million diamonds before vanishing beneath us. His ears flicked back, his eyes narrowed, and he tried again.

Gently. Nothing.

Harder. The cloud cracked beneath his hoof. Tiny fissures spread beneath us and slowly healed.

He stomped. Crystals of ice the size of sand grains popped up from the abused cloud and stuck to his coat. He scowled at the sleet.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “It gets easier.”

* * *

Cirrus’ coat blended so well with the fog that he might have been a ghost. Only his eyes, green as grass and bright as emeralds, managed to shine through the mists.

“Easy,” I said. “Let it flow.”

I drew my hoof through the fog. It evaporated. Gone. Less than a memory. The air around me was a clear bubble amidst the gray.

Cirrus waved his hoofs through the fog like he was swatting away a swarm of invisible insects. Eddies of mist swirled about him, but no sooner did the fog clear than more rushed into to envelop him. I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from my throat.

Eventually I caught his tail in my teeth, and his frenetic motions ceased. His chest heaved for breath, and he looked up at me with eyes full of frustration.

“How?” I could hear the air wheezing in his throat. “How do you do it?”

I released his tail and flapped my wings, spinning in place with my hooves outstretched. The fog washed away from us, spilling about the trees and rocks around us in its frantic effort to escape. Within seconds the forest around us was dark and clear and utterly, utterly empty. Above, the stars joined us with their light.

“Do you think the rain comes from our hooves?” I asked. “That tapping a cloud can cause it to thunder?”

“It does! I saw you do it!”

“Do you think the secret of snow is hidden in these limbs?” I tapped his shoulder with a wingtip.

He scowled. “It is. Come on, dad, just tell me how you do it.”

I grinned, just like my father had, thirty years ago. “Do you think the fog cares for this body? For our hollow bones and hot blood?”

“I don’t care what the fog cares about! Just tell me!”

“You should. It is not our bodies that shape the weather. It is our will. I think, and my hoof rises in obedience.” I lifted a hoof to demonstrate. “I think, and the cloud pours out its heart. I imagine, and snow blankets the earth. I will it, and the fog does as I wish, for I am the fog, and the snow, and the rain. Think, Cirrus, and become.”

He stared at me, the skin around his eyes tight, his mouth open a crack. "That... that's all? That's it?"

"Don't believe me. Try it."

And he did. He closed his grass emerald eyes. His heaving chest slowed. The tremble of his wings with each heartbeat faded. He closed his grass emerald eyes, and thought, and became.

A drop of water hit my snout. I looked up to see the sky, absent its stars, begin to fill with rain.

Author's Note

Written for prompt #303: Your mind makes it real.

Visiting with Alto, Cirrus and Aurora, during happier times.

No Natural Predators

Vermilion was almost halfway home when he heard the crying foal.

The trees formed a colonnade, stretching miles ahead of him on either side until they vanished in the distance. Elms, stately and tall and still green in the last days of September, they ushered him along the long walk. Beyond them lay fields of grass, tall as his shoulders and waving in the gentle wind, an amber ocean that broke against the shadows of the forest in the distance.

He paused at the sound. It could have been the wind, or the distant shriek of some bird of prey calling out to its mate. It could have been his mind playing tricks on itself. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

The wind was a gentle caress against his coat, enough to brush away the hot touch of the sun. Above, endless, the blue sky was cloudless and void.

It was nothing. Keep on.

He moved down the path again, passing through the shade of the elms every fifty feet. Shadow, then sun. Shadow, then sun, on and on for miles. Around him, the acres of his parents’ old farm spread out without end.

A thousand steps later, the sound came again. Louder, now, and clear. The cries drifted with the wind from his left, where the waving grain undulated and hissed for him. He frowned, stopped at the edge of the path, and peered between the elms.

When he was a foal, he could see the town hall from his second floor bedroom, its peaked roof just visible above the marching elms. Later, as a colt, the distance had stretched, and it was a mile’s walk to the center of the town. Time passed, and fell to the earth like rain, and the earth soaked up the time and grew, and the distances expanded. The tree-lined path between town and home marched longer and longer with each year, until he forgot that once he could see the town hall from his second floor bedroom.

And still the path grew. The world spread out and out, like a blot of ink on ragged paper, pushed by the endless sky and the sun’s light touch. Now he could walk for days along the path before seeing its end.

There should not have been a foal here.

“Hello?” he called. “Who’s there?”

The crying paused as he spoke, its sound replaced by the tug of the wind on his ears. He was about to turn back to the path when a flash of movement caught his eye. Between the amber stalks, something small and green moved against the wind. He waited for it to come closer.

The grain parted, and a foal stepped out. She was a small thing, her flank still blank as a canvas, with a green coat and slate mane. Her eyes were red-rimmed with tears, and he could see the dark tracks they had traced down her muzzle. She looked up at him with her huge eyes.

She’s not a real pony.

He knelt down so that his face was at her level. “Hey there. Are you lost?”

Silent, she nodded. She turned a hair to the side, and raised a hoof to point back into the grain, at the distant forest beyond.

She’s lying.

“What’s your name?” He reached out to brush her mane. It was thick, like blades of grass or mossy fronds.

No answer. Her hoof pointed like an arrow into the fields.

“Would you like me to walk you home?”

She nodded, and together they moved into the grain. The tufted awns atop the stalks swayed and parted as she passed beneath them, the only sign as he followed her deeper and deeper off the path. Occasionally he would glimpse her green coat in the shadows ahead of him.

Hours passed, and eventually the grain ended at the foot of the forest. He turned back to the fields – the elm-lined path was a distant smudge upon the horizon.

The foal was waiting atop a fallen tree when he turned. Her eyes were wide and bright, even in the shadows of the forest. He stepped closer to her, and looked into the darkness beyond. Oaks and ashes extended without end.

“Peridot.”

He flicked an ear toward her. “I’m sorry?”

“Peridot. It’s my name.”

He nodded. “Do you live in here, Peridot?”

She nodded and stepped off the fallen trunk. Her hooves crunched the layers of leaves that carpeted the forest floor, and she began to walk further into its shadows. Her green coat and slate mane blended easily with the underbrush.

He bounded easily over the log and followed her. Within minutes the sunny expanse of the fields had vanished behind them.

“What’s your name?” she asked sometime later. They had just crossed a cold stream, and his fetlocks were soaked with muddy water. She perched upon his back until his hooves found dry ground, and then she bounded off to take the lead again.

“Vermilion.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Like your coat?”

“Yeah.”

The trees grew higher as they walked. Their canopies formed a high, sunless vault, a cathedral of leaves and branches. No wind flowed around them.

“Are we close to your home, yet?”

“Yes, almost.” She gazed around the forest. “Almost.”

He gazed around as well. The tall trees extended in all directions without end.

There is no home. There is no foal.

“Do you love anypony?” She had turned toward him while his eyes were away and sat on her haunches, looking up at him.

“I do," he said. "Her name is Lapis.”

“Is her coat blue?”

“As blue as her name.”

“Does she love you?”

“Yes.” A pause. “Yes.”

The thing that was not a foal nodded. “Love is wonderful, is it not?”

It was. “I told her I would be home. She said she would wait.”

No answer. For a moment, the thing that was not a foal almost looked sad.

“What are you?” he asked.

“A monster.”

Ah. He looked back at the empty forest. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. As am I.”

Miles away, the endless fields of grain stretched ever onward.

Author's Note

Written for prompt #306: Playing the fool.

The third short in the Vermilion/Cinnabar arc. Written in well over an hour, so it wasn't submitted to the 30 Minute Ponies site.

Six More Weeks

“Congratulations, everypony! Another Winter Wrap-Up well done!”

Twilight Sparkle barely finished the sentence before being drowned out by a roaring cheer from the hundreds of Ponyville ponies who had spent all day hard at work cleaning up from the winter snows. As usual, she had opted not to participate in the heavy-labor portions of the event, preferring instead to make checklists and tell other ponies what to do. For one day out of the year, her organizational skills were celebrated by the entire town.

She took a deep breath, her chest swelling as she rode the emotional high of their cheers. All around, her friends were hugging and slapping each other on the back or exchanging nuzzles with their neighbors. High above, the bright spring sun shone down with its golden rays, warming the green grass and filling their hearts with joy.

We should do this more often. Twilight closed her eyes and basked in the celebration.

“Great job, girl!” Applejack pounded her on the back, nearly knocking her to the ground. “Ah swear, every year you git better and better at organizin’ this thing!”

Twilight recovered her footing and turned to smile at her friend. “Oh, it was nothing, AJ. You ponies did all the work! Why, you and Big Macintosh must’ve spent hours hauling away all that snow.”

“Eyyup,” Big Macintosh said. “Darn near forty wagon loads of snow. More than ah’ve ever seen.”

"I had to haul sixty," Caramel said. "I can't feel the left side of my body."

“Well, it’s worth it now that the fields are clear,” Applejack said. “Ah can’t wait to taste those new veggies.”

“Yeah, it’s about time!” A scratchy voice intruded from above. Twilight tilted her head to see Rainbow Dash reclining on the Town Hall’s gabled roof. “Man, I thought those clouds would never burst. All the pegasi are going to be sore tomorrow.”

“Well, it will be worth it,” Twilight said. “Now that those winter clouds are gone, the warm spring weather can finally move in.”

“And all the animals can start their new families,” Fluttershy said.

“And the birds will have fantastic new nests to lay their eggs in!” Rarity added.

“And we can go swimming in the pond now that the ice is gone!” Pinkie shouted, somehow appearing between Twilight and Applejack. “You know, in four months when it warms up.”

“All because of Twilight!” Applejack pounded her on the back again, though with only enough force to stun her this time.

“Yeah! Way to go, Twilight!” Pinkie smothered her in a hug.

“Fantastic job, as always, darling.”

“Radical!”

“Um, it was nice.”

"Oh, girls,” Twilight’s blush was so fierce she feared her face might catch on fire. Again. “You keep acting like I’m responsible for all this, but that’s no magic in what I do. I just sit down and ask myself how to best use all the wonderful talents of my wonderful friends, and the rest happens like magic. Like the magic of friendship!”

“Yeah, friendship!” Rainbow Dash floated the air, pumping her hoof.

“Why, you know where we all should go to celebrate. The spa! A good spring cleaning deserves a little spring pampering, don’t you think?”

“You know what this calls for? A party!”

Twilight let the conversation drift on without her. Her part was done, and everypony was happy, Spring was here, and for at least one day, she was the hero. Not many librarians could say that, could they? The whole day really was like magic, and she let her thoughts meander back through the happy memories of the celebration, until an odd snippet of conversation caught her ear.

“Heh, yeah, I knew we could count on that groundhog. He sees his shadow every time,” Rainbow Dash said in her scratchy voice, like she had spent too much of her day yelling.

Twilight blinked, suddenly back in the present. “Wait, what’d you say, Dash?”

“Huh?” Dash turned to her. “Oh, you know, groundhog day? He saw his shadow, so spring came early.”

“Wait, I thought if he saw his shadow, it meant six more weeks of winter,” Rarity said. “Isn’t that how it goes?”

“What? That’s silly.” Dash waved a hoof dismissively. “If he sees his shadow then it means the sun is out, and spring is coming early. Cuz the sun is warm? Come on, Rarity. This is simple stuff.”

“Darling, please, I think I know how groundhogs work. If the sun is out he sees his shadow and runs back in his burrow, and that makes winter last longer.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it goes,” Twilight began. “I mean, why would a groundhog determine how long winter lasts?”

“Uhm, maybe it’s a magical groundhog?” Fluttershy said.

“Pssh, there ain’t no magical groundhogs,” Applejack said. “Everypony knows the groundhog hates the warm weather, so he hides from the sun, and that means spring is coming.”

“See, Rarity? I told you.”

“Oh, you’ll forgive me if I don’t trust the word of a farmpony—”

“Girls!” Twilight shouted. “Calm down. There’s an easy way to solve this...”

* * *

Twenty minutes later...

“Ha! See? I told you!” Rarity gave Rainbow Dash a smile that was empty of humor and full of triumph. “If he sees his shadow, it means six more weeks of winter!”

The girls, along with much of the town, crowded around Twilight’s desk as she poured through a tome of seasonal law propped open to the entry on groundhogs. It was plain, black and white.

“Huh, I guess you’re right,” Dash said. “So, uh, what’s that mean?”

“It means winter’s not over, I guess,” Twilight said. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“A problem? Yes it’s a problem!” the mayor shrieked. “We can’t be the only town that’s started spring already! We’ll be laughing stocks!”

“But, we already hauled all the snow away!”

“And brought back all the birds!”

“And cleared the clouds!”

“And woke the animals!”

“And de-iced the pond!”

“It doesn’t matter,” the mayor said. “Winter’s not over until the groundhog says its over. That’s the law.”

“But—”

“No buts!” She turned to Twilight. “Twilight, I hate to impose, but you’re the only pony I know with the organizational skills necessary for this emergency. We need to undo Winter Wrap-Up. Can you help?”

An odd feeling flooded over Twilight. It started at her hooves, and tingled, like warm water after a cold day. It slowly rose up her legs, over her barrel and chest, and finally up her neck and head, until at last the tip of her horn filled with energy.

Joy. It was joy.

“Yes. Yes, I can.”

* * *

The next day

“Congratulations, everypony! Another Winter... uh... un-Wrap-Up done!”

Twilight Sparkle’s happy announcement was met with stony silence. A hundred ponies stared at her. She could have heard a pin drop.

All the snow was back in the fields.

All the clouds were back in the sky.

All the birds were gone.

The animals, asleep.

The pond, frozen.

And for the second day in a row, Twilight Sparkle’s organization skills had saved the day.

“Just remember, we’ll get to do this all over again in six wee–” She was interrupted by the first of many snowballs to hit her in the face. She barely felt it.

She was too happy.

Author's Note

Written for prompt #308: How ponies spend the day after Winter Wrap-Up.

Derecho

The sun set the evening sky aflame to my left. It painted half the world in red and yellow and orange, and the purple blots of clouds formed silhouettes that slowly marched behind me as I flew. The darkness to my right was speckled with the faint light of stars peeking through the veil of night.

It was still warm, even thousands of feet above the earth. Autumn had yet to give way to winter, though beneath me I could see flocks of birds, numbering in the thousands, making their way to the south. Instinct guided them, and when the chill of winter did finally arrive, it would find us alone in the skies.

I watched the birds stream by in silence, occasionally tilting my wings to adjust my course. Even with the fading light of evening, my target was obvious. It loomed ahead of me. Streams of clouds gathered near its tips, caught on it like puffs of cotton caught on a tree’s thorns. Bits of them broke off and dissolved into the dry wind.

It was a mountain, if a mountain could fly. The largest city ever constructed by pegasi. Easily twice the size of Cloudsdale, and at the height of its fame and power it housed half the souls of our race.

But that was then. Today Derecho was nothing but a ruin, as lifeless as the mountain it imitated. For a thousand years it drifted, empty, slowly disintegrating under the weight of the sun and the hammering of countless storms. Only the strongest parts of it, the foundations, lasted. Only its bones.

I banked my wings and climbed around the fortress city’s perimeter. A cloud wall a thousand feet high still girdled the ruins, broken every hundred feet by guard towers whose empty eyes stared out at the evening sky. Cracks had formed over the centuries, and in places huge sections of the wall had broken and tumbled away, leaving jagged gaps hundreds of paces across.

Even in its ruined state, Derecho could fill me with awe. I remembered exploring it as a foal with my friends, each of us daring the others to fly closer to its center, where we convinced ourselves that ghosts still flew among its columns and towers. When the wind shrieked through its empty streets, we heard those ghosts crying out for us. When thunder boomed among its cliffs and halls, we imagined the hoofsteps of an angry god, come to punish us for our trespass.

I smiled at the memories. They rushed back as I circled Derecho’s crumbling towers. Some days, I would give anything to relive those innocent years with my friends, never caring for the future, never knowing the hardships it would bring. I could get lost in Derecho again, and float away with it on the wind, and live there forever chasing the ghosts and fleeing from the thunder and never growing old.

It was a harmless fantasy. I enjoyed it for a moment, then pushed it away as I would brush away a fly. My life may not have been perfect, but there were some things I wouldn’t give up for the world.

And there was one now. I spotted her from nearly a mile away. Her light blue coat blended with the dark grey clouds atop the highest point remaining in the city, but her white mane fluttered like a flag, and drew my eye as it had so many times before. I adjusted my course again and slowly glided toward her.

Alto looked up as I approached. She waited until I landed before giving me a tiny nod.

“Is that any way to greet your father?” I sat down beside her and brushed her cheek with mine. “We were worried about you.”

She snorted. “You mean you were worried. Does she even know I’m gone?”

That was a good question. I decided not to answer it. “She loves you, you know.”

“She has a funny way of showing it.”

I thought of Aurora perched on the nest above our house. Right now she would be settling in for the night, her eyes fixed on the north, waiting for a pegasus who would never return. I sighed again.

“She is filled with love,” I said. “That’s why she does it.”

“Humph.” Alto turned her head a fraction of an inch away.

“I mean it. She would do the same for you.”

The tips of Alto’s ears sagged for a moment, and she turned back to face me. We stared at each other in silence. Around us, the sky grew dark, and color fled from the world, leaving only mute shapes and stars.

Eventually, she spoke. “How did you know I was here?”

I put on a smile before answering. “He used to come here, too. Derecho was the first place he explored when he was old enough to fly without your mother or I at his wing.”

And long ago, it was the first place I explored, when I was old enough to fly without my own parents at my wing. I didn’t tell her that. There was no need.

“It’s beautiful.” She paused to look around at the ruined clouds. “Why don’t more ponies come here?”

I shrugged. “Not everypony feels the call.”

We were silent again. Off to the east, pale light filled the horizon as the moon began its slow ascent toward the heavens. The city below us became landscape of silver and jet.

“What if I said I did?” she asked. Her voice was soft and lonely.

A sharp pain jabbed at my heart for just a moment. I held onto the sensation as long as I could. His memory rarely hurt me, and I dreaded the day when it would cause me no pain at all. I didn’t want to forget.

“Well, ah...” I licked my lips. “What would you do?”

“Go out there, like him.” She waved a hoof at the wide, empty sky before us. “Look for him. Maybe find him.”

“He’s gone, Alto.”

“Maybe we haven’t looked for him hard enough.”

“You’re thinking like your mother.” It was the worst thing I could imagine saying to her. “You have to know when to give up.”

She shook her head. “I have to try. It’s what he would do.”

“And what if we lose you, too? What would that do to your mother?”

She was silent for a while. Light slowly returned to the world as the moon rose ever higher.

“I think she’d understand.” She brushed my cheek with hers and jumped away, her wings already outspread to catch the air.

I watched her go and clung to that pain in my heart, the ache that grew smaller and further away with each passing year. I watched her go, and my pain flew away, and the ruined city of Derecho drifted where only the winds could dream.

Author's Note

Written for prompt #339: Explorers of the Sky.

Third short featuring Alto, Cumulus and Aurora. A few years after the first.

O Death, where is thy sting?

A/N: This wasn't part of the 30 Minute Ponies challenge. It was an attempt to write in a pulpier, 1950's-adventure-sci-fi style for a different project, which I ended up not publishing. Instead, it gets a home here.

For continuity purposes, this story features the human Flash Sentry, some years after the events of the Equestria Girls movie.

Flash Sentry landed with a grunt on the barren rock of a new world. Above him the pitiless sun beat down the earth with a hail of hard radiation, of which visible light was only the merest part. The desert-dry air parched his skin, drawing out his sweat and leaving a crust of salt behind.

Empty sands stretched out all around. Neither hill nor dune nor mountain broke the perfect emptiness of the wasteland. Only a faint ring of ash, with him at its center, gave any evidence that a world-portal had just opened on this very spot. The wind blew, the sands shifted, and in moments even that small sign of his arrival was obliterated. This alien world had seen him, measured him, judged him, and already forgotten him.

With no landmarks to guide his path, Flash simply walked forward, toward the distant horizon.

* * *

How long Flash Sentry walked, he could not have said. Thousands of steps passed beneath his feet before he even considered the question. Time was an interesting concept but ultimately immaterial to him; only Twilight Sparkle mattered, and he would walk through the burning desert for centuries without complaint if it drew him but one atom closer to his love.

Time passed, and the harsh elements took their toll upon his garments. The fine shoes purchased from a goblin cobbler ten worlds ago came apart. His jacket frayed from the harsh abrasion of blowing sand, until it hung in threadbare tatters from his shoulders. The dry winds, infused with grit and burning with all the heat of a furnace, caressed his flesh like a lover until the skin cracked and bled and left shining red runnels all down his limbs. But still he strove on, unflinching, unfailing, no more able to stop than an avalanche crashing down the slopes of a mountain.

Eventually the desert sands gave way to packed earth riven with deep cracks. The skeletal remains of wooden buildings protruded from the ground in places, the only evidence that the land he now walked was once a town. The ruins lined an empty stretch that might have been an avenue. He closed his eyes and imagined, for a moment, that trees had grown here, that children had played where now he walked.

He opened his eyes. Only ghosts remained, now.

But at least the town offered him a new path. He turned to face the broken timbers and set his feet upon the memory that was the road. So oriented, he walked until the burning sun began its slow daily surrender to the incipient night.

* * *

The last light of the setting sun painted the western sky a luminous orange as Flash Sentry approached the cairn.

It was the only landmark for miles around. The ruined town had long since vanished over the horizon behind him. Bare, baked earth stretched out infinitely in all directions. Of the road, only a dustless path remained to remind passers-by that it had ever existed at all. Soon, he imagined, even that would vanish, and nothing would remain in this world but the sky and the sands.

And, perhaps, the cairn. Flash’s steps slowed as he drew nearer to the cluster of rocks. They were piled atop each other chaotically, like memories tossed into the back of a confused mind where they could cause no more harm. The highest of them reached perhaps ten feet above the desert floor, and the shadow they cast stretched for miles to the east. As he took the final steps toward it, the setting sun finally dipped beneath the horizon, and the shadow faded and was lost to the night.

Flash stopped and crossed his arms. Whatever this world held for him, it would be here; he knew it as intimately as he knew the sound of his mother’s voice. This was the center of the gyre.

His instincts were rewarded. The winds, now chill with the touch of evening, swirled around him and carried with them an abyssal rumble, as of rocks crashing together in the far distance. If the dead could laugh, this would be their sound.

“Show yourself!” he shouted. “Show yourself, or bother me not with your mockery!”

The winds died, and the graven laughter followed. Silence reigned in the space afterward and stretched out interminably, until Flash prepared to turn away. Before he could raise his foot to depart, a hollow, ruined voice responded.

“It has been so long.” The words existed at the edge of his hearing, at the threshold between noise and speech. They were dry and rotten and bruised his mind to hear. Death inflected them. Loss accented them. No mortal throat could ever have uttered such empty sounds. A lesser man would have fled from them; Flash merely assumed a fighting stance, his chest turned at an angle while his arms rose to strike or defend.

“So long,” the not-voice continued. “So long, and I am glad you have come.” The cairn rumbled, its rocks shifted and threatened to collapse, and above it rose a creature that might once have been a pony, if ponies could be twisted into nightmare forms that affronted nature with their very existence. Long, sharp bones stretched and punctured a skin the color of dust. Its mane was a curtain of sand, ever flowing from its scalp onto the rocks beneath its feet. Sunken eyes peered out from a face stretched tight as the head of a drum, and they glowed with a malevolent spark that bespoke a thousand thousand years of ravenous hunger.

“Cast not that foul gaze upon me, beast or demon,” Flash shouted. “Get back to whatever hell spawned you.”

“Hell? No, it was not hell that spawned me.” The beast took a step down the stairlike rocks of the cairn. It was larger than any mortal pony, its head nearly level with Flash’s own, and as it spoke it smiled, revealing row upon row of shark’s teeth behind its cracked lips. Sand puddled around its hooves as it stepped closer. “No, manling. I was a pony, once, born in paradise. Now I am so much more.”

Flash’s disbelief must have showed on his face, for the creature laughed again. The rumbling peals shook Flash’s bones.

“I speak the truth, boy,” it said. “This world you see was once a garden. Forests and meadows spanned the continents. Clear rivers flowed from snow-capped mountains to gentle seas. It was always summer here.”

Flash stepped back and began to circle around the creature. It turned to follow him, a look on its face not unlike what a cat might give a too-brave mouse. “I see no gardens. What unmerciful disaster struck, and where have all your brethren gone?”

“It was no disaster, little man-thing. It was a miracle.” The monster’s grin stretched wider, and sand spilled from its mouth like drool. “We lived like gods, and we defeated every enemy but one: death. So our greatest minds bent all their efforts to curing us of wretched mortality, and they succeeded beyond our wildest dreams. They found a way to turn our most abundant resource into our most valuable – eternal life.”

Flash risked a glance away from the sand creature. “Water. It was water, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, water.” It took a step toward him again. “We drank the oceans first. They were so large and so deep, they could never be exhausted. But in time they were.

“The snowcaps went next.” It too glanced away, this time into the distance, as though seeing something no longer there. “Entire cities moved to the mountains to consume the glaciers. They bought us another thousand years.”

“And then the rivers, and swamps, and everything else?”

“Yes, yes and yes. And now it is all gone.” For a fraction of a second, what might have been sorrow appeared in the creature’s eyes. Just as quickly it was gone, replaced by the predatory gleam. “We succeeded beyond our wildest dreams.”

“This is success?” Flash snorted and sneered at the deluded monster. “I see nothing but death.”

“Then you are blind, little mayfly. I have lived a million years, and I will live a million more. I will see the sun go dark in the sky and the earth crumble to dust around me. When whatever gods may exist at last blow their trumpets to herald the end, I will be their only witness, and then I will be victorious over death.”

“Your victory is hollow. What has it bought you?” Flash motioned with his arm to encompass the barren world. “An empty world? Dominion over nothing? Where are your kin?”

“They are gone, too. There was not enough water for us all. In the end, we drank each other, and now only I remain.” The beast took another step toward Flash. The air around it burned like a blacksmith’s forge. “And I am so glad you have come to slake my thirst!”

So saying, the beast leapt upon Flash. Its tremendous weight bore him to the ground, and only his hands clamped around its neck kept its shark-like maw from tearing out his throat. Its dry, parchment skin burned beneath his fingers, and a terrible pain erupted at its searing touch. His skin cracked, opening rivers of blood that flowed into the beast. Its eyes closed in delight, and it pressed down closer upon him. Rank breath that stank of ancient crypts washed over Flash’s face, gagging him with its stench.

His legs were still free, though. He curled beneath the beast and kicked up with all his might. A thousand pounds of rock and sand and bone met his feet and barely budged. But that was enough – Flash shoved the monster’s face away and rolled upright just in time to dodge a blow from its hoof that would have left him insensible or dead.

They circled each other again. The beast’s chest heaved like a bellows, drawing in dry air and expelling an ashen cloud of smoke and cinders. The bloody handprints on its throat faded as they were drawn into the sandy skin. It pawed the ground and lowered its head for another charge.

Flash leaned to his left, then suddenly leapt to the right as the monster thundered past. Tatters from his shredded jacket brushed against its side and disintegrated on contact, leaving him even more exposed to the chill night and the beast’s burning presence. Before it could recover, he leaned down, scooped up a handful of dusty sand, and flung it into the monster’s face.

It didn’t even flinch. Its lips drew back and twisted into a mocking grin, and the last traces of thought vanished from its eyes, replaced by an ageless hunger, a predator’s instinct that had served it well over the millennia as it hunted down its last fellow ponies and consumed them. The shark’s jaws spread wider, and it roared with a sound that shook the earth. The stone cairn behind Flash shuddered and collapsed, raising a cloud of choking dust that obscured everything but the burning sparks in the beast’s eyes.

Again it leapt, but this time Flash met its charge. His forearm slammed against its throat, and he ignored the rending pain as it drew the blood and moisture from his skin. Monstrous jaws crashed just inches from his face. Burning sand and embers scoured him, searing away his eyelashes and brows. Slowly it pushed him back, until his feet could no longer hold against it, and he began to tumble.

He had only seconds to live. Desperate, he grasped at the monster with his free hand, grappling with its battering leg until he trapped it in an iron grip. Ignoring the horrid pain as his skin dried and sloughed away, he shoved the monster’s leg into its own mouth and terrible jaws.

The beast shrieked, but not in pain. Its eyes lit up with savage joy as it devoured its own flesh. Forgotten, Flash fell and rolled away from the monster as it bit again and again, each time consuming more of its parched body. When there was nothing left of its leg, its head twisted at an impossible angle to bite into its shoulder, and so it went, on and on, eating itself until nothing remained but a set of clattering jaws that trembled, shuddered, and finally went still.

Flash shivered on the ground beside the ruined cairn. His flayed hands and arms began to burn as the rush of adrenaline fled from his blood, and the cold touch of night wrapped its arms around him.

He gave himself a few moments to recover and then, ignoring his inconsequential pains, stood. A cold blue light surrounded him as another world-portal began to open, and he stepped through it without a second glance at the dead world he left behind.

The Lotus Eaters

Author's Note

This isn't a 30-minute Ponies story. It's a vignette in the style of Eakin's collection of short stories, All the Myriad Worlds. Familiarity with those stories is not necessary.

The Lotus Eaters

It was a perfect world.

The mare’s first impressions were of the rough grass beneath her cheek. It tickled her nostrils as she breathed and tangled in the long strands of her mane. She blew them away with a snort, rolled onto her belly, and lifted her head to survey the scene around her.

Low mists hung upon the clearing, concealing the dozen or so forms that still slumbered. A sliver of red sun broke the horizon to the east and filled the world with golden light, a warm touch upon her coat that chased away the stiffness in her muscles. Her joints creaked as she stumbled up onto her hooves, her mouth smacking with the first breaths of morning. A tremendous yawn split her face in half, wide enough to swallow both her hooves with room left over for more.

Breakfast. She lapped at her muzzle with her tongue, tasting bits of grass and the ghosts of last night’s love. For a moment the present slipped away, and it was night again, and she danced by the crazed light of the bonfire, and a nameless stallion danced beside her, and she could not tell where her limbs ended and his began, and in the darkness she felt other ponies move around her, their tails and wings and manes waving with abandon, and all of them utterly, perfectly free.

A rumble from her stomach broke the silence, and the memory evaporated like the fading mists around her. She clacked her teeth together, loud enough to stir the nearest ponies into waking, their bleary eyes puzzling at the cold morning mists. A quiet murmur filled the clearing.

She ignored them and pressed her snout into the grass. A deep breath flooded her nose with the scent of fresh dirt, ashes, ponies, rain, feathers, starlight and everything green. She snorted and tromped away from the herd, seeking the one scent that mattered. It teased at her brain, dancing at the edge of her perception, a cruel joke played by her imagination.

A log blocked her path. She vaulted over it without thinking, her nose back in the grass as soon as her hooves touched down on the earth. The sharp, sweet tang of her quarry was stronger now, too strong to be a dream. It smelled like the sun on a summer day, bright and hot and full of life and burning.

She stood upright, and the scent stayed with her. She could taste it on the air. The anticipation of it set her trembling, and she broke into a canter through the misty forest, weaving around the trees, ducking beneath branches, crashing through bushes like a careless foal. The sting of the twigs against her coat was nothing; the little pains were electric and filled her with urgency.

Finally, there. She burst through a patch of honeysuckle into a small grove surrounded by towering sycamores. A thin stream wound its way between the giants, and floating in a still bend, anchored to a fallen tree, was the most wonderful thing in the world.

She tried to savor it, she really did. She plucked the first petal with her lips and set it on her tongue. The taste burned like like a fuse through her brain, chasing away thought and reason, leaving behind only a ravenous hunger. Her body trembled as the last vestiges of control washed away, and she chewed the petal into a mash and swallowed it.

The rest of the flower vanished in seconds. She tore it apart in a frenzy, gulping huge pulpy masses of it as fast as she could swallow. For a moment she nearly choked, her eyes bulging as the remains of the flower filled her mouth and throat, but even then she never stopped, ignoring her burning lungs and spasming chest. Finally it was gone, and she sucked in a desperate gasp of air.

Shuddering, trembling, her lips and gums ragged and bleeding from tearing at the log, she waited. She waited and smiled, blood dribbling down her chin like drool to flow away in the cold stream beneath her.

It started in her belly, like it always did. The flower’s juices were absorbed by her stomach lining within seconds, and from there filtered straight into her bloodstream. A heady buzz built behind her eyes, and she tossed her head back to howl.

Lotus intoxication. Nothing in the world compared. Not food, not sex, not victory, not even Princess Celestia’s love. Nothing was better than the lotus. Her legs shook, splashing her body with water, and she felt her wings stretching so far and so high they wanted to break. She tried to scream and realized she was laughing.

With the lotus in her blood, the world was a greater place. Every sound crashed against her eardrums like a bomb. She could feel the wind teasing every hair in her coat. Sounds carried from the distant clearing, and she could hear the heartbeat of each pony still rousing from their slumber. Their scents played in her nose. She could taste them.

She wanted to fly. Or perhaps the lotus wanted her to fly, for it was all the same. The thought had barely crossed her mind and she was already airborne, rocketing away from the ground like a cannon shot. The wind screamed in her ears, almost loud enough to drown out her laughter.

Almost, but not.

Higher she climbed. The trees beneath her blended into a single mass, a forest stretching for leagues in every direction. Somewhere out there, she knew, was the civilization they had left behind. A world of ponies who still cared about pointless things like jobs and homes and families. Ponies who hadn’t tasted the lotus. Ponies who had never known joy.

She flew higher. Clouds whipped by her, streaking her coat with droplets of water. She shook to rid herself of them and flapped her wings harder.

The memories fled from her mind. Only the bite of the cold air against her face, the rush of it through her feathers, the spinning tableau of the world beneath her, only those things mattered. Higher she flew, until the horizon began to bend, and the sky above darkened and the dim stars emerged, heedless of the sun still rising to its zenith. She exhaled a wondrous breath and realized she had no breath, for there was no more air. Her feathers cracked and frosted together.

She laughed in silence. Her lungs drew in nothing and expelled nothing. A droplet of blood, frozen into a perfect crimson crystal, glittered like a ruby in the space before her. She reached out to touch it with a hoof.

She was not cold. The lotus burned in her blood like wildfire. All the long miles down it warmed her. The screaming wind buffeted her body, but they could not touch her heart, which flowed with the nectar of the gods. She didn’t bother to fly – she was done with that.

The ground rushed up, and she impacted the side of a cliff at just under terminal velocity, which for a pegasus falling from the edge of space was considerable. The forest quaked for hundreds of yards around, and a rockslide large enough to bury a village poured down the mountain, sending a pall of dust thousands of feet into the sky.

Through it all she laughed. The rocks bruised her, but even that pain was transformed into sensation, something beautiful that only her lotus-addled mind could savor. She howled with joy.

Eventually, a new sound stirred her. The edge of the lotus high had begun to erode, leaving her more attuned to the real world, and she flicked an ear toward the disturbance. Hooves on stone. Ragged breaths in a deep chest. Sweat and musk.

A pegasus stallion crested the ridge beside her. A dozen feet away he stopped, frozen, nostrils flared, his eyes wide and fixed on her form, on her face, on her lips. She could see the muscles straining beneath his coat, ready to erupt. His wings twitched at his sides, as though unsure if they should be flapping or not.

He closed the distance between them with a few steps, and then stopped again. His muzzle lowered until it was even with hers, and slowly, so slowly, he leaned down to lick the blood from her lips. His eyes closed, and he shuddered again.

The mare smiled and waited. Those few drops of her blood contained only a vanishing fraction of the original lotus, but it was enough. Enough to turn over a pony’s mind, make them a beast.

To free them.

The stallion’s tongue found her lips again, lapping at her sloppily, desperate for any bit of the lotus in her blood. It tickled. She laughed and pushed him away.

Wrong answer. He growled, the only warning she had before his teeth sank into her foreleg. The pain was delicious and sharp.

Without the lotus, the mare was a gentle and peaceful pony. With the lotus coursing through her blood, she was free from such limits. She laughed and screamed and slammed her forehead into his muzzle. Once, twice, more. The copper stench of blood splashed on her face.

He let go with reluctance and stumbled away. They stared at each other, panting, the lotus burning in each of their hearts. He smiled, a savage, wild smile, and when they came together again, she welcomed his lips with her own.

It was a perfect world.

Tour of Duty

The last light of day was fading behind the western mountains when I collapsed onto my cloud bed.

Around me, a dozen other pegasi mumbled and groaned, joked and laughed, as our flight settled in for the evening. Long hours of training weighed on our wings, drooping them like old stallions, and all I could think about was the blissful slumber just moments from claiming—

“Cirrus!” the lieutenant shouted from down the barracks hall. “In my office!”

Celestia dammit. I let out a silent sigh and pushed myself back onto my hooves. Sleep was going to have to wait a few more minutes, it seemed.

“Posting!” I shouted back, earning a few chuckles from the pegasi around me. It wasn’t necessary to respond so formally, but I got a kick out of pretending to care about the force’s customs and courtesies. Despite centuries of trying, the Equestrian Military Command hadn’t figured out how to prohibit sarcasm yet. Hopefully they never would, and future generations of soldiers would be able to bitch and moan in safety.

“Hey,” Cloud Scatter snagged me with a wingtip as I passed her bunk. She sat on the edge of the bed and leaned forward to whisper. “Don’t forget, you owe me.”

Right, right. I paused long enough to give her wings a critical look; they were ruffled, but not unruly. Earlier in the day I’d promised to preen them for her – an exceptionally relaxing and enjoyable experience for pegasi – in exchange for her help with a troublesome patrol. It was a common trade among flightmates, regardless of gender, and something the higher-ups encouraged as a way to foster unit cohesion.

Speaking of cohesion, sometimes preening led to other, more intimate encounters. I tried to gauge Scatter’s expression for any hint of her intentions, but she just smiled at me with that little smile she always wore.

Time would have to tell. Sleep might be later in coming than I thought.

“Sure,” I mumbled back, sneaking a careful glance around. If any of the other ponies heard – or cared – they weren’t showing it. “Lemme just see what the LT wants.”

The lieutenant was waiting in his little office with the flight’s first sergeant. For a panicked moment I tried to mentally review the past few weeks for any indiscretions that might be worth punishing. Nothing came to mind, or at least, nothing that either of them should have been aware of.

My confusion must’ve shown on my face. “Relax,” the lieutenant said. He passed a folded piece of paper across his desk toward me. “Got a tasking letter. Congratulations.”

Ah. I stared at the paper. When neither of them spoke, I picked it up, unfolded it, and read.

“Pretty popular,” the first sergeant rumbled. He was the largest pegasi I’d ever seen, nearly as large as an earth pony, and being around him when he spoke was like hovering beside a thundercloud. “Wish they’d let me head out there.”

Do you? I scanned the letter, wondering if a trade were even possible. Alas, as always, there was that one treacherous line near the end:

SPECIAL EXPERIENCE REQUIRED: WEATHER

I let out a little breath. “Sorry sir. I’d share, but…”

“Yeah, yeah.” He slapped my barrel with the flat of his wing. “Give ‘em hell for us.”

Right. I nodded, slipped the tasking letter beneath my wing, and walked back into the barracks, where Cloud Scatter waited with her little smile.

* * *

“So why do you get to keep going?”

I ignored the question. Or, more precisely, I postponed answering it until we’d finished flying our fifth lap around the training grounds. Two days had passed since I received the letter, and the entire flight knew I’d soon be leaving for a half a year.

It was summer, and the hot, thin air provided little support beneath our wings. Hovering was difficult even for the strongest fliers, and although it was early, I suspected most of the flight would break off for less-strenuous activities after lunch. Map reading was always a fun task to practice on hot days.

“Just lucky, I guess,” I finally said as we slowed to a stop. The ground was a mile or so beneath us, far enough away to turn into an abstract swell of hills and valleys, dotted with green trees and amber grass.

“No, seriously, why?” Chinook asked. He hovered beside me, his thin falcon’s wings buzzing like a hummingbird’s to stay aloft. “You’re not the best flier. You can’t even carry much. Why the hell do they need you?”

“Love you too, man.”

“Ugh, come on!” He spun in place, trying to stay in front of me. “What’s the secret?”

I shrugged. “There is none. I’m just good with weather.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“I could do that! Anypony can kick a cloud.” He looked around, perhaps searching for such a cloud. Alas, the sky was blue and beautiful and completely, utterly empty around us.

“It’s a little more complex than that,” I said.

“How?”

Now it was my turn to look around. Technically we were supposed to be practicing flight maneuvers, not chatting about the weather. But the lieutenant wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and honestly, the upcoming deployment was all the justification I needed for some practice.

“Stuff like this,” I said. Chinook leaned forward, as though he hadn’t heard me, but by then I’d already begun.

I held out my hooves and twisted the air between them. The ambient pressure in a sphere about the size of a beachball suddenly fell by several inches of mercury, and the space filled in an instant with a dense fog. I tapped the newborn cloud with my hoof, nodded, then kicked it over to Chinook.

He caught it easily. “You can make clouds? I thought you needed water for that.”

“The water’s already here.” I waved a leg. “The air is full of it. Besides, making a cloud is easy.” I concentrated, and the tiny cloud in Chinook’s grasp dissolved in a spray of snow, sparkling as it drifted away in the hot summer air, never melting.

“Whoa.” He looked down at his hooves, where a thin layer of frost had accumulated. “How’d you do that? You didn’t even touch it.”

“It’s not about touch.” I let my senses extend to the air around me, searching for the rising thermals and the cold air of downdrafts. They were all around us, invisible but no less real for it. A casual twitch of my wings tangled the currents and set them spinning around us in a weak vortex.

“It’s about your will,” I continued. I reach out to tap Chinook’s forehead with my hoof, and at my silent command the winds sped faster and faster, forming a funnel around us. Droplets of mist stung my nose.

“Whoa,” Chinook breathed. “How are you…”

“Just something my father taught me.” The air shook, and my hollow bones trembled in sympathy. A chilling cold seeped out from the whirlwind speeding around us, and the world beyond was lost in a haze of snow and hail. I held the vortex for a few moments more, until the shrieking winds drowned out my thoughts, and released it. Suddenly unbound, a million balls of hail shot away from us and began the long fall to the earth far below.

* * *

“Do you know what size you need?” The armorer, a tan pegasus whose name I should have known but couldn’t remember for the life of me, asked.

“Twelve long, medium wide,” I said. I probably could’ve used a larger wingblade, but I’d gotten used to that size, and it was comfortable.

The next few minutes passed in silence as the armorer fitted my wings with the blades. They sat alongside the radial bones, hidden beneath the long primary feathers, until a careful twist extended them to their full length. The centuries had seen new designs come and go, new metals, better forges, but the basic premise of the wingblade hadn’t changed since pegasi first began writing down how to make them.

“Okay, those look good,” the armorer – Cloud Fire, that was his name – said. “See if you can extend—”

I was way ahead of him. Before he finished speaking I flicked my wings, snapping the blades out with the distinctive metal *ting* they were so known for. I flapped a few times, stretching the muscles, letting my body remember the odd weight they added.

Just like old times.

Another twist, and the blades retracted with a quiet *snick*. I folded my wings at my side, the blades within hidden perfectly beneath the feathers.

“Huh, you’ve done this before,” Cloud Fire said.

“Yeah, once or twice.” Already the blades’ weight seemed natural, like something long lost had finally returned to me. Reassuring. No longer missing. “Where do I sign?”

* * *

“Hey.”

I looked up from my bags. Cloud Scatter stood at the foot of my bunk, smiling that little smile at me.

“Hey,” I said. I made a show of rummaging inside the saddlebag in front of me again, but the contents were the same as five minutes ago. I didn’t have much to pack.

“Tomorrow, huh? Be weird not having you around.” She hopped up on the bed next to the bags and gave me a polite nuzzle, the kind I gave to my little sister when I visited home. The other pegasi in our flight made themselves busy looking elsewhere.

“It’s just for six months. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“You said that last time. It felt pretty long to us.” She glanced down the row between the bunks, already dark as our flight prepared for bed. “To me.”

“Yeah, well…” I couldn’t think of any way to finish the thought. “Yeah.”

“Five times. Think this’ll be the last?” She worried at an errant feather with her lips, then looked up with ruby eyes.

I shrugged. “Maybe. Ask the griffons.”

“Fuck the griffons.”

There wasn’t much to say to that, so I just sat beside her. Eventually, she sighed and spoke again.

“How do you feel?” She looked away to ask the question.

“Scared,” I whispered.

Her head whipped back toward me, her feathers ruffling. “What?”

“Excited,” I said, louder. I forced a smile on my face.

“Ah.” Her wings settled back at her side. “Well, try not to forget us, huh?”

That wouldn’t be hard. We spent the next few hours sitting together, in silent brooding, even as the barracks went dark around us.

* * *

I had my own booth on the train. Not many ponies were still heading north to support the war. Soon enough, we were told, the war would be over, and soldiers would only ride home.

I thought about that as home sped away behind me.

A middle-aged mare paused in the aisle by my booth. She reached out and patted my armored shoulder with her hoof.

“Thank you for your service, sonny.”

I smiled at her. It was genuine, or so well practiced that it might as well be. I couldn’t tell anymore. “It’s our pleasure, ma’am.”

When she was gone, and the train rattled onward, and it was just me in the carriage, I leaned forward, my head low between my legs. I sucked in great breaths of air, my chest swelling like bellows. I felt like sobbing, or screaming, or laughing, or just doing something other than speed toward whatever awaited me in the north. My eyes squeezed shut, and for a long moment memories of my past, memories of my future, rushed like an endless river through my mind, sweeping me along with them, helpless to escape them.

Just as quickly it was over, and I sat back up, my heart racing but my body and my expression calm. A pony passing by would not have noticed anything out of place.

And still the train carried me on.

Author's Note

Another visit with Cirrus.

The Storm

Author's Note

My entry in RogerDodger's October Writeoff, with the prompt "Just Over the Horizon." It managed to win the contest, which I thought was thrilling, especially considering how many great other stories by some awesome authors were entered.

The Storm

Apple Bloom watched the storm from her front porch.

It was miles away, still, more felt than seen. A line of clouds rose over the west horizon, spilling toward her like water overflowing from a cup. The sunset filled the late summer world with golden light, and it painted the tops of the dark clouds orange and red. Distant flitting specks -- birds returning to their evening roosts -- fled from the faint thunder.

She sat on her haunches. The movement set the dry boards beneath her creaking, and a praying mantis perched on the railing twisted its head in her direction. She spent a moment staring the bug down, and then snorted and turned back to the coming storm.

The patio door screeched behind her. There was a short pause, and she heard Applejack’s hoofsteps approach.

“Thought you’d be busy packing,” her sister said, settling down by her side. They were nearly the same height, now.

“Finished already.”

Applejack grunted, and out of the corner of her eye Apple Bloom saw her sister face the clouds. Except for her breath and the hum of insects in the leaves, silence returned to the farm.

A flash lit the storm, casting the clouds’ roiling edges in sharp relief. Apple Bloom began counting in her head: one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand…

She reached twenty-five and was about to give up when the thunder arrived. It began slowly, a deep rumble stretched out by distance and echoes, and rolled on and on, crashing against the farmhouse like an ocean’s waves. It faded, and when it was gone a true silence reigned, and even the buzzing cicadas were stunned into stillness.

“Gonna be a big one,” Applejack said. “Biggest one of the year, the pegasi say.”

“You’d think they’d stop it.”

“Hm?” Applejack turned her head a fraction of an inch.

“The pegasi. You’d think they’d stop a storm that big.” Apple Bloom waved her hoof at the clouds. They devoured half the sky, now, and above them the twilight had faded to a rich purple.

“Ah, I reckon they could. But they always let one big storm through every year.”

“That’s stupid.” Apple Bloom spoke softly, without heat. Applejack was not a pegasus, after all. “Look at that thing. It’ll flood the streams, break trees, tear off roofs. We don’t need that mess.”

“Yup. All true.”

“So why let it happen?”

“Good question.” Applejack turned back to the storm. Her mane, down and untied for the night, fell in curtains over her shoulders. “I asked Rainbow Dash, once. She said the pegasi used to stop all the bad weather. Tornadoes, blizzards, everything but light rains, back when ponies lived in Dream Valley.”

“Yeah?” Apple Bloom waited for her sister to continue. “Sounds nice. What happened?”

“Nothing. Ponies loved it,” Applejack said. “They loved it so much they asked the pegasi to stop thunderstorms and overcast skies. They asked the pegasi to burn away the frost and the snow, to end the fog and the morning mists.

“Finally, they even asked the pegasi to stop the seasons and hold the world in summer. Have nothing but warm blue skies and gentle evening rains, forever.”

“Oh.” Apple Bloom looked out at the coming storm. “Sounds… nice, I guess.”

“I’m sure it was. But time passed, and ponies forgot the snow, and the winter, and the thunder. Everything but the sun. Their world never changed, and neither did they. They never grew, and when they died they were still young as foals.”

Silence again. In the distance, veils of rain hid Ponyville’s rooftops.

“If you never experience something, you’ll start to forget it,” Applejack said. “That’s why we get one big storm every year.”

“That’s just a story, though,” Apple Bloom mumbled.

“Yeah, it probably is.” Applejack stood and stretched. “But ponies do forget. Pegasi are right about that.”

Apple Bloom swallowed soundlessly. The world flashed, and a heartbeat later the sharp crack of thunder split the dawning night.

“Anyway, let’s get inside,” Applejack said. “Storm’s about to hit.”

Yeah. Apple Bloom looked up. “Hey, sis?”

“Hm?”

“I won’t forget you.” A pause. “Any of you.”

Applejack smiled. She leaned forward and pressed her lips against Apple Bloom’s forehead. “I know,” she whispered. “Now, come on. You’ve got an early train tomorrow.”

“Right.” Apple Bloom gave the storm a final look. It was about to break on the farm. Already, stray drops painted dark spots on the wood.

Maybe once a year wasn’t so bad.

Nickel-Iron-Cobalt

Author's Note

Anthro, for once! This took about 40 minutes, with another 20 or so for editing.

This prompt-based story was originally written in the game Elegy for a Dead World. See this blog post for details.

Nickel-Iron-Cobalt

Everything about this planet is synthetic. I didn’t realize that until my craft hit the upper atmosphere and started to brake. There is no oxygen on this world – the blue sky is the product of countless trillions of small machines, each no larger than a snowflake, floating through the air like dust. Even now I can see them coating the exterior of my suit, and where they have touched it shines like oil. I do not know their purpose.

I decided to leave my suit on. The suit's computer says there are no toxins in the air, and the temperature is a balmy twelve degrees, but there’s still the little matter of breathing. If I were a more daring woman, I would simply use an oxygen mask. But I am not.

*

There is a statue to the south. A stone sphere, supported by three male caryatids, all crouched together with the globe resting on their shoulders. Their expressions are lost, filled with pain.

That term – statue, as if it were a decoration carved from marble – does this monstrosity no justice. It is larger than a mountain range. The curve of the planet conceals the statue’s base, and as I watch, clouds break against the tortured muscles of the slaves holding it aloft.

The craftsmanship on display is awe-inspiring. This monument contains more stone – if, indeed, it is made of stone, and not some exotic material – than any human work. Not even Terra’s Elevators contained this much raw mass. It is enough to affect the local gravity; although my navigation system insists that I am standing on perfectly flat ground, I feel as though it is sloped down toward the statue. It is drawing me closer simply by dint of being.

*

The statue is decaying. I thought it was due to erosion at first, but the breaks in the stone are too deep to be caused by the elements. The fissures are not the result of rain or wind. Something within is eating them, and out shines a pale blue glow.

My suit believes the blue glow matches the spectral lines associated with Cherenkov radiation.

*

I climbed down a hatch and discovered a vast cavern extending in all directions. It is not lightless – in the distance I see more holes connecting to the surface, some of them the size of lakes. The growths here are less organic, more crystalline, than above. They may be the product of thoughtless mineral accumulation, or perhaps some rigid intelligence that imagines a world of straight lines and perfect angles. This is not a human place.

*

One could suffocate down here. It is time to go back up.

*

I see what appears to be an ordinary hill in the distance, perhaps four kilometers to the south, but as the rains began to dwindle its true nature became apparent. It is a sphere, like the one near my landing site, though all but its crown has been buried. Forests grow up to its sides.

The exposed surface of the sphere is broken, but rather than tumble and form heaps of scree at its base, the loose rocks are suspended in the air. They hang there, frozen, absent any support I can see or my suit’s instruments can detect. The largest fragment would qualify as a large asteroid if it were floating in space, and not stuck here like a fly in amber.

*

Why would creators who had such power produce such a monument, and then leave it to decay? It seems even gods cannot defeat entropy.

*

Climbing back underground, I found an artifact unlike the statues above. It has the appearance of a control room, with large screens at the far end showing two statues like those above. The sky in the image is a purer blue than the real one outside, and the two monuments are standing intact. I must assume this is archival footage.

*

The clouds on the screen are moving in real time. Based on the shadows cast by the statues and the position of the sun, the video is from a late summer day, and takes place either 1,400 or 9,500 local years in the past. My suit suggests a third option, though with a low confidence value: 232 years in the future.

I hear air moving in the cavern around me. It is rhythmic and labored. I think it is breathing.

*

Having seen the video below, I now question the wisdom of coming here.

No, that is not true – I have long questioned the wisdom of coming here. But it is too late for that.

*

In the distance I see another mountain range, its peaks and ridges worn soft by eons. Something has carved it in places, tearing kilometers-wide gaps in the stone, as though a set of massive claws had rent them apart. High towers emerge from the breaks, spanning their edges like sutures. I cannot guess at their purpose.

Before me is an odd stone monolith, perhaps six meters high. It is blue, with the same oily sheen as my suit now bears. Spectrographic analysis suggests it is mostly nickel-iron with high levels of cobalt. A meteorite, perhaps, but an unusual one.

*

Addendum to my last entry: it is not a meteorite.

I have found another stone, nearly the same height as the first, composed of the same nickel-iron-cobalt. But this has been… ‘worked’ is the only term that seems appropriate. Someone has carved it in the form of flowing water.

*

More stones. They are vastly larger than the first two, each at least a hundred meters high. I suspect they extend well below the ground, or they would have toppled over many years ago.

There is something almost organic about them. They twist like living things, but frozen. When I blink they seem to have shifted.

My suit insists they have not. It is only an optical illusion, caused by the air and the reflection of the moving clouds on their skin.

Skin – what an odd word to use. I meant their surface, of course.

*

And then the final tableau: a cloaked figure, seated on a throne, all carved from the same nickel-iron-cobalt material. The figure’s face and hands have been polished to a shine.

Upon closer inspection, there are two figures here; the dominant, cloaked form, vaguely feminine in the cast of her shoulders, and a small humanoid curled off to the side. The second sculpture is gnarled and hunched, with misery etched in its features. Its back is to the woman who dominates this piece.

*

This world didn’t die from a lack of sculptors, at least.

I look away, toward the dawning night approaching from the east. This is a small world, and it rotates quickly. Already I can see the stars spinning above me.

I look back, and the sculpture has moved. My suit disagrees, saying that I am imagining things, that my blood sugar levels are low, and toxic amounts of heavy metals are accumulating in my bloodstream. They are nickel, and iron, and cobalt, and I feel cold.

I look back, and the sculpture has moved. Its – no, her – hand extends, gesturing to the pitiable stack of gnarled bones at her feet. She bids me to gaze at them.

I look back, and the sculpture has moved. It is flowing now, unfrozen in time. It is staring at me. I can hear her breathing. She asks me if I—

*

I look back, and the sculpture is as it was. An amber light in my helmet blinks twice a second – my suit is worried. It says I have not moved in nearly twenty minutes.

I dismiss the alert and turn away. It is time to go.

The Castle on the Corner

It took a few hours, but eventually Trestle managed to escape the party being held in his honor, and he found himself alone on a high balcony overlooking the University of Canterlot’s academic quadrant. Below him, stretched out for acres, ponies turned the green into a festival, filled with paper lanterns and bonfires and circles of live music. The dull roar of a thousand conversations, pocked with laughter and shouts, rolled over him.

Joy was not the only emotion present. Trestle watched one small group of mares with tears in their eyes, all wearing gowns and holding each other tightly. They seemed to be smiling, though, and laughing.

The balcony door slid open, and a dark brown stallion stepped out to join him. They both gazed over the railing in silence.

“Gonna miss it?” Hickory asked.

Trestle shook his head. “No, four years is plenty. Time to get some real work done.”

“Yeah, I hear you. Decide what you’re going to do with that prize?”

Trestle patted his vest pocket with a hoof. The envelope bearing Celestia’s letter was still inside. It seemed heavier than mere paper ought, as though it carried with it all the weight of her expectations.

“I want to build something different.”

“Don’t all architects?”

“No.” Trestle lifted a hoof, point at Canterlot’s skyline, still visible in the early evening light. “Look at those buildings. What do you see?”

“Hm.” Hickory squinted. “Bunch of towers?”

“The thick ones are towers. The slender ones with the domes are minarets. The pointy ones are spires or steeples. Every building in Canterlot has them, whether they’re useful or not.”

“They look pretty.”

“Eh, some do,” Trestle said. “But that’s not why they’re there. They exist to draw the eye upward, to lead ponies’ gazes to the sky and heavens. Canterlot forces ponies to look away from the earth.”

“It’s Celestia’s city. Isn’t that the point?”

“But what if it wasn’t? What if Celestia doesn’t want ponies always looking up at the sky? What if she wants us to look at each other?”

“She probably wouldn’t live on a mountain, then.” Hickory craned his neck back to peer at the castle hanging on the mountainside above them.

The royal engineers mutinied when they saw his design; many threatened to quit, several actually did. It took a second letter from Celestia, reminding them that Trestle had graduated as the top architect in his class, and thus earned her gift, to bring them into line.

Celestia offered him several spots in Canterlot for his work. She never asked to see his blueprints, or the artist’s rendition of his designs. She wanted to be surprised, she said.

Eventually, Trestle settled on an old, derelict guard barracks adjacent to a park at the foot of the mountain. It wasn’t the ritziest part of Canterlot, or the wealthiest, but it sat almost directly on the path leading to Celestia’s castle. They cleared the building away in a season.

Construction took years. Celestia must have seen it every day, looking out her window, but whenever they met she simply smiled, and said she looked forward to seeing it done. Trestle never saw any expression other than a smile on her face, though, so perhaps she was just being polite.

It took four years to bring his creation to life. It was solid, yet graceful; pink granite blocks, the color of warmth, cut into smooth pieces. The central building rose several stories, open and inviting, with wide windows and balconies all around. Despite its immense size, it seemed to have no weight.

His castle’s wings spread out, hugging the base of the mountain. They flowed around the earth, sweeping with its shape, never imposing theirs. The white marble buildings all around, with their towers and sharp angles, seemed like teeth in comparison.

Ponies hated it.

They begged Celestia to tear it down. They threatened to move away. It “destroyed the city’s aesthetic,” or “insulted her majesty with its stupid, squat shape.”

For her part, Celestia smiled as always, and thanked him with a kiss on the cheek when it was done.

As the centuries passed, ponies forgot they were supposed to hate Trestle’s Castle, as it became known. They spoke of its lovely color, and how they could see the whole thing without having to crane their necks. Celestia purchased it, and it became her winter retreat.

There are still towers now in Canterlot, but fewer of them.

Schoolyard Crush

Scootaloo banged her hoof on the lectern. “Alright, listen up! We have a new mission!”

“Are we finally doing our homework?” Sweetie Belle asked. She had her saddlebags off and her textbooks laid out on the clubhouse floor.

“Are we going to try and get Rainbow Dash to call you her sister again?” Apple Bloom lounged beside the window.

“No! Something better!” Scootaloo yanked away the black cloth covering the easel, revealing a hoof-drawn picture of a young pegasus. “We’re going to kiss Rumble!”

That got their attention.

“What?” Sweetie stuck out her tongue. “Ew! No! Ewww!”

Apple Bloom frowned. “Why Rumble? Why not Truffle Shuffle?”

“Because this my plan and I say we’re going to kiss Rumble. Now, he sits next to Sweetie Belle, so she has the best chance to—”

“Stop!” Sweetie pushed between them. “Why do we want to kiss any colt? They’re dirty and icky!”

“Look, we’re big fillies, right?” Scootaloo waited for them to nod. “This is what big fillies and colts do. They kiss and sit next to each other and make silly faces.”

“Yeah, but why?” Apple Bloom asked.

“I dunno. Who cares? The point is, we’re going to kiss Rumble. Now, Sweetie Belle, you—”

“No!”

“Ugh, fine.” Scootaloo turned to Apple Bloom. “Apple Bloom, you kinda sit close to Rumble, so in class tomorrow you pass him this note, and then we’ll—”

“Why can’t we kiss Truffle Shuffle, again?”

Scootaloo stomped her hoof. “Because I said we’re kissing Rumble! Now, you pass him this note, and we’ll meet him at recess.”

“Then what? We kiss him?”

“No.” Scootaloo sat and rubbed her hooves together. “Then we start phase two.”

The Crusaders sat in the corner of the classroom, faces toward the wall. Behind them, Cheerilee fussed over Rumble, who was sniffling. The rest of the class, supposedly still at recess, crowded around the windows to peer inside.

“Really?” Apple Bloom hissed under her breath. “That was your plan? Put gum in his mane?”

“I thought it would work!” Scootaloo hissed back.

“How? How could that make him want to kiss you?”

“Look, I… Shut up.”

Sweetie sniffed. “Rarity’s going to k-kill me.”

“She’s not going to kill you. And we can still fix this, okay? I have a new plan.”

“Okay, so, tossing snowballs didn’t work. And now we’re grounded.”

“Don’t worry. I have a new plan. Apple Bloom, you and Sweetie are going to...”

“Can’t we just get him flowers or something?” Sweetie asked. She bobbled the water balloon nervously between her hooves.

“What? Why?” Scootaloo unhitched her scooter from the wagon, which held a small arsenal of additional water balloons.

“Rarity says when you want a colt to like you, you should be nice and get him flowers and tell him he smells good and—”

“Huh?” Apple Bloom broke in. “We don’t want him to like us. We just want to kiss him.”

“But—”

“Seriously, Sweetie, let us do the planning,” Scootaloo said. She hefted a balloon in her hooves. “Okay, here he comes.”

The Crusaders hustled into the clubhouse and slammed the door, panting. Outside, they heard angry sister voices, though still faint. They had some time.

“Now look what you did!” Sweetie said. “We’re in trouble again!”

“Nah, we’ll be fine.” Scootaloo peeked out the window. “Oop, they’re coming this way. Act casual.”

“I bet we could’ve kissed Truffle Shuffle by now,” Apple Bloom said.

“Ugh, maybe. Should we try him tomorrow?”

“No!” Sweetie scowled at them. “This is a stupid idea! Who cares about kissing?”

“Big fillies do, Sweetie Belle,” Scootaloo said. “It’s, like, important. I think.”

“How is it important?”

“It just is! We’ll understand when we do it!”

“Oh really?” Sweetie stomped over to Scootaloo and grabbed her face with both hooves. Before she could react, Sweetie pulled her in and mashed their muzzles together.

They broke apart an instant later, spitting and gagging.

“Ew! Ugh!” Sweetie rubbed her lips with the back of her hoof.

“Blegh!” Scootaloo spat on the floor. “Sweetie, what was that?!”

“You wanted a kiss!”

“Yeah, but not from you!”

“Ugh!” Sweetie tossed up her hooves and stormed out the door. Outside, they faintly heard Rarity’s shrill voice berating her sister.

“Umm…” Apple Bloom shuffled her hooves. “So, how was it?”

“Terrible.” Scootaloo frowned at the floor. “Well, I dunno. Weird.”

“Oh.”

The silence stretched out.

“So, uh, can I try?” Apple Bloom asked.

There was another pause.

“Yeah, I guess.”

How to Hold Your Lover's Hand

Author's Note

Set in the EqG universe.

How to Hold Your Lover's Hand

When Walking Through a Crowd

Be mindful that your pace may not be the same as his. As you walk beside him, shoulders touching, your arms will naturally come together, and you may choose between a ‘mitten’ grip or fingers individually clasped. The former is easier, but the latter is helpful when something catches his eye and he darts away, your hands pulling apart until only a single finger remains hooked around yours, and you realize in that moment how strong a single finger can be.

You may notice your hand feels cool and clammy when you let go of his. You may fix this by holding hands again.

On the Train

In the long pauses between conversations, you may lightly rub the pad of your thumb along the side of his index finger. The first few times you do this it may feel awkward that you are subtly and publicly reenacting the memory of last night, when your skin touched his and did far more as well without the bother of all those clothes.

And if your fellow passengers do mind, with frowns and disapproving glances, ignore them and keep holding hands.

At the Movie Theater

It is dark in here, and all eyes are on the screen, so what your hands do is between you and her. Push up the armrest between you and clasp your arms together, crossing at the elbow.

If this is a suspense or horror movie, hold tight. If it is a romance, hold firm. If it is a movie she always wanted to see but never had anyone to take, lean against her, and she will lean back, and you will be like two halves of an arch, each supporting the other.

If it is any other sort of movie, you have made a mistake and are in the wrong theater.

While Running Through the Park on a Spring Afternoon

Use the mitten grip and hold tight. Pretend his hand is a baton, and this is a race, and no matter what you mustn’t let go.

Stick to the grass and remember to laugh. Try to run faster than him; if you can’t, then change directions abruptly and without warning.

At Night, Looking Up at the Stars While Lying on the Side of a Hill

You must use the hand nearest to your lover in order to point to a particular star or trace a line across the sky. Generally, this is with the same hand you are using to hold hers, so when you point to a star you are pointing with her hand as well. You are pointing the way forward for two people.

This is an advanced technique and requires some practice.

When the News is Bad

Clasp both your hands around hers. Hold firm but not too tight while she listens to the doctor. She should be aware of your hands but not distracted. Unfortunately you will not be able to practice this before you need it. Good luck.

When Their World is Ending

Your hand may be the only anchor he has. He may squeeze it, crushing it against his chest with both arms. It will hurt.

Remember that the pain you feel is only a shadow. It is physical, and though your skin may bruise it is a small price to pay for any measure of solace you can provide him in this broken moment. When all other hands are turned against him, yours is not.

When Your World is Ending

Everything seems lost. But if that were so, you would not have an arm to grasp, to hold against your heart.

When the World is Ending

Go outside with your lover. The stars in their splendor fill the sky above, and you remember the night you watched them with her, reclining on the hillside on a muggy August many years past. You pointed them out to her, tracing the constellations.

They are brighter now. The first one falls, leaving a searing streak across the darkness, so bright it casts shadows on the ground. You clasp your lover’s hand lightly, loosely down at your side, and together turn your eyes up to watch the sky come down. Another, and another, until the heat of their reentry burns your exposed skin, and you press your face against her shoulder, and she presses her face against your shoulder, and the world is ending but that’s alright because you are holding your lover’s hand and in the end that is all that

The Refugees

Author's Note

Another fic set in the EqG world.

The Refugees

I remember being surprised by the camping trip.

Dad picked me up from school. Dad never picked me up from school – he worked late and I took the bus home like the other latchkey kids, and a few hours later he’d show up with a pizza or fast food and help me with my homework or play videogames with me until bedtime. Normal kid stuff, in other words. But we never went camping.

I’m not sure Dad knew the first thing about camping until he picked me up that day. The back of the Toyota was loaded with coolers, tool boxes, sleeping bags and one of those collapsible tents from Gander Mountain with the sales tag still stuck on it, all atop a foundation of bottled water packs. I stood on the sidewalk, peering over the pick-up’s side at this odd collection, too surprised by his sudden presence to ask what they were all for.

“Hey Billy, hop in!” Dad leaned across the seat and popped open the passenger-side door. “We’re going camping!”

I pulled myself up into the truck. Outside, more parents had come to collect their children. Teachers stood outside, corralling kids and clutching their cellphones.

“Why?” I asked.

“No reason.” He revved the engine as soon as I fastened my seatbelt, and we shot out of the parking lot. The 20-MPH school zone stretched down the block, but we broke fifty in just a few seconds. Police cruisers zoomed past, lights flashing, but they didn’t seem to notice us.

“Okay, this looks good,” Dad said. We’d been driving in tense silence, all my questions resolutely unanswered. We skipped the main thoroughfares, sticking to back roads until we reached the start of a long, desolate stretch of Illinois highway.

I looked around. Corn stretched out for miles. “We’re camping here?”

“Yeah.” He turned the wheel as we reached a seam between two fields, the truck’s tires chewing up stray stalks of corn that intruded on the margin. Behind us, the road receded, and in minutes we were surrounded by nothing at all.

Dad popped the truck into park and jumped out. “Listen, we've got some time, but there's a few things I've gotta tell you.”

Hours later we had a campfire going. It turns out anything will burn if you use enough lighter fluid.

We sat beside each other. Dad had our new .308 rifle in his lap. It came with a short instruction sheet that focused mostly on cleaning proceedures.

“They taught you about the Visitors in school, right?”

I nodded. Part of the history curriculum included the Visitors, the sole aliens humanity had ever encountered. The lessons were short and scant on details – they came, stayed for a bit, then left, never to be seen again.

“Okay, good. So, those lessons are a bit, uh, incomplete.” He worked the rifle’s bolt, ejecting an unspent round onto the grass between my legs. I picked the cartridge up and stared at it, amazed, until he took it away.

“They were refugees, and they asked for help,” he continued. He was sweating now, his face a sheen alight in the fire’s glow. “And we wanted to give it to them. It was the right thing to do. There was so much we could have learned from each other.

“But there were problems. There were millions of them on that little ship, all frozen like popsicles. It would’ve cost more than our country made in a year just to unthaw them and feed them.”

He stared up at the sky. It was filled with stars, more than I had ever seen from our Chicago suburb. “And more than that, they were dangerous. They were refugees fleeing a war, and we couldn’t let that war come here. It was their problem, not ours. We wanted to help, of course, but we had to look out for ourselves first. There was no way for us to know which ones were good and which were bad.”

“Dad, why—”

“Some people wanted to help, but we voted and they lost. It was a close vote, though… maybe that will help?”

Something streaked across the sky above us. A new star appeared, and then another. Dozens, hundreds followed, until a new galaxy spun in orbit over our heads.

“Listen, I don’t know how they feel about us now,” Dad said. “But you see this? This is the bolt. You lift it up and pull it back to eject the round you just fired, and push it forward again to reload.”

I learned an interesting lesson that night. And all the while more stars arrived above, the wages of our fathers' cowardice come home to haunt their children.

Point/Counterpoint

The FunCo-Brand ‘Moonwalk’ Bouncy Castle is Intended for Foals
By Sea Suite
President, FunCo Entertainment

Following last week’s widely publicized incident in Ponyville, I want to make something clear on behalf of FunCo Entertainment: the FunCo-brand ‘Moonwalk’ Bouncy Castle, along with similar devices manufactured by other vendors, is intended for foals ages 12 and under. Adult ponies who use bouncy castles place foals at risk and may cause damage to our product.

Of course, many of us have fond memories of using bouncy castles when we were small, and it is natural to want to relive those experiences during carnivals like the Summer Sun Celebration. However, as adults we have a responsibility to place the enjoyment of foals above our own. Additionally, there are significant safety concerns when full-grown ponies attempt to share the confined, energetic interior of a bouncy castle with foals only a fraction of their size.

Further, the vinyl lining of our ‘Moonwalk’ bouncy castle is designed with foals in mind. While some adult ponies such as pegasus mares may be light enough not to damage this sensitive surface, the same cannot be said for others. This especially applies to unicorns or alicorns with adult horns. Indeed, last week’s disaster could have been averted if only certain ponies had understood this point.

Finally, some ponies have asked why our products aren’t explicitly labelled “for foals only.” This ignores the large, clearly visible text above the entrance that reads “Fun for Foals of All Ages!” While certain pedantically minded ponies have argued that this phrasing is ‘unclear’ and ‘not logically exclusive,’ we believe its spirit to be universally understood. However, in the interest of preventing misunderstandings, we will clarify the sign’s language on future models of all FunCo-brand bouncy castles.

Bouncy Castles are Appropriate for Ponies of All Ages, Including 22-Year-Old Mares
By Twilight Sparkle

Imagine a world in which fun was banished.

“Impossible,” I hear you say. “Twilight Sparkle, that could never happen. Ponies cherish having fun and would never allow anypony to take that away from them.”

Or would they?

I won’t belabor the details of last week’s incident at the Summer Sun Celebration. We all know what happened. Suffice it to say that certain liability-minded corporate executives are wildly overreacting and advocating a course of action that, if implemented, would be the death knell for fun and enjoyment for everypony. If they have their way, nopony reading this letter will ever again enjoy the thrill and heady nostalgia of a bouncy castle.

“But Twilight,” you say. “Shouldn’t adult ponies enjoy other activities like reading books?” And of course we should. But just as books are suitable for both foals and adults, shouldn’t bouncy castles also be enjoyed by ponies of all ages? If I welcome foals into my library, why can’t FunCo Entertainment let me enjoy their product?

“But Twilight,” I hear you say. “Several foals had to be hospitalized after last week’s incident.” Well, dear reader, you are misinformed. The reality is that a few foals were seen by nurses at the Ponyville hospital to treat minor contusions and sprains, and all were promptly released to their parents. It’s no different than a mother bandaging her colt's skinned knee – tears, yes, but harmless. To call such treatment ‘hospitalization’ is a gross exaggeration and demeans this debate.

“But Twilight,” I hear you say again. “You broke the expensive bouncy castle the foals rented with their bake sale proceeds after just a few seconds of bouncing.” First, I have already offered to repay the school activities fund for their lost security deposit, and I gave all of the foals involved exciting "Library Action Passes" that will more than make up for any lost enjoyment on their part. Second, the structural failure of the bouncy castle was clearly the result of a design flaw on the manufacturer’s part, and not something anypony could have anticipated. In fact, I have already drafted a design for a ‘horn cap’ (patent-pending) that can be worn by adult unicorns or alicorns to prevent a repeat of last week’s incident.

Having put to rest all these concerns, I think we can now all agree that banning adult ponies from using bouncy castles would be a knee-jerk reaction, trading away our essential liberty for trifling, imagined safety. Are we that kind of society? Are we so fearful?

I think not, and I hope you will all agree.

Author's Note

Written for the "Things Left Unsaid" minific contest.

The Calligrapher

“Papa! I'm home!”

It was spring, and Ivory Scroll pushed open the door to her father's home without bothering to knock. Although she hadn't lived under his roof in decades, memories of a childhood spent gamboling across these hardwood floors, ducking around laquered furniture with her sisters and rattling their mother's china had indelibly stamped these walls in her mind as her own.

She found Sans Serif in the study, bent over his worktable. Rivers of parchment overflowed the desk like waterfalls, curling in rapids along the floor. She brushed them aside with her hooves and stood beside him, careful not to breath too deep as she peered over his shoulder.

Like most earth ponies, Sans Serif preferred to write with his mouth, using his lips to hold a fountain pen that traced its graceful way across the yellowed paper. Faint graphite rules, placed with the aid of a straight-edge, demarked the exact lines and indents had chosen for this piece. When he was done writing they would be erased, leaving only the flowing script behind.

He couldn’t reply while writing, but his free hoof lifted from the desk to brush against her cheek. She smiled at the gesture and settled in to watch him finish.

The work was a poem, though not one she recognized. He had already filled the page with line upon line of whorls and dashes, fantastically rendered yet somehow still legible. Like most of his calligraphy, it wouldn’t have looked out of place in a museum.

Sans Serif was on the final line when the pen shook. The nib jittered, pressed too hard, and a tiny spray of ink spurted out onto the page. He paused, grumbled, and set the pen down, already reaching for the tiny razor he used to scrape away such mistakes.

* * *

Memories of the Summer Sun Celebration were only a week old when Ivory Scroll visited her father again.

He was in his study, as usual. Projects littered his desk and the floor around him, and she stepped delicately as she approached. His ears swivelled toward her, and she waited until he was between letters to place a quick kiss on his cheek.

“Good morning, Papa. How are you?”

“Good,” he mumbled around his pen. A frown followed. “Too humid, though. Ink takes longer to dry.”

“I’ll talk to the weather team,” she said. A quick glance at the page showed he was only a few words into this project, and already she could see a few tiny errors. Squiggles where there should be none. Straight jerks where there should be flow.

She convinced herself to ignore the pang in her stomach.

* * *

Fall came, and brought drier weather. When Ivory Scroll visited now, her father had cleared his desk except for a few large brushes. The broad strokes they left on the page hid the mistakes. His head and forelegs quaked with the faint signs of palsy.

He stared at the page, the brushes beside him uninked. She walked up behind him, neverminding the rustle of her hooves, and wrapped her forelegs around him in a gentle hug.

She could feel him shaking.

* * *

“I’m sorry I didn’t visit more.”

Her father waved a trembling hoof. “You were busy. The town needed you.”

Ivory Scroll sighed. “I’m just a manager, Papa. Ponies go to the princess with their troubles now.”

“Oh? So you just sit in your office all day, staring at the wall?”

Well, no. In fact, ever since Twilight Sparkle had arrived in Ponyville, her office had never stopped scrambling. Disasters, monsters, ceremonies, official visits – the more she thought about it, the more she realized just how full her plate had become lately.

She frowned. “No, but that doesn’t matter. I should have made more time for you.”

“I’m still here.”

“Yes, but…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish. In the next room, her father’s study sat unused. The brushes collected dust. “You loved writing so much. I loved watching you.”

“And now that’s gone, is it?” He glanced into the darkened study.

“It must be.”

“Hm.” He stood, and slowly shuffled into his old workroom. “Come here?”

Perplexed, she followed. He stood beside his desk, the chair pulled out, but not for him.

“Have a seat,” he said.

She did. A brush and page were laid out before her. He leaned over, grasped the brush in his lips, and passed it to her.

“This is how you form the ‘A’...”

Author's Note

Second place finisher in the recent 'Things Left Unsaid' Writeoff competition.

The Memory Palace

Author's Note

Another chapter without any ponies, I'm afraid. Or maybe they're all ponies, and we just can't tell the difference.

Fourth place in the recent Writeoff minific competition.

The Memory Palace

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Crosier.” The doctor shook my hand and sat in the chair across from mine. “What kind of memory can we help you with today?”

I didn’t have the courage to meet the doctor’s eyes. Instead I glanced around the office, a small but comfortable west-facing studio that drank the afternoon sunlight. Diplomas and certificates hung from the walls, alongside an artful, colorful depiction of Mnemosyne’s corporate logo. It was all very soothing.

“It’s silly,” I mumbled. “An old thing. I was bullied a lot as a child, and… well. I’d like it gone.”

“That’s not silly at all,” the doctor said. He tapped something into his iPad and checked his watch. “It’s actually quite common. We can do the procedure today if you want. That way you only get billed for one session.”

I swallowed dryly. “Sounds good.”

* * *

There was some shaving, though only two dime-sized patches behind my ears. Electrodes and cold gel wriggled through the rest of my hair like worms. My scalp tingled as the nurse checked the connections, and when everything was settled she gave me a little pat on the shoulder and left me alone with my thoughts.

I heard a tiny click, and the doctor’s voice came over the speakers. “Okay, we’re ready to start here, Mr. Crosier. On your left is a tray with a sugar cube. Put it under your tongue and let it dissolve.”

The sugar cube was in a sealed wrapper. I tore it open and put the cube under my tongue; the wrapper I put back on the tray, but not before reading the tiny words above the barcode. Lysergic acid diethylamide, 50 µg.

“I’m going to lower the lights the rest of the way." The cubicle, already dim, fell into full darkness, but at the edges of my vision tiny flashes of color popped off like fireworks. LSD was an amazingly fast hallucinogen.

“Imagine you are in a palace,” he continued. “A huge palace with millions of rooms. Its hallways are so long you can’t see the end of them, and the ceiling so high it is lost in the clouds. See this palace.”

The doctor’s voice, a somber baritone, was perfectly suited for narration. As he spoke I saw the palace appear around me, so real I tried to take a step onto the marble floor. The velcro restraints withheld me.

“You walk to a room,” the doctor said, and I did as he asked. “You open it, and inside you see the child who bullied you. You see him push you, insult you, hit you. Everything he ever did, you see in this room.”

But I did not see the bully, for there was none; there never had been. Instead a beautiful woman, the most beautiful woman who could ever live, appeared beside me in the empty room.

“Hello, Anna,” I whispered. My heart ached to see her again.

“George.” She smiled at me, then ran her hands up her bare arms. “I’m cold. Where are we?”

“Somewhere safe. Would you please hold Katie for me?” I passed her our daughter, swaddled as I remembered. A tuft of dark hair poked up from the blankets.

“Of course.” She took Katie and hugged our daughter to her chest. “George? I’m scared.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

The doctor’s sonorous voice droned on, about bullies and bad memories, and I ignored him. I filled the room with memories of night, of black ice, of a young man in a Toyota S-10 pickup who had too much to drink. I put Anna and Katie in our Honda Civic, and when the memory was complete I walked out of the room.

“Close the door,” the doctor said. “Close the door and bar it shut.”

I did, and my scalp began to tingle, then burn. Current flowed through the electrodes, searing, shaping. The doorframe glowed white hot.

“Leave your memories in there, and wake,” he said.

And I did.

* * *

“Welcome back, Mr. Crosier. Can you tell me about the bully?”

I put on a puzzled look. I knew what he wanted to hear, how to sell the lie. “What bully?”

The doctor smiled. “Nevermind, just checking. The procedure worked.”

* * *

Hours later, as I was reaching for my house keys, I found a note in my pocket. It had a message in my handwriting.

Do you remember your wife and daughter?

I didn’t.

And I’m not sure why that makes me sad.

The Tattooist

Author's Note

Another story about humans. This was more of a scene than a story, and didn't do as well in the Writeoff as a result.

The Tattooist

The tattooist was packing up the last of her instruments when the customer arrived.

It was late. Her usual customers, soldiers from the nearby garrison, prisoners fresh out on parole, college girls looking for a cheap way to rebel against their parents, they were all gone for the evening. Only the buzzing fluorescent lights and the hum of the autoclave as it began its nightly sterilization kept her company, until the electric bell attached to the front door sang.

“We’re closed!” she shouted. “Come back at noon.”

The bell should have sounded again. Instead there were footsteps on linoleum, and a hand swept aside the curtain separating the lobby from the tattoist’s workroom. A middle-aged man, plump, sallow and sweating, peeked inside.

That deserved a scowl, but she kept her face civil. “I’m sorry, we’re closed.”

“Yeah, I know.” The man glanced around, then peered over his shoulder into the empty lobby. “You’re, uh, you’re her, right? The witch?”

Ah, so it was one of those. She stripped off her sterile nitrile gloves, wadded them up with the rest of the day’s gauze, and tossed them into a grimy red biohazard container. “I guess I am.”

“Okay.” The man stepped through the door, letting the curtain fall shut behind him. Despite the cool air he was drenched in sweat. “I want the special.”

She held in a sigh. “Fifty thousand.” Perhaps that would scare him off.

The businessman pulled an envelope from his pocket. He flipped through it, pulled out half the bills, laid them on the counter, and put the rest away.

Well, shit. Should’ve asked for a hundred. She swept the bills off the counter and through the safe’s drop-slot.

“Take your coat off and have a seat,” she said, pointing at the empty barber chair. “And don’t move, I need to get some stuff.”

* * *

It took the tattooist nearly an hour to gather all materials she needed. Not because the magical inks were hard to procure – they were in a shoebox under her bed upstairs – but because the autoclave took fifty minutes to cycle and could not be opened until it finished sterilizing her equipment. That gave them time to talk.

“So, what do you want?” she asked.

He had his head back against the rest, eyes closed. He refused to watch as she rubbed his shoulder down with alcohol. “I want people to like me.”

“You’ve got money. People don’t like that?”

He cracked an eye open. “People like money, yes, but not me. I want friends. I want someone to love.”

“Hm.” She ran a razor over his upper arm, then wiped again with an alcohol rub. “Can’t buy love, I guess.”

“I haven’t yet. So, how does this work?”

“Trade secret, I’m afraid.” When the alcohol dried, she uncapped a skin marker and slowly began to freehand an image. “Just trust me.”

“How will I know if it works?”

“You won’t, I guess. Want your money back? Haven’t started yet.”

There was a long pause. “No. Go ahead.”

The outline alone took most of an hour. Like most tattooists, she used stencils to transfer images onto skin, but for these tattoos, the special tattoos, everything had to be done by hand. That was part of the magic, as important as the ink in the special, sealed vials by her side. Those came out next, and she whispered to the spirits inside as she opened them, begging them not to escape out into the night. She coaxed them, with her voice and her will and her needles, impregnating the man’s skin with the image of a golden apple. Drops of blood flowed down his arm.

Almost done. She drew a long, sharp needle and pricked her thumb. She smeared the tip with her blood, and held it above his skin.

“Last chance. No refunds, but you can skill walk out.”

“Do it.”

She drove the needle into his skin, into the muscle, all the way to the bone. It turned white hot, searing her fingers, blinding her, and when her eyesight returned the man was poking at the healed tattoo on his arm. He had a few new wrinkles and grey hairs.

“Five years, huh?” He flexed his fingers. “Doesn’t feel too bad.”

She stood and stretched. “You’ll feel it in the morning. But I think you’ll like the results.”

The sun peered through the slatted window beside them. She winced at its light, and began packing her tools again.

The Patience of Stones (or, "Daring Do Works Alone")

Daring Do froze as soon as she heard the stone click.

Traps were an occupational hazard for treasure hunters, and over the years she’d encountered every trap imaginable by pony, zebra or griffon mind. Spike pits, blow darts, crushing blocks, ceiling crocodiles – some were devious, some were simple, and all were deadly.

And when you encountered a trap, the first rule, the only rule, was not to panic.

“Don’t move,” she whispered. Behind her, she heard a sudden inrush of breath from her assistant, Pumpernickel. “If it was going to kill us, it would have already.”

They stood like statues for several long minutes, still as the ancient tunnel around them. She tested each of her hooves, but the stones beneath her were solid and unmoving. There were no tripwires she could see.

So, it probably wasn’t her. She turned with exaggerated slowness to face her assistant, who stood frozen a few steps behind her. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple and splashed onto the dusty flagstones.

“What happened?” she asked.

“The stone beneath my left leg moved.” He swallowed audibly. “A trap?”

Daring Do frowned and leaned forward for a closer look. The stone beneath his hoof had sunk almost imperceptibly, no more than the width of a hair. Beneath it, she already knew, a complex assembly of levers and springs and gears had transferred Pumpernickel’s weight into tension, and as soon as he moved again that tension would be released.

And that is how they would die, unless she could figure a way out. She licked her suddenly dry lips.

“I told you to follow my hoofsteps,” she said.

“I thought I did.” His voice shook, and his scarlet coat glistened with sweat. “I’m sorry. I must have missed one.”

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine, actually – it was anything but fine – but she needed him to stay calm. “Don’t move.”

She reached out with her wing and lightly touched the flagstone with a long primary feather. Gently at first, as though she were brushing away snowflakes, and then with more pressure, she pushed down on the stone until she felt the faintest hint of vibration from within.

The tunnel rumbled around them. The stone blocks in the ceiling shifted, and dust fell like rain on their backs. It filled the tunnel with the scent of millennia past, and she desperately fought back the urge to sneeze.

“Okay,” she said, when the dust finally settled. “It’s a springplate. Any significant change in pressure will set it off.”

His eyes darted up at the ceiling, then back to her. “What d-do we do?”

“You stay put. I’m going to fly back out and fill a bag with sand, and we’ll use it to fool the trap.”

Daring gave him a little pat on the shoulder, then started back up the long passage to the surface. She’d barely made it ten steps when the tunnel grumbled again.

“Daring!” he cried. “You’re, you’re… you’re coming back, right?”

He was trembling, she saw. His whole body shook, and with each tremor the flagstone beneath his hoof sank a bit deeper. The stone blocks above his head bled streams of dust.

She walked back carefully, ignoring the dust and sand. Pumpernickel calmed as she drew closer, until she could press her shoulder against him. Carefully, gently, she put her hoof on the flagstone next to his.

“Lift your hoof very slowly,” she said.

He did, and as he took the weight off his hoof, she pressed down. The flagstone shivered beneath her, complaining, on the edge of activating, but it held.

She let out a long breath, careful not to shift her weight. Pumpernickel stumbled away and slumped against the wall.

“Okay, okay. We’re fine.” She closed her eyes and collected her thoughts. “Pumpernickel, listen to me. I need you to go back to the surface, fill a bag with about forty pounds of sand, and return. Can you do that?”

He stood, his eyes wide and shining in the lantern light. He stared at her, then up at the stone blocks hanging just above their heads, and then back at her.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He edged away carefully, and soon she heard the rapid beat of his hooves on the stone, running.

He’s a good stallion. Have faith. Daring Do willed her heartbeat to slow, her breathing to ease. She could be patient.

Of course, she knew, traps could be patient, too.

Clouds Like Mountains

Alto found Cirrus perched on the edge of a wild cloud drifting in from the Everfree.

Wild clouds were dangerous, their parents said. It was a tired bit of obvious wisdom, in the same vein as Don’t Fly at Night, or Always Preen Your Wings Before Bed. Alto imagined that unicorn and earth pony foals dealt with the same sugary over-caution from their parents – Don’t Fire Lasers From Your Horn Indoors, perhaps, or… Whatever it was earth ponies did. Alto wasn’t really sure on that point.

Her parents were right about wild clouds, though. They were dangerous.

Alto first spotted her brother as a grey dot on the blinding white surface of the cloud, no larger than a speck of dust against its immensity. Wild clouds were larger than their tame counterparts, usually, but this one was enormous. Its flat base began no lower than seven thousand feet, and the highest broccoli-like plumes towered so far above her she couldn’t even fathom where they ended. Twenty-thousand feet or more, and still growing.

She landed beside him, her wings buzzing like a hummingbird’s to keep her aloft. The air was so thin, halfway up the cloud’s escarpment, that her lungs burned and the faint beginnings of a headache lurked behind her eyes. She rested a moment, to catch her breath, then stomped over to him.

“What are you doing up here?” she demanded. “Mom and dad said to stay away from the wild clouds.”

“Yeah? They told you the same thing, didn’t they?”

Alto bristled. “I’m allowed. I’m older, and I’m here to get you.”

He flicked his wing at her, tearing a tuft of the cloud away and spraying her with frigid droplets of water. She spluttered in surprise, and scowled when he laughed.

“Lighten up, Alto. You’re too serious, sometimes.”

“One of us has to be.”

He snorted, letting her know just what he thought of that, and then jumped off the edge. About a thousand feet below he landed on another massive upwelling of cloud.

Alto chased him down, banking nervously around the shifting cloud. It grew even as she watched, bulbous and unruly, like an explosion in slow motion.

She couldn’t even see the ground when she landed. The cloud stretched out before and below her for miles, while behind her it reached up for the heavens with an anvil’s flat head. It rumbled beneath her hooves with the promise of lightning.

“This isn’t safe,” she said, and she winced at how much she sounded like their mother.

“Life isn’t safe,” he shot back. “You want to push around tame little Weather Team clouds all your life? Fine. Be one of those pegasi who never flies higher than the treetops. Just get a home on the ground while you’re at it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You take that back!”

He smirked. “Why? It’s true.” Without waiting for her reply, he turned to face the cloud. It filled three-quarters of the world, all but a faint sliver of the horizon and the blue sky above them.

“I’m going in,” he said. “All the way to its heart.”

She froze with one hoof held in the air. She’d been about to tackle him and bite his mane and yank it until he apologized, but now she was at a loss. No pegasus – no smart pegasus – would dare to fly into the center of a wild cloud.

“Cirrus…” She licked her lips and started over. “Cirrus, don’t. There could be anything in there. Sleet, thunder. Maybe even hail.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He flapped his wings a few times, settling the feathers.

“Maybe? Doesn't that bother you?”

“Eh.” He stared at the cloud, as though his vision could somehow penetrate its depths. “Yeah, a little. But life is dangerous. Besides, you’ll be with me.”

“What?” She drew back, her wings flaring at the thought. “I will not! One of us has to be sensible, and—hey, come back!”

But he was already gone. A faint swirl of cloudstuff twisted in the air where he had vanished into the monster’s depths. He could be hundreds of feet away, already.

She considered the cloud again. It was miles across, and miles high. The water within must have weighed over a billion pounds. A pegasus could get lost within, and spend hours flying in circles. And all that time, the lightning and hail and cold would compete to kill them.

She scowled again.

And she dove after him.

The Blue and the Dim and the Dark

Fluttershy knocked on the door to the Carousel Boutique and let herself in. It was after hours, and Rarity’s shop was closed to the public, but as usual the door was unlatched.

“Rarity?” Fluttershy wiped her hooves on the mat inside the door, brushing away the snow and slush from the street. “I got your message.”

“In here, darling!” Rarity’s voice came from the workshop. “Come on back.”

Fluttershy pushed through the cloth partition. As she expected, Rarity was standing beside one of her mannequins, puzzling over the final details of her latest creation.

And what a creation it was – every shade of blue Fluttershy knew existed, and many more she had no names for. Pleats of cyan and teal and sapphire lay across sheaves of viridian and lapis and iris. A rainbow, all in blue, in all the shades of night.

“Oh, Rarity,” she whispered. She drew closer, and when Rarity nodded, she reached out a hoof to touch the collar. The fabric was smooth as water and caught the light with a metallic sheen. She leaned forward to brush her cheek against the cloth. It felt like a cloud, and smelled like cotton and dreams.

“It’s wonderful,” she continued. “I mean, I knew it was going to be beautiful when I saw the drawings, but this… It’s beautiful.”

“You say that, but every time I look at it I see something else to fix. Something that’s not perfect.” Rarity frowned at the dress. “But I’ll never finish if I keep thinking like that. It’s time to put a pin in it.”

Fluttershy smiled and her wings fluffed with joy. “You’re ready, then? You’re going to talk to her?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. It’s, ah, complicated.” Rarity dithered and fussed with the already perfect saddle. “You know her birthday is coming up. I was just going to give it to her as a present, and let it speak for itself.”

Fluttershy’s smile slipped away. She trotted around the mannequin to Rarity’s side, and sat with her wing across the unicorn’s back. “Rarity, you said you were going to talk with her. Tell her how you felt. This—” she gestured at the dress with her other wing “—is wonderful, and it will show her how strongly you feel, but it’s not what really matters. You know that.”

Rarity slipped out from beneath Fluttershy’s wing. “If I talk to her, she might say ‘no.’ Or worse, she might feel sorry for me! She would just smile and say it’s lovely but that she doesn’t really think of me that way, that we’re just friends, and… oh! Just thinking about it makes me want to tear this dress up and never mention it again.”

“Well, I think that would be a real shame,” Fluttershy said. “But dreams are worth fighting for. What if she says ‘yes’?”

“If, Fluttershy! If!” Rarity stomped in a dainty circle around the dress. “But if I just give her this gift, won’t she understand what I mean? Then, if she reciprocates, she can confess how she feels and we’ll both be utterly happy. And if she doesn’t, she’ll just thank me for the dress and needn’t say any more, and she won’t have to reject me, and nopony gets hurt!”

“Sometimes love hurts, Rarity. But you can’t be afraid of it.”

Rarity was silent for a spell, and then she let out a long sigh. “When did you become so forward, Fluttershy? So daring?”

“Oh, I’m not. I think if I were in love with a pony I’d be afraid too, even if they came to me. Maybe that’s why she hasn’t said anything yet? Maybe she’s afraid, too?”

Rarity snorted. “Wouldn’t that be perfect? Love, defeated by fear of being hurt.”

“It sounds sad, like that.”

“Not sad. Pitiful. Do you think I’m pitiful, Fluttershy?”

Fluttershy shook her head. “I’m the pitiful one, Rarity. I just think that—urk!”

She found she suddenly couldn’t breathe, so tightly were Rarity’s forelegs wrapped around her chest. As hugs went, it was something between a corset and a boa constrictor.

“You’re not pitiful,” Rarity whispered fiercely. “Sometimes I think you’re the best of us.”

Seconds later, when she could breathe, “Only because of my friends. Especially the brave ones.”

“Bravery.” Rarity glanced at the dress, then down at her hooves. “Odd, how facing her is harder than facing a dragon. But I think you’re right. We… I’ll talk with her.”

Fluttershy smiled. “That’s a good first step.”

The Apprentice

The curtain covering the glazed windowpane of the 45th Street Fillydelphia Donut Emporium flicked aside briefly. For a moment, those outside saw the disheveled, sweat-streaked face of an umber stallion glaring at them, and then the curtain fell back into place and he vanished.

Chief Daffodil spit out his cigar and ground it into the wet asphalt. The air stank of ozone and rain and the delicious, greasy lard scent still wafting from the donut shop’s kitchen vents. Once this was over, he was going to order a dozen strawberry glazeds, and maybe one of those cream-filled things with the chocolate on top.

Yeah, that’d be nice. Damn, he loved those things.

“Keep an eye on the window,” he muttered to the sergeant leaning over the hood of the cruiser-wagon beside him. “Don’t shoot unless the hostage is in clear danger. I don’t want a bloodbath.”

The sergeant’s ear flicked in acknowledgement. He cradled a sniper rifle in his hooves, using the wagon’s hood as a brace. The safety was off, and a single high-powered aerodynamic meringue pastry round lurked inside the weapon’s chamber. The chocolate-chip tipped bullet could fly faster than the speed of sound, expanded on impact, and contained a hard nougat penetrator. One of them would put an armored bison down for the count.

The chief’s earpiece popped and hissed. “Sir, the negotiators are here. Sending them forward.”

Them? The chief frowned. The department only had one hostage negotiator. Even a big city like Fillydelphia rarely needed that kind of trained professional.

A few seconds later and the mystery was solved. Chuck Roast, the department’s negotiator, ducked under the police tape strung across the street. Beside him, so short she just walked beneath the tape, was a lemony unicorn with a bobbing flame mane. She stuck close to Chuck’s side, her ears tucked low.

“Chuck.” The chief gave him a nod. “Thanks for coming so fast. Who’s the filly?”

“Hey ‘Daff.” The negotiator bumped the chief’s outstretched hoof, then gave the filly at his side a gentle nudge. “This is Summer Sweets, my apprentice. She got her cutie mark last week negotiating a tense standoff at her school playground. Bully wouldn’t give up the swingset until she talked him down.”

“Oh, wow!” A broad smile cracked the chief’s face. “Congratulations!”

A wave of cheers and polite applause followed. A detective ruffled the filly’s mane. The sniper’s ears flapped like semaphores. Summer Sweets blushed at the attention and pressed against Chuck Roast’s side.

“So, what’s the situation?” Chuck asked. He stepped up beside the sniper and squinted at the donut store.

“Hold-up went wrong. Stallion passed a note to the cashier, said he had a pie and wanted access to the vault. The manager set off the alarm and the perp panicked. Everyone got out but the cashier.”

Chuck nodded. “Does he really have a pie?”

“Not sure. Manager said he had a trench coat. Could’ve hid anything under there.”

“Okay. Okay. We can do this.” Chuck closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath. He turned, took the megaphone from the sergeant, and passed it to Summer Sweets.

“Alright, Sweetie,” he said. “Just like we practiced.”

The filly grabbed the megaphone in her magic. It wobbled a bit, and she propped her front legs on the wagon’s hood for support.

“What’s his name?” she whispered.

“Bric-a-brac,” the chief whispered back.

The filly nodded, and the megaphone crackled to life. “Bric-a-brac! We know you’re in there! We just want to talk!”

Silence responded. All held their breath. Even the wind and birds seemed to freeze.

A loud crack shattered the silence as the donut shop door burst open. Bric-a-brac stepped out, one foreleg wrapped around a teenage colt’s neck. In the other he held a cream pie, just inches from the colt’s face. It trembled.

“Stay back!” he shouted. “I’ll do it! I’ll do it!”

“Calm down, Bric-a-brac. Nopony has to get hurt. What do you want?”

“I’m not going back to jail! I want a car and a pardon from the princess!”

“Okay, we can do that,” Sweets said. “But first you need to let that colt go.”

Bric-a-brac’s grip tightened. A curl of cream touched the colt’s cheek, leaving a white smear. “You think I’m stupid? Huh? No! He stays with me!”

“I’ve got a shot,” the sniper whispered.

“Not yet,” Sweets grunted. Then, into the megaphone, “You’re cracking up, Bric! There’s only one good ending here, and that’s if you let the colt go! Now, I’m going to count to three, and—”

But she didn’t get to count to three. Bric-a-brac panicked, or something startled him, and before anypony could move he smashed the pie into the colt’s face. There was a scream, high, that cut off with a wet squelch.

The sniper’s bullet took Bric-a-brac square in the chest. It blossomed with flakey pastry bits and cream, and Bric-a-brac went down with a thud. Police and paramedics swarmed forward.

Summer Sweets stood, her mouth hanging open. The megaphone trembled and fell into Chuck Roast’s hoof.

“But, but…” she trailed off with a whimper. “I did...”

“It’s okay,” Chuck Roast said. “It happens. Like, my first seven all ended this way.”

“Heh, yeah, I remember those,” the chief said. “Messy. Anyway, you guys want some donuts? I’m buying.”

Tea with Condoms

Applejack took a long, slow sip from her mug of coffee. It was dark, bitter, and so hot it stung her tongue into numbness.

Perfect. She smiled and set the cup down on the wood table. “Thanks for coming out, Rarity. We don’t get together much like this, I guess.”

“We don’t, don’t we?” The fashionista took a dainty sip from the teacup floating before her muzzle. Around them, ponies filled the chic sidewalk cafe’s seats, enjoying the lingering warmth of early autumn. “Sometimes it feels like I only have these little soirees with Twilight or Fluttershy.”

“Well, this ain’t really Rainbow Dash’s thing.” Applejack tapped her mug with the edge of her hoof. “So, how’s Sweetie Belle?”

“Good, good. Excited to be back in school. More excited to be turning 16, I think.” She sighed. “Amazing how time flies.”

“You ain’t old, Rarity.”

“Oh, let me be dramatic, Applejack. It keeps things interesting.”

Applejack chuckled. “Fair enough. Anyway, had something I wanted to talk with you about.”

“Hm? You mean this get-together wasn’t just for the pleasure of my company?” Rarity batted her eyes and took another sip from her tea.

“‘Fraid not. Wanted to show you something.” With this Applejack stuck her muzzle into her saddlebags, pulled out the item she’d ‘borrowed’ from Apple Bloom, and tossed it onto the table between them.

Rarity stared down at it, confusion plain on her face. Then her eyes took in the square, flat shape, the foil wrapping, and the faint raised ring in the center. She coughed politely.

“Applejack.”

“Mhm?”

“Applejack, that’s…” She glanced around and lowered her voice. “That’s a condom, Applejack.”

“Yup.”

Rarity pinched the bridge of her muzzle between her hooves. “Why are you showing me a condom?”

“Found it in Apple Bloom’s room. Had a nice, long talk with her, too.”

“Well, you know, she is about that age. But why are you showing me this?”

Applejack took a long, slow swallow from her coffee. It had cooled to the point of merely burning. Blissful. She closed her eyes to savor it. “She said she got it from Sweetie Belle.”

A silence followed. Applejack opened her eyes to see Rarity staring at the offending object with a little frown.

Finally, “She said that?”

Applejack nodded.

“You don’t suppose she was… No, of course she was telling the truth.” Rarity sighed and seemed to slump in her seat. “Well, I suppose I should schedule a little chat with my sister as well.”

Her horn glowed, and the condom did as well. Just as it lifted into the air to float its way toward Rarity, Applejack stopped it with a hoof. She slid it across the table, dropped it back in her saddlebag, and closed the latch.

“Sorry, sugar. Promised Apple Bloom I’d give it back.”

Rarity raised an eyebrow. “You don’t mind her having it?”

“Would you prefer she didn’t?”

Rarity opened her mouth to respond, and then paused. After a moment she closed her jaws with a clack.

“No, you’re right. That would be stupid.” She set her chin on her hoof and gazed out at the ponies trundling by in the street. “When did life get so complicated, Applejack?”

“Right about when we grew up, I guess. Or when we got little sisters.”

“Ha, little sisters. You know, I still remember the day mom and dad brought her home from the hospital, a little squirming ball of shrieks and screams. I swear they named her as a joke.”

“Would you be offended if I said there was a strong family resemblance?”

“Ha ha, laugh it up.” Rarity let out a long, slow breath. “But even then, she was the most precious thing in the world to me, so sweet and innocent. And now…” She trailed off, her eyes fixing on Applejack’s saddlebags.

“This gonna be a problem?”

Rarity took her time before answering, and shook her head. “No, no. She’s being smart and responsible, and I should be proud of her for that. Apple Bloom too – we both should.”

Applejack smiled behind her coffee mug. “Already am. Any idea who the colts might be?”

“Hm, I have a few guesses. Since we’re being adults about it, we should probably just ask.”

“Sensible.”

“It is.” Rarity set her teacup down with a thud. “Odd, I always thought Scootaloo would be the first. Rainbow Dash will be disappointed.”

Applejack shrugged. “She’ll get over it. Wanna invite her for coffee next week?”

“Sounds delightful, darling.”

The Player and the Game

“Knock knock!” Rarity stuck her head through the crystal library doorway without actually knocking. “Twilight?”

“Over here!”

Rarity found Twilight Sparkle at a low table near the library’s fiction section. She had a jade chess board, and was setting out the pieces as Rarity approached.

“Playing a game?” Rarity took the opposite seat.

“Well, that depends on my guest.” Twilight gave her a hidden smile and spun the board to present the white pieces to Rarity.

“It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?” Rarity contemplated the pieces, then slid her king’s pawn two spaces forward. “Nostalgic?”

“Inspired, actually.” Twilight matched her move. “When I saw how much fun Spike and Big Macintosh had playing with Discord, I knew I had to try it.”

“Board games?” She advanced her queen’s pawn one space, forming a rank.

Twilight matched her move again. “Magic board games.”

Rarity had been about to leapfrog her knight, an armored pegasus, into the center of the board, but now she paused. “Magic?”

“Yes. I was inspired.”

None of this seemed like magic. Rarity glanced at Twilight, then shrugged and jumped her knight into the fray.

Outside, distant thunder boomed, rattling the windowpanes. Rarity started and turned to stare at the bright sunlight pouring through the curtains.

“Uh, Twilight…”

Twilight’s smile grew. “It’s just a game, Rarity.” She moved a knight beside her queen’s pawn. Outside, the clear skies filled with clouds. They spun in a wide, dark gyre over the town, and rain began to lash the windows.

“Ahem, of course.” Rarity swallowed her doubts. “Just a game.”

The next few moves were inconsequential – pawns jockeyed for position and formed serried ranks. But that opened the path for Rarity’s bishop – a marble unicorn mage – to advance, and she lanced forward with it to harry Twilight’s knight.

The light dimmed. Gas lamps along the walls turned on automatically. Rarity looked outside to see the sun in glimpses between the rotating clouds. It climbed down from the sky toward the east horizon.

“Aggressive,” Twilight mumbled. She moved her bishop to defend the knight, and the sun froze just above the mountains.

“Well, you know me.” Rarity cleared her throat and slid a pawn forward, opening her front ranks. “Twilight, what have you done?”

“Just a spell is all. It’s harmless.” Here she picked up king and rook, and castled them.

Rarity was seized with a sudden sense of vertigo, of incredible velocity, though nothing in the library budged. The view out the window became a sickening blur, and when it resolved she saw not Ponyville but the dry, moonscape desert outside Appleloosa.

Rarity lost a rook, and the castle walls crumbled, exposing the room to the stars. She castled herself, and they landed in a snowy pine forest bedecked in night. Overhead, a huge, leering moon beat the sun into submission.

Finally, many moves and lost pieces later, Twilight selected her queen. Unseen trumpets filled the air with brassy peels as she advanced it into the fight.

Rarity swallowed. “Twilight… Princess… is this safe?”

Twilight’s smile grew into a grin. She grew taller, her mane shifting across a dark rainbow of hues into an airy nebula. Her muzzle stretched, elegant and thin as Celestia’s. Long diamond fangs peeked out beneath her lips.

“There are no princesses in chess,” Twilight’s voice was filled with snakes. “Only queens.”

Rarity met Twilight’s queen with her own. She felt herself swell with power. Enormous bat wings sprouted from her back. Her horn evolved into a wicked spire.

They traded bishops, and the sky burned with falling comets. She lost her other rook, and the rest of the castle fell away, leaving only the two queens and their table atop a tall chimney of rock.

Finally, disaster. Rarity lost her queen to a hidden fork. Overhead, the moon cracked and broke apart. Bells sounded defeat.

But… Rarity smiled. Down to the last of her pawns, she maneuvered her king onto a special square. One from which it had no escape. The world grew still around them, the very air freezing as the game ended.

Stalemate.

And then she blinked, and they were back in the castle in sunny Ponyville. Twilight – Princess Twilight – beamed at her from across the board.

“Good game, Rarity.” She started collecting the pieces. “We’ll have to play again sometime.”

“Mm.” Rarity gazed out the window. In the distance, she saw the pennants flying from her boutique, where a dozen orders still awaited her hoof.

“How about now?”

Big Box

A little silver bell rang as Twilight Sparkle pushed open the door of her favorite Ponyville mom-and-pop arcane supply shop. Desiccated crow skulls dangling from braided strands of spider silk bobbed and bounced against her horn.

“Just a minute!” An ancient voice, as dry as the bones hanging from the ceiling, called from behind a tattered curtain. It parted to reveal a wizened crone whose withered face split into a broad smile at the sight of her customer.

“Why, Twilight Sparkle!” She tottered over and gave the princess a fragile hug. “What brings you in today?”

“Oh, the usual.” Twilight trotted between the aisles, pausing to sniff at a bowl of fresh monkey paws marked half-off. “More gloom ink, maybe some wailing gems for Spike. Oh, get any new tomes?”

The crone sighed. “I’m afraid not, dearie. I can barely afford candles ever since that big-box arcana store moved in. I just haven’t got the customers any more.”

Twilight frowned and glanced out the window. Across the street, a steady stream of ponies flowed through the doors of the giant brick Barns and Noble magic supercenter. Goliath helium-filled spiders bobbed in the wind, each holding a “Ponyville Grand Opening!” sign in their fangs.

“Well, those ponies don’t know what they’re missing,” Twilight said. “Magic isn’t about corporations! Why, I bet there’s not a single vial of quality virgin blood in that entire store!”

“That’s a lot of virgin blood,” Rainbow Dash said. “There’s, like, fifty different flavors here.”

Twilight Sparkle scowled at the display before them. A sign hanging from the high, well-lit ceiling proclaimed it to be the Virgin Blood, Tears of Enemies, Flavored Fizzy Water aisle. Thousands of bottles lined the shelves.

“Earth Pony Mare, Pegasus Stallion,” Applejack read the names off the labels as she passed. “Lavender Unicorn Mare… Gosh, they take this serious.”

Twilight snatched a bottle at random with her magic. Dark fluid sloughed lazily inside the clear crystal, and the cap was sealed with a tight plastic wrap. It was a far cry from the corked, cloudy, bubbled glass vials in her favorite shop. Her eyes narrowed.

“Look at this.” She snorted and slammed it back on the shelf, rattling its cousins. “It was probably filled by a machine at a bottling plant.”

“Pretty cheap, though,” Rainbow said. “Aren’t you always complaining about how much virgin blood costs?”

“Well, uh…” Twilight snuck a glance at the prices and blinked. They were less than half what she normally paid. “Quality commands a premium.”

“Right.” Applejack set a hoof on Twilight’s withers. “Look, I know you love that little shop—”

“Everypony loves that little shop!”

“—but Ponyville’s a big town, now, and that means bigger stores. Times are changin’, and all.”

“But…” Twilight spun, taking in the enormity of the store. Dozens of aisles stretched away, filled with books and beakers and bunsen burners and everything else a magical laboratory needed. “There’s no soul here, Applejack! Nothing that cries ‘Ponyville.’ When you buy knives, where do you go?”

“Cutlery and Haemophilia Medication, just like my pappy did.”

“Well, what if they go out of business, because some big-box store like this starts selling more knives? Cheaper knives?”

“Aw, shucks, Twi. That ain’t never gonna happen. Why, every knife I’ve ever bought has been from that little store, and I’m never—”

“Hey, Applejack! Applejack!” Rainbow Dash’s voice sounded from the next aisle over. “Check this out! They’ve got, like, a million knives here!”

“Oh wow. Be right back, Twilight.” Applejack gave her another pat and trotted off.

Twilight’s ears sagged. She could see the future stamped on these bright, clean floors. In a few years the little mom-and-pop stores would all be gone, empty husks left behind. Where would she buy sparrow hearts, then?

“Excuse me, miss?” A high, scratchy voice interrupted her musing, and she turned to see an acne-dappled colt wearing a store vest. “Would you be interested in signing up for a rewards card?”

She sniffled. “What kind of rewards?”

“Anything in the store. Our live spiders are very popular.”

“You have live spiders?” Her favorite little arcana shop didn’t have live spiders. Theirs were all preserved in alcohol.

“We do. Fuzzy and spindly ones.”

“Oh.” She frowned and looked around the store again. It was filled with smiling ponies. Colts and fillies galloped around a special play area filled with foam monsters. From the far end of the store, the scent of fresh-roasted coffee teased her nose.

She sighed. “Sign me up.”

Trembling

The leaves in the forest below shook gently, though there was no breeze flowing through the foothills of the Grand Serpent Mountains.

Scootaloo flew in wide circles above the trees. Warm thermals rose from the south-facing hills below, gently buoying her aloft. She could drift like this for hours. The forest may as well not have existed; she could live her entire life, she fancied, among the clouds and sun, neverminding the earth below.

And yet… She let out a quiet breath and tucked her wings into a dive. The world grew, and she pulled up just a few dozen meters above the high canopy. The mountains loomed to north, their snow-dusted peaks stabbing angrily at the heavens.

The trees whispered to her, quaking in the windless air. Treetips swayed to and fro, and branches swung like pendulums, creaking in complaint. She frowned down at the ceaseless motion, searching for a break.

There. A fallen tree left a gap, already closing as the thick underbrush drank the sunlight and crowded upward. She plowed through the soft, young leaves, tearing away brambles and creepers, beating at twigs, until she reached the ground beneath it all. She spat out a few leaves and pushed out of the clearing, into the forest, into the shadows of the dancing trees.

She didn’t feel it at first, the swaying. Without any visible horizon, the shifting earth simply felt uneasy to her, like she’d been flying for too long, for years, and forgotten what solid ground was like. But moments stretched into minutes, and the feeling remained, as of a boat on the ocean, bobbing in the swell and trough.

A particularly strong tremble shook her legs, clicking the bones in her knees. Tiny stones danced around her hooves. The rustling leaves became a roar, and she closed her eyes to fight off a wave of nausea.

Nopony lived in the foothills of the Grand Serpent Mountains. It was a land of constant earthquakes, of ground that never stopped trembling. Nothing built by ponies could withstand the shaking; no crops survived the perpetual landslides and sinking earth. There was only the forest, always falling, always growing.

The forest and, allegedly, one pony. Scootaloo ignored her queasy stomach and tilted her muzzle up, sampling the air. Distantly, the ashen scent of a campfire caught her nose, and she began trotting toward it.

The treehouse was an improbable thing, suspended above the ground by ropes and wires and hope. The central platform was a rough collaboration of walls and windows, teetering on the edge of collapse, all above a smouldering firepit. Scootaloo stopped a safe distance away.

“Hey!” she shouted. “Hey!”

Something shifted inside the treehouse, followed by a startled squawk. The building tilted alarmingly. Scootaloo took a careful step back.

A window opened (or fell off, she couldn’t quite tell), and out peered a white unicorn with mossy eyes. Sweetie Belle stared down at her visitor, blinked, then scowled.

“What do you want?”

“Aren’t you a little old for treehouses?”

Sweetie snorted and vanished back inside. A moment later a rope flew out, followed by Sweetie, who shimmered down it like a monkey. She trotted up to Scootaloo, still scowling.

“I said, what do you want? Apple Bloom sent you, didn’t she?”

Scootaloo shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. Don’t tell me you’re still mad.”

Sweetie stomped a hoof. “I’m not mad. She’s just stupid!”

“Right.” Scootaloo leaned back, taking a moment to view the ramshackle house again. “So, uh, how’s life treating you out here?”

“Good. Really good! No stupid ponies, no stupid sisters, and especially no stupid Apple Bloom.” She sniffed. “I love it out here.”

“I can tell.” Scootaloo took a step forward and laid her wing across Sweetie’s back. The mare trembled, though whether it was due to the quaking ground or something else eluded her senses. “But, uh, the others kind of miss you.”

A tiny frown appeared on Sweetie’s lips. “So they say.”

“Yeah.” Scootaloo cleared her throat. “And Apple Bloom says she’s sorry.”

Sweetie Belle was silent. She stared at the shifting ground, where tiny grains of sand danced and crept over their hooves.

“Welp, that’s it, just wanted to say that.” Scootaloo pulled back and peered up at the trees for a gap. “Gonna get dark soon. Later!”

Sweetie blinked at her. “Wait, you’re just leaving?”

“Yeah.” Scootaloo ruffled her wings. “Unless, you know, you were thinking of coming.”

Sweetie gnawed at her lip. She glanced back at the treehouse, then at Scootaloo. Above them, the trees filled the air with their rustle.

Finally, she sighed and smiled. “Let me grab some things.”

Scorpion Days

Chiaroscuro pushed open the shop door with his shoulder and stepped inside. It was dark and smokey, and the transition from bright sunlight left him momentarily blind.

But the smells were the same – sandalwood, tobacco, oil, and metal. Each separate odor blended in his mind into the single flavor of days gone by. The scent of memory. He drew in a deep breath and held it, and tried for a moment to forget the years that weighed on his shoulders.

The cacophony of the Manehattan streets faded, replaced by the faint sound of steel scraping against stone. A conversation of snakes that paused, followed by the sound of hooves on creaking planks.

His eyes adjusted, and the dark shop lightened in steps. Knives, thousands of them, lined the walls, hanging from cords or balanced on pegs. Peelers, cleavers, razors and more all lay in ordered rows like soldiers. Sparks of lanternlight danced along their edges.

The curtain parted as the proprietor stepped through, his mouth already open to greet the customer. Instead he froze, and for a heartbeat they stared at each other in silence.

The shopkeep, an elderly unicorn, his muzzle dusted with silver, spoke first. The ghost of a smile twisted his lips and tinged his words. “Cherry. Here to apologize?”

Chiaroscuro snorted. He reached up and pulled his lapel aside, exposing the badge pinned to his vest. “Business.”

“Ah. Well, then, welcome, Detective Chiaroscuro, to Falling Leaf’s Knives. What can a humble businesspony do for you?”

Slowly, with far more care than the act normally deserved, Chiaroscuro retrieved a slim envelope from his saddlebags and set it on the counter with a quiet clink, not unlike that of coins in a purse. He stepped back, his lips wrinkling from the taste.

“Have you ever seen these?”

Falling Leaf tilted his head, his eyes darting back and forth between the envelope and the detective. When nothing more came, he shrugged and levitated the envelope. It was not sealed, and he unfolded the paper flap.

A pair of paper-thin blades dropped onto the counter. One landed on its corner and stuck, upright, in the soft wood.

“Hm.” Falling Leaf plucked the razor from the counter and spun it in the air. “Marble Industries surgical-grade steel safety razor with platinum plating. High quality, for a disposable item. Somepony has good taste.”

“You sell them here?”

“I do.” Falling Leaf’s horn glowed brighter, and a small box floated up from beneath the counter. “Twenty bits per dozen.”

“You go through a lot of them?”

He shook his head. “Mind if I ask what this is about, detective?”

“Yeah, I do mind.” The bitter words slipped out without thought. He covered with a cough and continued. “Somepony’s been sticking them on railings, park benches, lampposts. Most are found before anypony gets hurts, but a few ponies have gotten cut.”

“Anything serious?”

Chiaroscuro shook his head. “Not yet. Lotta blood, though. You know how razors are.”

“I do.” Falling Leaf held the envelope still and began flicking the razor back-and-forth across it in a smooth, practiced motion. The blade passed through the paper with barely even a sound, and flakes began to fall onto the counter in a small blizzard. Within seconds the envelope was gone.

“It’s happened before,” he continued. “Some colt, smaller than his fellows, a few years after his balls start to drop. Fascinated by knives, loves cutting things, maybe even himself. Then he discovers razors, and they are… amazing to him.”

Chiarscuro stared at the pile of confetti on the country. A bead of sweat ran down his temple. “Yeah.”

“Such a thin little thing.” Falling Leaf rotated the blade, and it seemed to vanish. “Like a piece of paper, but with so much power. That’s how the colt starts to think of himself. Small, weak, so easily bent, and yet now dangerous.”

Chiaroscuro cleared his throat. “You see any colts like that in here?”

A long moment followed. Finally, Falling Leaf snorted. “Not lately.”

Ah. The years seemed to return to his shoulders, and Chiaroscuro slumped. He could already feel the summer heat outside, waiting for him again. “Right. Keep an eye out, will you? Let us know.”

“Of course.” Falling Leaf set the two blades atop the box, and deftly wrapped the whole affair in a sheet of oiled paper. “For your trouble, detective.”

“Right.” Chiaroscuro slid the package into his saddlebags. The oiled paper tasted like childhood. He turned toward the exit.

“Son.” The word stopped him cold. He turned to see Falling Leaf, looking so much older now, a plaintive expression on his face.

Silence stretched out.

Falling Leaf looked down. “Nevermind,” he whispered.

Right. Chiaroscuro did that, and left.

It Could be Worse

Author's Note

So, what is this? It's a full comedy I wrote all the way back in 2012.

I unpublished it after a few months, because I wrote it as part of a group story effort, and I felt like it was a bit rushed. But I never went back to redo it, and it's been languishing as an unpublished story ever since.

Since it has no other home and I want people to be able to read it, I figured this is as good a place as any.

Is there anything more fun than exploring the Everfree Forest with your friends, discovering new plant species, practicing Field Botany, and contributing to the natural sciences? Not if you’re Twilight Sparkle!

Alas, even the best field studies go wrong. Now Twilight is on the run, intoxicated with Poison Joke. Can her friends save her before she does something she’ll regret?

Probably not.

It Could be Worse

Somewhere in the Everfree Forest

The high summer sun beat down mercilessly on the forest canopy. Shafts of light pierced the foliage all around them, sparkling with a million motes of dust and pollen. The vast forest stretched out in all directions, choked with vines and tangles and thorns and brambles and pitfalls and quicksand and ceiling crocodiles and every other hazard known to ponykind.

Applejack was sure some of the vines were moving. She edged away from a particularly fierce looking specimen choking a nearby tree to death. It was thick as her hoof and gravid with wicked thorns, each oozing with menace.

Ah, the Everfree. Such a wonderful place, and so close to home. She took a few steps closer to her companions.

“Are we lost?” Spike asked. It was at least the fifth time he'd asked the question in the past hour.

“We are most certainly not lost, Spike. As I have said before.” Rarity peered at the map floating in front of her. She squinted, gazed at the endless expanse, then squinted again. Her horn glowed as she rotated the map ninety degrees. “I'm just not quite sure where we are, is all.”

“So we're lost.”

“Sometimes, Spike, I suspect you have no faith in my abilities.” Rarity sniffed self-consciously, then turned the map again. “Now, then. Moss grows on the north side of trees, right Applejack?”

Applejack glanced at a nearby oak. A massive, cancerous growth of moss had completely consumed its trunk, most of its roots, many of the branches, and even some of the leaves. As she watched, the ichorous mass began inching toward them.

“Usually,” she said.

“Excellent.” Rarity flipped the map again. “I know exactly where we are.”

Applejack raised an eyebrow.

“Can I see the map, Rarity?” Spike asked.

“For the last time, Spike, I am the navigator,” Rarity stomped a hoof. “Did you get an orienteering badge in Filly Scouts? Somehow, I doubt—”

“Shh!” Applejack interrupted what was likely to be a lengthy harangue. “I think I hear something!”

The three of them froze. A legion of cicadas rattled intermittently in the distance. Above them, leaves rustled in a weak breeze. Applejack was about to apologize when she heard something large and fast crashing through the underbrush toward them. They turned toward the sound, ready to fight or flee or beg not to be eaten, depending on whatever horror was about to beset them.

A moment later, the brush parted, and Twilight Sparkle stumbled to a halt. Her mane was in frantic disarray, with errant strands poking this way and that, more like a bird's nest than hair. Her eyes were wide and wild, and she looked at them with a huge, uneven smile.

“Oh, thank Celestia!” Rarity said. “Twilight, you had us so worried. We've been looking for—”

“Pnsflwv! Avsytescv slwot'dfw anybzok! Drakbog!” Twilight reached behind her and grabbed a bullfrog perched on her back, then flung it toward them. It sailed a few feet before flopping to the ground. After a moment, it righted itself and sat on the forest floor, apparently unperturbed by its rough treatment.

“Scnm'ot! Aplogyt! Drakbog!” So saying, Twilight turned tail and ran. She made it a few feet before stumbling over a rotting log, tripped, rolled around in the leaves, and finally stood back up before vanishing into the thick underbrush again.

Applejack stared at the hole in the vegetation left by Twilight's passage. The entire thing had taken less than ten seconds.

“That... that was Twilight, right?” Rarity asked. She looked as stunned as Applejack felt.

Only Spike seemed unfazed. “See, I told you she was crazy.”

Applejack looked down at the bullfrog. It stared back at her with its beady eyes, and eventually it turned and hopped away into the forest.

Three hours earlier...

“Thanks again for coming out here, Fluttershy,” Twilight Sparkle said. She was still giddy with excitement. Exploring the Everfree! Learning! With a friend! She adjusted her pith helmet and pushed forward through the thick vegetation. “It's been years since anypony conducted a comprehensive botanical survey of a previously unexplored biome!”

“Oh, um, you're very welcome, Twilight.” Fluttershy glanced around the forest. “I think you should try to be a little quieter, though. If that's alright with you.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” Spike whispered in her ear. He was perched on her back like usual, but he seemed almost as nervous as Fluttershy. Probably something to do with his last experience in the Everfree, Twilight reasoned.

“Relax, you two. It's the middle of the day.” Twilight pushed aside another set of vines with her magic, revealing a wide clearing. She gasped in delight and charged forward, nosing at each of the plants and flowers and saplings that called it home. “Fluttershy, look! Swamp roses, common blueberries, bittersweet nightshade... ooh, what's this one?” She nudged a small bush with her hoof. Its dozens of spindly branches ended in tiny pods, from each of which dangled several green tendrils that flowed oddly in the breeze.

“That's a spiderbramble,” Fluttershy said. “Please be careful, it can bite.”

“Oh.” Twilight jerked her head back. “You mean it can sting?”

“Um, no, it bites. And that one looks hungry.”

Twilight took a slow, careful step back. This is the Everfree, she reminded herself. Not everything is as it seems here.

“Ooh, blueberries!” Spike said. “Twilight, can I?”

“Huh?” Twilight didn't even look up from the spiderbramble. It seemed to be reaching for her with its tendrils. Amazing! A perfect subject for her next essay in Field Botany Today. “Yeah, sure. Go for it.”

Spike hopped off her back and pattered around the clearing, plucking wild blueberries growing in the boggy part of the clearing. He popped a few in his mouth and collected the rest in a bag. Fluttershy followed along as Twilight interrogated the various plants offering an occasional bit of advice or warning: “Um, careful, that's poisonous. That's poisonous too, if you don't mind. That one's also poisonous, but it's not mean at all. Oh, that one causes a rash if you touch it. No, that one's poisonous. That one's not poisonous, but the caterpillars living on it are.”

Twilight stopped at the last one. “Really? Poisonous caterpillars?”

“Oh, yes, Many caterpillars are poisonous.” Fluttershy held out a hoof and let the tiny, fuzzy worm crawl onto it from a leaf. “It's very bad for the birdies to eat these.”

Twilight reached out her hoof to the plant. None of the caterpillars crawled onto it. She frowned at them. Stupid caterpillars.

“Hey, neat, caterpillars,” Spike said. “Oh, blueberry?” He held up a clawful of the tiny fruits to Twilight.

“Why, thank you Spike!” She grabbed a hoofful and tossed them back. Delicious!

“Good, aren't they? Want some, Fluttershy?” He held the remaining berries out to her.

“Oh, that's very nice of you, Spike.” She peered at the berries closely, then gave a timid little frown. “Not all of those are blueberries, though.”

There was a long silence. Twilight stopped chewing. Spike peered at the berries in his claws.

“Uh... they aren't?”

“No,” Fluttershy said. “See the bigger ones? Those are Poison Joke berries. You should probably put them down.”

He did. Immediately.

The delicious taste of blueberries in Twilight's mouth was starting to fade, replaced by a metallic tang. Is this what fear tastes like? I bet it is. “Fluttershy, are Poison Joke berries... uh, poisonous?”

“Um...” Fluttershy ground her hoof into the soil and looked away. “Yes?”

“Uh, Twilight? You don't look so good.” Spike took a step back.

No, I don't look good. Because my Number One assistant just poisoned me. She gave him a scowl, then turned to Fluttershy. Her coat felt hot, and beads of sweat began running down her sides. “Like, how poisonous are we talking?”

Fluttershy ducked her head, hiding under her bangs. “Oh, um, it's probably best not to ask. The important thing is not to panic.”

Don't panic. Everything is perfectly fine. Do not panic. She took a deep breath and let out a shaky laugh. This was actually rather funny, from a certain perspective. One day she would look back at this and laugh. Blueberries! Ha! A bit of her mane broke away from the rest, poking out at an odd angle. “Right, don't panic. What if that's not an option?”

“Well, we should write a letter to Princess Celestia and tell her what a bad field botanist you've been,” Fluttershy said with a frown. She pulled a writing desk out of her mane and set it on the ground. “Spike, do you have a paper and quill?”

“Of course, I carry them with me.” He handed the writing implements over. “Be sure to mention that Twilight stayed up past her bedtime reading last night.”

“No! You can't!” Twilight fell to her knees. Something about this seemed very odd, but that could wait. Far more important was to stop Fluttershy from writing that letter! “Please! I'll be good! I won't eat any more berries!”

“It's too late, I've already written the letter.” Fluttershy held up a ream of paper, crammed with her tiny, neat hoofwriting. “I also included everything you've done wrong since you came to Ponyville. I think she'll be very disappointed in you.”

“Very disappointed,” Spike echoed. He shook his head sadly.

Oh Celestia! Twilight rose to her hooves. Sweat poured from her body. “Please, Fluttershy! Don't send it! The berries!” Right, the berries. Something about the berries was important. It danced at the tip of her mind, but was lost in the clamorous terror of Celestia reading about her many failures as a student.

“Oh, I want to believe you, Twilight, but I'm actually a secret agent sent by Princess Celestia to report on your progress,” Fluttershy said. “Your very minimal progress. Spike, would you mind?”

“Of course.” He accepted the thick packet of paper and breathed on it. A wash of green flame incinerated the pages in an instant, leaving a trail of smoke that zipped high into the air on its journey to Canterlot. Twilight grasped at it with her hooves, but found no purchase on it.

“Nooooo!” she cried. “How could you?”

“Don't worry, Twilight. Everything will be fine,” Nightmare Moon said. Twilight blinked at her in confusion. Hadn't they defeated her? “Once Celestia realizes what a bad student you've been, you can come and live on the moon with me. You could be, like, my personal butler, or something. You know, a position that doesn't require critical thinking skills.”

“Maybe a janitor?” Spike suggested. “That's an easy job.”

“Or a gardener,” Fluttershy said.

“We don't have gardens on the moon, dear,” Nightmare Moon said. They were ignoring Twilight now, as she cowered between them. “Perhaps we could make a rock garden, though? We have lots of rocks!”

“Oh, I was afraid this would happen!” Twilight's mother said. She raised a hoof to wipe away a tear. Fluttershy patted her back gently. “We always knew she would be a failure!”

“There there, dear,” Twilight's father said. “It's not your fault. It's all Twilight's fault.”

“What? No!” Twilight spun in a circle. Her coat felt like it was on fire. “It's the berries' fault! The berries!”

“How can you blame your problems on innocent little fruits?” Nightmare Moon demanded. “Look, you're making them cry!” She pointed a hoof at the berries still littering the forest floor. Indeed, tiny little tears leaked from them, and the faint sound of sobs filled the air.

“She makes me cry too, sometimes,” Spike added.

“No, this... it's not my fault! Not my fault!” She had to get away. Any moment now Celestia would arrive and disown her, and then she would be sent back to Magic Kindergarten. She couldn't do that, not again! Not ever again!

“I won't go back! You can't make me!” she shouted at them. Before they could catch her, she turned and galloped into the forest.

* * *

“Fsyvnt osfcsy qyzvys! Mnsest ablop'mn es awg!” Twilight shouted at them. Before Spike or Fluttershy could catch her, she turned and galloped into the forest.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. In the distance, the sound of the cicadas resumed, filling the air with their buzz.

Eventually, Spike sighed. “Darn it, not again.”

* * *

Twilight ran farther than she had ever run before; she ran until her legs wobbled like noddles, until her lungs felt like they would rupture, until her heart threatened to burst from her chest. She ran at least 200 yards. Maybe even 300.

Stupid lack of athletic conditioning.

“Okay, Twilight. Think.” She said between gasps. “You can fix this. You can fix anything!” She giggled at the thought, and another lock of her mane sprang away from the rest. When her breath had returned, she set off deeper into the forest at a more sedate pace.

“You can live out here! Why, nature will be your classroom!” She turned in a circle, gazing at the rich expanse of learning all around her. “Professor Twilight Sparkle, of the Everfree University! Ponies will come from everywhere to hear your lectures on the effect of evapotranspiration on air temperatures at the canopy level! When Celestia hears what a wonderful student you are, she'll beg to have you back!”

Around her, the forest babbled its agreement. Trees whispered their secrets to her. The wind submitted an application to study by her side. A family of deer paused to ask for her autograph.

This wasn't so bad, she realized. It might be a little rough living out in the forest, but animals did it. Animals did it, and what did they know? Animals didn't score in the ninety-ninth percentile on arithmetic and reasoning. Animals didn't have extensive experience with magical field theory.

“Do you have a graduate degree in applied mathematics?” she demanded of a squirrel perched on a branch beside her. It cowered away, then darted up the tree. “Didn't think so,” she muttered under her breath.

Everything was going to be just fine.

* * *

“So wait. You're telling me Twilight ate some poisonous berries, and now she's acting like a mad mare and jabbering nonsense and running around the Everfree Forest by herself?” Applejack peered at them. Seated beside her at the cafe table, Rarity seemed equally dubious.

“Uh, yeah,” Spike said. “That's about it.”

They glanced at Fluttershy. She nodded in silent agreement.

“Well, that sort of thing does happen to her fairly often,” Rarity said. “What do you think, Applejack?”

Applejack sighed. “I think,” she said, “I'm supposed to be at the farm, helping my brother with the harvest. But we can't just let her run around by herself in the Everfree. Fluttershy, why don't you see if Zecora can whip up another batch of that Poison Joke cure thingie, while we go round up Twilight?”

“Um, okay. Be careful, though. She's not acting like herself.”

“Eh, can't be too bad.” Applejack waved a hoof dismissively. “C'mon you two, let's go get her.”

“Ooh, ooh! I call navigator!” Rarity danced on her hooves in delight. “I got an orienteering badge in Filly Scouts!”

“Heh, alright, lead the way, girl,” Applejack said. She stood, adjusted her Stetson hat, and followed a few steps behind the unicorn. Spike hopped on her back as she passed him.

“Isn't the forest in the other direction?” he whispered in her ear.

“Yeah, I hate to burst her bubble, though,” Applejack whispered back. “She doesn't get to be navigator very often.”

* * *

Twilight trudged through the dismal marsh, ignoring the muck on her legs and the cloud of mosquitoes buzzing around outside the magical shield she had erected. Every few seconds one would get a bit too close, and *ZAP*, there was one less mosquito in the Everfree Forest. She stopped on a mound of floating vegetation, and gazed around at her empire. Towering cyprus trees rose like pillars from the ooze, supported by massive buttress roots that splayed about for dozens of yards. Curtains of moss hung from the branches, swaying gently in the faint wind. A cathedral-like hush filled the air as the swamp slumbered in the heat of the day.

It was perfect.

Over there, by the alligator, that's where she would put the bursar's office. The small clearing to her left, where the ground was somewhat firmer, would be a perfect spot for the lecture hall. She could already imagine ponies lounging around the quadrangle, deep in their books. Look, over there! A group was playing hackey sack! She hissed at their lazy waste of study time.

But they didn't matter. She turned to face the crown jewel of her university: The Library. Bigger than her little tree in Ponyville, bigger than the library in Canterlot, bigger even than Princess Celestia's entire castle, the university library towered above the trees like a boulder among blades of grass. Wings the size of city blocks held millions of tomes dedicated to history, the sciences, literature, magical theory, mathematics, literature, and every other subject of importance! An entire archive was dedicated to her personal correspondence with the princess! A small broom closet in the back held the philosophy section! Yes! Yes!

“Yes...” she mumbled. “Oh, Twilight, your library is so big...”

She would have gone on imagining her happy future in the Everfree for quite some time, had not an interruption broken her reverie. A quiet croaking filled the air, followed by a deep voice. “Twilight... Twilight...”

She spun around. “Who's there! Are you a student! Show yourself”

“Over here, Twilight,” the voice replied. She turned, but saw nothing. “Down here. Okay, now left. No, your left. Your other left. Down a bit more.”

Twilight gasped. Perched upon a mouldering log was a bullfrog, but not just any bullfrog. Its slimy skin glittered with golden flakes in the dim shadows of the forest. Huge eyes, endlessly deep and full of wisdom, gazed at her. A faint halo surrounded its body, and atop its head was a finely wrought platinum circlet.

“Greetings, Twilight Sparkle,” the glorious frog said. Its voice sounded in her mind, though its mouth never moved. “I am Drakbog, King of Frogs. Welcome to my marsh.”

“Your majesty!” She bowed in deep respect. “I apologize for trespassing. I did not know this was your kingdom.”

“You have nothing to fear, Twilight Sparkle. I foresaw your coming, and I know of your plans to build the greatest university in the world. I will be glad to gift you my land, for such an ambitious dream.”

“You will!?” Her heart soared. “You are too kind, your majesty. I will name any building you wish in your honor.”

“Very good,” Drakbog said. “Tell me, how do frogs assist in the teaching of ponies?”

“Oh, um...” Twilight thought back to her days in school...

“Okay, class,” Miss Forceps said. “Today we begin our lesson on animal physiology. Everyone grab a frog from the tank and turn to page 32 in your biology text.

Little Twilight Sparkle looked down at the frog on her tray. “Sorry, buddy, but this is for science!” Her scalpel glowed as she lifted it into the air...

“Musical theory,” Twilight said. “Frogs help us learn musical theory.”

“Excellent. Name your Fine Arts Performing Hall for me, Twilight, and all this land shall be yours.”

Whew. Twilight gave the frog king her best grin. “It shall be done, your majesty. Now, do you know any good contractors who are willing to—”

“Hold, Twilight Sparkle!” Drakbog interrupted. “I sense intruders! Yes, I sense ponies chasing you, coming to ruin your dreams!”

“Oh no! They followed me!” Cold despair washed over Twilight. “What do we do?”

“We must travel to the center of the forest, and petition the Evertree for its protection!” Drakbog said. “He will drive away our enemies and make the forest safe for your university!”

* * *

“Zcyas'sv ovwdvy, spwotgh svl agh meh!” Twilight shouted. She leaned down, grabbed the unlucky bullfrog in her mouth, and tossed it on her back.

“Azvyej!” That said, she charged off into the marsh, splashing water every which way. Within moments, the swamp had grown still, and there was nothing to indicate a unicorn had ever been there at all.

* * *

“Are we lost?”

Applejack gave him a worried glance. They were both thinking it. Spike just happened to be the first one to say it.

“Of course not, darling,” Rarity said with a sniff. “Really, do you have so little confidence in my abilities?”

Yes. “No. I just want to make sure we find Twilight.”

“We'll find her soon, I'm sure.” Rarity frowned at her map. “The Everfree is south of town, correct?”

“You know, sug, there's a road that leads right to the forest,” Applejack said. “We don't even need to use the map.”

“Pfft, roads,” Rarity said the word like it was an insult. “A true outdoorsmare strikes her own path through the woods, Applejack. Stick with me, and I'll show you how to track down—ooh, careful, there's a bit of mud there. Ugh, I almost stepped in it. Anyway, to answer your question, Spike, we're not lost.”

“Right.” Applejack shook her head, and followed in Rarity's path.

* * *

“Careful, Twilight,” Drakbog said. “Your enemies have laid an ambush nearby. I fear they mean to capture us and prevent you from ever creating your glorious university.”

She hissed. “Never! We'll stop them!”

“Yes, we will. Up ahead, you see that clearing! They are in there waiting for us. Let us get closer.”

Twilight crouched low to the ground. Her belly brushed the dark soil as she crept closer to her foes. Only a ring of trees and a few bushes separated them now. She could hear their voices, soft and sibilant and full of menace, just a few feet away.

“What should we do?” she whispered. A nervous slithery tendril wound around her heart, and she began to sweat again.

“I have magical powers, Twilight,” Drakbog said. “I will distract them, while you continue toward the Evertee.”

“But what about you, your highness? Will you be safe?”

“Never fear for me, Twilight,” he croaked. “No matter what you hear, run! Run for the tree!”

Right. Run for the tree. Twilight took a deep breath, centered herself, and charged toward the clearing. She burst through the thin vines separating herself from her pursuers, and stumbled to a halt.

They were back! Nightmare Moon! Her Parents! Fluttershy, Celestia's secret agent! They stared at her with grim intensity and readied their nets.

“You'll never take me alive!” she shouted. “Drakbog, destroy them!”

Drakbog leapt from her back in an astounding display of froggy acrobatics. He flipped through the air and landed before them, his throat sack swelling with malice as he prepared his incantations.

She didn't stick around for the battle; instead she turned and ran back to the forest, just as he had instructed. A log tripped her, but quick as a cat she rolled to her feet and vanished back into the woods. Behind her, she heard the rising pitch of battle as Drakbog, King of Frogs, fought her enemies.

* * *

“See, I told you she was crazy,” Spike said.

Applejack looked down at the bullfrog. It stared back at her with its beady eyes, and eventually it turned and hopped away into the forest.

“Well, that was a little odd,” Rarity said. “What do we do now?”

“I guess we go after her,” Applejack said. “I can tie her up nice and tight, then we just have to hike back to town.”

“What if she has more frogs, though?” Rarity danced in place. “I don't want to get frog slime on my coat. Ugh, they're so disgusting!”

“You shouldn't say bad things about frogs, Rarity,” Fluttershy said. They spun around to stare at her in shock. “Um, unless you want to, that is.”

“Fluttershy? When did you get here?” Spike asked.

“Oh, I've been with you for twenty minutes or so. I just didn't want to say anything because you all looked so busy.”

“Did you get the potion?” Applejack asked.

Fluttershy nodded and stuck her snout into her saddlebags, emerging a moment later with a small glass vial in her mouth. The thick liquid sloshed sluggishly inside, sparkling with flecks of blue and silver and gold.

“Great.” Applejack trotted to the hole in the foliage Twilight had made. “She can't have gotten very far, and she should be pretty easy to track. She's kinda clumsy and all.”

“Ooh, ooh!” Rarity pranced forward. “Finally, a chance to use my tracking badge! Come on girls! And Spike!” With that she vanished into the thick brush.

Applejack sighed. Come to think of it, she didn't remember seeing Rarity on any of her Filly Scouts trips. Before she could follow that thought any further, Fluttershy and Spike vanished into the hole. She followed.

* * *

Twilight trudged through mud. She set her shoulder against the ripping winds. She braved the blustering summer snows. When, years later, she emerged from the endless sand wastes of the Everfree Desert, she beheld in wonder the towering colossus that stood at the center of the forest. It was a tree beyond description, a veritable tower of life and power. It was, it was...

It was the Evertree.

She climbed over roots taller than she was. Pieces of bark the size of boulders littered the grassy landscape around her. Leaves like umbrellas drifted down from its heights. The faint hum of magic throbbed within its truck. She felt herself drawn to it like iron to a lodestone.

“Oh, great tree!” she cried as she braced her forehooves against its rough surface. “I have traveled far and wide to seek your aid!”

The wind blew harder, and the Evertree’s branches groaned high above her. A deep, sonorous rumble shook the earth, and in its vibrations she heard the tree's answer.

SPEAK, TWILIGHT SPARKLE.

“I have been cast out by ponykind! I must build a university here in your forest, but my enemies seek to capture me and return me to magical kindergarten! Can you aid me?”

YES, TWILIGHT SPARKLE. I HAVE HEARD TALES OF YOUR BRAVERY, AND WHAT A WONDERFUL STUDENT YOU ARE. TRULY, YOU ARE THE BEST STUDENT EVER, AND NO ONE CARES THAT YOU STAYED UP PAST YOUR BEDTIME READING.

“R-really?” Twilight's lip trembled, and her eyes began to water. “You mean it?”

OF COURSE. YOU CAN READ WHENEVER YOU LIKE. AND ALL THE PONIES WHO CALLED YOU AN EGGHEAD IN SCHOOL WERE STUPID. NOW, TELL ME OF THIS UNIVERSITY YOU SEEK TO BUILD.

Twilight fell to her haunches, struck by the awesome wisdom of the Evertree. Never before had she encountered such an insightful being. She opened her mouth again, and began to speak.

* * *

“Ytvsl'sc ofaw, pnyssw ad czelx,” Twilight said to the modest maple standing in the center of the clearing. A few curious birds peered down at her from its branches. “Poienv werlkjv oienxpa woanv! Neosw!”

She paused and tilted her head. After a few moments, she nodded at the tree and continued.

“Owenav oenw spvnm...”

* * *

“Are you sure she went this way, Rarity?”

Rarity looked up briefly from her tracking efforts to scowl at Applejack. “Darling, I told you, I know exactly what I'm doing. They don't give out tracking badges to just anypony, you know!”

Applejack sighed. Things had started well, with Rarity leading them down a blindingly obvious path of broken branches, hoofprints, and tangles of dark purple hair stuck in twigs. After a few dozen feet, however, she had broken from the trail, and struck off in a seemingly random direction.

“Yes, so you said. But are you sure this is the right direction?”

“Positive.” Rarity peered down at the mud. “See? There's a hoofprint!”

Fluttershy floated forward and gave the impression a quick glance. “Um, Rarity, that's a cougar print.”

Rarity squinted. “Are you certain? It looks a lot like a hoofprint to me.”

Fluttershy nodded. “Um, yes. See, there's another print. And there's the cougar that left it.” She waved at a cougar perched on a log a dozen feet in front of them. “Hello there, little one.”

The cougar meowed.

“Oh.” Rarity stared at the cat with wide eyes and slowly backed away. The others followed, and soon they found themselves back on the path Twilight had left. Applejack sighed quietly.

“Rarity, I was thinking,” she said. “I don't remember seeing you in any of my Filly Scouts trips or classes.”

“Of course not, dear. I went to Unicorn Filly Scouts.”

“...Unicorn Filly Scouts?”

Rarity nodded. “Yes. It's mostly in classrooms, but we took a field trip to the park, once.”

Applejack sighed again.

“You know, I think I hear something,” Spike said. He stood up on Applejack's back, tilting his ear to the wind. “It sounds like... some crazy pony babbling.”

The others froze and listened. Off in the distance, they could hear the odd broken cadence on the wind. It wasn't far. As one, they turned down the path, and followed the sound.

* * *

...WELL, IF YOU LIKE HIM THAT MUCH, YOU SHOULD ASK HIM OUT. HE WILL SEE HOW BEAUTIFUL AND BRAVE YOU ARE, AND HE WON'T LAUGH AT YOU OR TELL HIS FRIENDS THAT YOU ARE A NERD.

“You... you really think so?” Twilight gazed up at the tree in hopeful wonder. “But what if he says no?”

THEN IT'S HIS LOSS. WHY, IF I WERE A PONY, I WOULD BE DELIGHTED TO... HOLD, TWILIGHT! I HEAR ENEMIES APPROACHING! YOU MUST STOP THEM WHILE I COMPLETE THE SPELL THAT WILL BANISH THEM FOREVER!

Twilight spun around. In the distance she could see the mob of ponies approaching. Nightmare Moon, Fluttershy, her brother, thousands of changelings, that one unicorn in magical kindergarten who stuck gum in her hair! She growled and readied her destructive magics.

* * *

They broke through the final barrier to the clearing, and gasped at the sight before them. Twilight Sparkle stood with her back pressed against a tree, her eyes wide and filled with a manic light. Her horn began to glow...

Some time later...

Applejack coughed and tried to sit up. She was covered in a layer of soot, some of which still seemed to be on fire. She brushed the burning embers away and looked around.

The forest was mostly gone. Hundreds of charred stumps stretched out in all directions like tombstones. Ash fell like snow. The acrid scent of fire and death filled her nostrils.

“Spike? Rarity? Fluttershy?” She called. Beside her, she heard a groan.

“Ugh, here, darling.” Rarity's head poked out from a mound of sooty branches. Dark streaks marred her coat, now transformed a dingy gray. “Did... did we get her?”

Applejack turned in a circle. There, in the center of what had been the clearing, a single tree stood untouched by the destruction all around. Beneath its cover sat Twilight Sparkle, who seemed to be gagging on something. An apologetic-looking Fluttershy patted her gently on the back.

“Ugh!” Twilight tried to spit something up, without any luck. “Fluttershy, what was that?”

“Um, Poison Joke cure?” Fluttershy ducked her head. “Sorry, but I think you needed it.”

“Darn right you did, sug.” Applejack trotted up to them, brushing the last of the ash from her Stetson hat. “That was some amazing flying there, Fluttershy. Why, I bet even Rainbow Dash couldn't have done that.”

“Oh, it was nothing much.” Fluttershy blushed and tried to hide beneath her bangs.

“Don't sell yourself short, darling,” Rarity said as she trotted up. A singed Spike sat on her back with a frown on his face. “Without you, Twilight would still be acting crazy.”

“Right, sorry about all that.” Twilight looked around at the remains of the forest. “Also, we should probably leave before anypony asks what happened here.”

* * *

Applejack took the lead in getting back to Ponyville. Rarity followed in the rear, making the occasional snide comment. In just a few minutes they were past the burned clearing, and deep within the dark confines of the Everfree Forest once again.

“So, what was it like being insane?” Spike asked.

Twilight thought for a moment. “You know, it's like dreaming. You can never tell when you're insane! I suggest not eating Poison Joke berries, though.”

They continued in silence after that. The trees passed quickly by them. Leaves and vines bent out of their way, as though the forest were eager to be done with them.

Hey, this looks familiar. Twilight stopped, eliciting a disgruntled yelp when Rarity ran into her rump. “Wait, this is the clearing! This is where Spike found the Poison Joke!” Indeed, in the center of the clearing sat a dozen tiny berries, laying where Spike had dropped them.

“Whew, we must be almost home, then,” Spike said. “Careful not to touch those.”

Applejack squinted at them. “They look like blueberries.”

Twilight nodded. “They look very similar. Fluttershy said the Poison Joke berries are the big ones.”

They crowded around the fallen berries. Applejack sniffed at the larger ones.

“Oh, actually, I may have been wrong,” Fluttershy said. “I think those are just slightly larger than normal blueberries.” She bent down and grabbed one in her mouth, chewed it, and swallowed. “Um, yes, it's just a blueberry.”

There was an awkward silence. They stared at the blueberries, then turned to Twilight.

“So...” Twilight cleared her throat. “Not Poison Joke?”

Fluttershy shook her head. “Um, no. Sorry about that.”

“Oh, heh. Well, I guess I owe everypony an apology, then.” Twilight grinned nervously. They were all staring at her, except for Fluttershy, who was also blushing. “So, uh... icecream? My treat!”

The Panopticon

Author's Note

Not a ponyfic? Not a ponyfic.

The Panopticon

10:00 p.m. Lights out. I close my eyes, turn away from the light spilling in through the bars, and try to empty my mind of thought.

The bunk above me shifts, the springs squealing as Jenkins moves around. “Hey, Powder.”

I open my eyes. “Yeah, Jenks?”

“I can’t sleep, man.”

I sigh. We’ve only been in our bunks for three minutes. “Just give it time, man.”

“No, like, I can’t sleep. I was awake all last night, too. I just… I can’t sleep, you know?”

“So tell the doc.”

“I did. He said I’m just nervous about next week. Told me to get over it.”

The doc’s a smart person, I think. Still, I’d be excited too, if I was as close as Jenks to changing out of these drab prison jumpsuits.

“A week’s nothing, man. You’ve been here, what, four years? A week’ll go by in a blink.”

“Yeah.” The springs squeal again as he turns. “Still wish I could sleep, though. Then it’d go by even faster.”

The thud of booted footsteps in the walkway silences us. I hold my breath as the night guard walks past. When the footfalls dwindle into the distance, I breathe again.

In time, I sleep. Perhaps Jenks does as well.

I hunch over my breakfast. Jenks sits across from me. He’s clenching his spoon in his fist so hard his knuckles turn white.

Don’t look. Don’t look. It’s the mantra of the prisoner. A few tables away, the guards are working over some poor slob whose ass was sticking out too far into the aisle. I think it’s Jacobs, but if I turn my head to see for sure, the guards will be on us next.

I stare at my steamed rice. If I don’t look, I can’t hear the meaty thud of batons on flesh. I can’t hear Jacobs – and yes, it is Jacobs – scream and beg for the guards to stop. I can’t hear those things. I can’t.

When the guards are done, we start to eat again. My spoon shakes.

“Panopticon Corrections Corporation values your safety,” the intercom blares. It’s the same recording I’ve heard hundreds of times. “Our revolutionary management model improves outcomes for you and delivers maximum value to our shareholders. Please remember to cooperate with the guards at all times.”

“Fucking fascists,” Jenks whispers. “Fucking fuckers.”

“Quiet,” I whisper. Insubordination is a ‘correctable’ offense.

“Fuck them. I’ve got two days, man.” He looks up at me, and I can see the exhaustion in his eyes. He still hasn’t been sleeping. “You know, I spent five years in a real prison? State of California. It sucked, but not like this. This… we’re just dollars here.”

“Quiet,” I whisper again. Jenks isn’t the only person who’ll get a beating for this.

“Why do they do this?” His head turns fractionally toward the guards. “They think they’re better than us? Why can’t… fuck, why can’t we just get along?”

His voice is filled with defeat. Thank god. Only the defeated are safe, here. We finish our breakfast in silence.

“Prisoner Jenkins, stand forward.”

The door to our cell is open. Jenkins has shed his jumpsuit and stands naked but for his briefs. I give him a light punch on the shoulder.

“Good luck out there, man. Be nice, huh?”

“You know it, man.” He gives me a quick smile, then walks out of the cell, carrying his jumpsuit. A half-ring of guards surrounds him.

One guard is standing apart from the others. Slowly, he strips off his uniform, insignia, buttons, belt, pants, boots, until he stands as naked as Jenkins. They stare at each other for a moment, until the chief of watch nods.

“Exchange,” he says.

Piece by piece, Jenkins dons the guard’s uniform, while the guard puts on the jumpsuit. Without a word the former guard walks into my cell.

“Guard Jenkins, you are hereby incorporated as a customer experience technician, first class, for a period of one year,” the chief says. “Welcome to the team.”

Our cell door slides shut, and my new roommate collapses onto the bunk. He covers his face with his hands.

Outside, Jenkins accepts his baton from the chief. His fingers close on it, and he holds it before his face like something magical, like a talisman. His face goes slack with awe. And then he smiles.

It is not a kind smile. A tiger’s smile.

I do not think Jenkins is my friend any longer.

Kites

Starlight Glimmer was taking tea with Spike in her room, admiring the cherry blossoms visible in the orchards from her balcony, when Twilight Sparkle’s message arrived.

Starlight unrolled it while Spike finished hacking up the tea from his lungs. It was short enough to read at a glance, and she frowned.

“What’s wrong?” Spike asked. “What’s it say?”

“I’m sorry, take care of this bear. It’s not his fault,” she read. She flipped the paper over, but the back was blank. “That’s it.”

“Huh.” Spike scratched his spines. “What bear does she—”

A flash of purple light left them both blinking away tears, followed by a loud, mournful roar. Starlight’s bed shifted alarmingly beneath her as some new weight came to rest upon it. An odd stink of dirt and sweat and unwashed fur assaulted her nose. The spots in her eyes cleared, and she found herself face-to-face with Twilight’s bear.

Spike made it to the door first. He was a gentledrake and didn’t slam it shut until she’d escaped too.

* * *

Starlight had built dozens of kites over her lifetime. Most were lost now, abandoned when she left her fillyhood home, incinerated by angry townsponies along with the rest of her belongings in Our Town, or stuck in trees across the breadth of Equestria. Kites were like butterflies; beautiful, but so mortal.

There were several kites in her room. The largest, an elaborate, multi-celled box kite, hung from the ceiling. The others – stunts and deltas and traditional rhomboids – were mounted on the walls. At night their dark shapes seemed to float against the shifting crystal like they were flying. It helped soothe her to sleep.

Starlight listened from outside as the bear explored her room. Occasionally something would crash to the floor with a clatter. She heard the rattle of its claws against the crystal, many times accompanied by ominous ripping sounds.

Her poor kites. She glowered at the door.

The click of different claws on crystal caught her ear, and she turned to see Spike arriving with Fluttershy in tow.

She landed with a gentle flap of her wings and gave Starlight a nuzzle. “Spike said you had a bear in your room?”

“It’s a long story. Can you talk to it?”

“I can try.” Fluttershy opened the door and trotted inside. In the brief glimpse before the door closed, Starlight saw scraps of cloth and broken things scattered on the floor.

“Should, uh, we have gone in there with her?” Spike asked.

“Probably.” Starlight stared at the door. “Spike, I’m upset with Twilight right now.”

“Yeah. Her note sounded like she was in a rush, though. And she wouldn't have done this unless it was really important.”

Starlight took a long breath and exhaled it slowly. In with air, out with anger. The items in her room were just things, easily replaceable. Even her precious kites. “I know. But she better have a good reason for this.”

The door opened, and Fluttershy emerged. Her mane was mussed and her feathers afluff – signs of a tussle? Starlight stepped forward, concerned.

“I’m fine. He’s just a little afraid,” Fluttershy said. “He’s a Neighponese Lunar Bear and he says a purple pony sent him here. Would that be you or Twilight?”

“Twilight,” Starlight said. “Can we just set him loose?”

“Well,” Fluttershy said, “it’s a long walk to Neighpon, so I’d say no. Do you want me to get some food for him?”

* * *

The bear disappeared in another purple flash, hours later. Only its unwashed stink and the ruins of Starlight’s room remained to remind them of it.

Her mattress was in shreds. The dresser was overturned, its contents strewn about like nesting materials. The many-chambered box kite overhead was safe, but the ones on her walls were torn down and destroyed. She gathered their scraps into a little pile and stared at them.

“So, uh, can you fix them?” Spike asked.

She considered the broken spars and torn panels. “No.”

“Oh.” He frowned. “You know, she’ll be really upset when she sees all this. Think it’s her fault.”

“Yeah.”

He was silent in reply.

In with air, out with anger. How many times had she broken things? Broken ponies? And yet, here she was, forgiven for all those times. It was more than she deserved.

Well. In with air, and… there was no anger left, she found. Just understanding.

“Have to remake them before she gets home, I guess,” Starlight said.

“Can I help?”

She smiled. “Yeah.”

My Immortal

“Twilight, can we talk?”

The Friendship Castle had been renovated since Celestia’s last visit. Out were the gaudy amethyst crystals and tacky purple moulding. There was nary a pennanted spire or whatever those dangling ornaments were on the original balcony to be seen. In Celestia’s mind, this was an improvement.

That was not to say the new design was perfect. There was a lot of red, for instance. And black. The walls were carved with a filigree of roses amidst twisted vines. Gargoyles leered down from the upper levels onto the throne room. Twilight had somehow contrived to embed an ever-flowing stream of lava beneath the clear crystal floor, such that the entire room was lit from below by an evil orange glow. A constant moaning wind blew in from the doors, through the halls, pushing supplicants ceaselessly forward toward the throne and the castle’s master.

And what a throne it was. Marble, skeletally thin, borne by a pedestal of living earth ponies. They bore its weight stoically. Were it not for the drops of sweat streaming down their coats, Celestia might have imagined they were caryatids themselves.

“Of course, princess!” Twilight clapped her hooves, and a gagged and blindfolded servant scuttled in, dragging a tea trolley behind her. “Would you like some tea? Or some opium?”

“Tea would be nice.” Celestia sat at the foot of the throne. “I heard you’ve been making some changes around Ponyville.”

“Oh, haha, yes.” Twilight ducked her head and rubbed the back of her neck with a hoof. She wore a tasteful black leather halter and bridle that looked like something sold in the 'For Couples - Adults Only' shops in Canterlot's seedier districts. “I’m still getting used to it myself. It’s only been a few days, but I think ponies are starting to come around. It’s probably like moving into a new home, right? It feels weird, but by the time you know it you can barely remember the old place. I was nervous at first, but everypony has been very helpful.”

“Mhm.” She accepted the tea-bearer’s offering and took a sip. It was sickly sweet with sugar and honey. “Was that a red-light district I passed on the way here?”

Twilight’s ears perked up, and a smile lit her face. “Oh, you noticed! We were so excited when it opened last week! Do you know how hard it is to find that many red lanterns? There haven’t been any customers yet but we’re hopeful they’ll come once word gets out.”

“Of course. Are your friends around, by any chance?”

There was a flash, and a small folded notebook appeared beside Twilight. She flipped through it “Applejack and Rainbow are negotiating an arms shipment to Yakyakistan. Fluttershy is researching puppy mills. Pinkie Pie is developing new drinks with high-fructose corn syrup. And Rarity is… hm… Oh! She slaving away in the sex mines today.”

“The sex mines?”

“Yes, we all take turns.”

“Fascinating. Anyway, I’m here to talk about that letter I sent you last week.”

“The one about becoming an alicorn?”

“Yes. May I see it?”

“Um.” Twilight blinked. “Well, uh, sure.” She leaned over and whispered to the tea bearer, who hobbled off deeper into the castle.

They waited a bit. Celestia took another sip of her tea and found it just made her even thirstier. The earth pony throne-bearers watched her curiously.

"I like these collars," Celestia said.

"Thank you. Rarity made them."

Finally, the servant returned with a folded scroll in her mouth. She offered it to Twilight, who passed it to Celestia, who opened it.

She scanned it quickly, then nodded. “As I thought. I apologize, Twilight, my penmanship can be a little ornate sometimes. This word? It should be immortality. With another ‘T’.”

“Huh.” Twilight took the letter back and started to read. “‘In time you will have to confront your greatest challenge, the curse all alicorns must bear, of immortality.’ Oh. Ooohh.” She put the letter down. “That… that makes a lot more sense, actually.”

“I’m sorry, I should’ve been more clear.”

“No, no, this is my fault.” Twilight hopped down and clapped her hooves. “Attention everypony! We’re going back to the way things were! Start taking down the—yes, everypony! What? I don’t know, just put them on the floor for now. We’ll figure it out later.”

“I’ll get out of your mane,” Celestia stood to leave. “I can see you’re busy.”

“It’s fine. We’ll get this all sorted. Oh, um, can you stop by the sex mines on the way out of town, to let Rarity out? And, uh, bring a towel. In fact, bring two.”

Author's Note

Written for the WriteOff Prompt: And at the End, You Shall Remain Alone.

Mayflies

The maid was trembling. The tips of her ears shook in time with her pulse. She stared down at the floor and the mess there as though it were her life shattered into pieces, rather than a simple teacup.

“I’m so sorry, Princess.” Her voice came out as a choked squeak. She edged toward the door, her head so low her chin brushed on the tile. “I’ll turn my apron into the Housekeeper and have another maid sent to clean–”

“I don’t think there’s any need for that,” Celestia said. She put on her warmest smile for the young mare, who couldn’t have been more than 15, on the cusp between a filly and an adult and clumsy as all such growing creatures were. “If we released every maid who broke a teacup we’d have neither maids nor teacups left in this castle.”

It was not, technically speaking, just a teacup. It was a four-hundred-year-old antique, one of the last surviving creations of the master ceramist Nacre Glaze, a thing of fluted porcelain perfection rarely seen in the world today. But that was not what this terrified maid needed to hear.

Celestia found an enormous fluffy towel in the bath and brought it over. The laundry staff would have a fit – the bath towels, spun from the softest Zebrican cotton, were meant only for her perfect coat, not to clean up spills. But in Celestia’s experience towels never complained regardless of the use they were put too, and this one did just as well at soaking up tea as it did drying her mane.

The filly jolted at the sight. Something about the princess cleaning a mess by herself set off a rebellion in her heart, and she darted forward to snatch up the towel. She folded it and blotted with it and scooped up the broken teacup shards, and before Celestia could blink she was halfway to the door with the entire affair.

“Wait!” Celestia said, before the maid could make her escape. “What’s your name?”

She froze at the door. “Um, G-gold Leaf, if it pleases your highness.”

“Well, that’s a lovely name, Miss Leaf, and it’s your name regardless of whether or not it pleases me.” She crossed the distance between them and sat beside her. “Is this your first day here?”

Gold Leaf nodded. “Y-yes. I finished the training last week and I did so well the Housekeeper said I could serve you tea today and I was trying to be careful but the cup slipped and I splashed a bit of water on my hoof and that’s why I dropped it and now the Housekeeper will be furious and…” She ran out of breath, hiccuped, and started to shake again.

Celestia lowered her head to whisper. “We’ll make sure the Housekeeper never finds out then. Now, since it’s your first day here, would you like to watch me raise the sun?”

Would she? Gold Leaf’s expression was the answer. She stared up at Celestia, her eyes wide, her mouth falling open in a little ‘o’ of wonder. She stumbled alongside as Celestia walked to the balcony for the morning ritual.

Celestia smiled. This had all the makings of a good day.

* * *

It turned out to be an average day. After the emotional high of helping her maid through an emotional crisis, the business of running a nation attacked with a vengeance. She had barely finished breakfast when the chamberlain dragged her off to meet with her ministers and cabinet. Something about the budget, followed by an emergency council on water rights apportionments with the buffalo tribes, then an awards presentation to the winners of the annual Canterlot Science Fair. All before lunch.

As they always did, the meetings and appearances and events bled together. She’d done them all before and would do them again. For not the first time, Celestia wished Equestria had more princesses. Somepony to share the load.

By the time the sun set and Celestia was ensconced in her bath, she could barely remember the little accident with the teacup. But then the door opened and a gold-coated mare, barely more than a filly, appeared amidst the steam, a pile of towels upon her back.

Celestia floated one over and wrapped it around her mane. “Thank you, Gold Leaf.”

The maid froze. “I’m sorry, Princess?”

Ah. Celestia shook the foggy memories aside. “I’m sorry. Thank you, Golden Bough. You remind me of your mother, sometimes.”

Escape

The air in Tartarus stank, as always, of roses.

It was different for everypony who visited. The ancient sages had held that one could divine a pony’s true nature by how Tartarus reflected them, that its innumerable horrors were not some cosmic zoo but simply a pony’s own mind, turned inside out. It was a depthless ocean for ponies who had committed murder at sea; a field of razor-edged grain for lords who glutted themselves while their vassals starved.

Celestia no longer believed such things. She just liked roses, and Tartarus knew that, and so it twisted her favor into something detestable. The stench of them sat heavy on the back of her tongue, gagging her. It was the same every time, and it would be years before she could wear rosewater perfume.

But years were something she had in plenty. In time, she would defeat Tartarus. She would love roses again.

Tartarus was a featureless moonscape this time. Endless fields of dull regolith stretched out beyond sight. A starless night sky met it at the razor-sharp horizon. One prison, imitating another. Some day, she imagined, when Luna’s banishment no longer troubled her, Tartarus would have to find something else to be.

All directions were the same here. She spun in a circle three times and began to walk.

* * *

Ghosts attended her path.

They were silent partners, as befitted them. They seemed more curious than anything; the dead, wondering who this intruder might be. Celestia knew better than to engage with them – they were, after all, only figments of her own mind. Guilty threads plucked out of the tangled mass by Tartarus and spun into mocking imitations of those she loved and those she had failed. A few whispered her name before evaporating.

There was Evening Star, the student she had cast out for necromancy and died a year later, victim of her own experiments. There was loyal Masterstroke, the general who led the doomed expedition to tame the wild gryphon tribes. He walked alongside Viridian, the first changeling Celestia had ever loved. They vanished when she looked too closely, dispersing into a cloud of moondust that drifted into the past.

* * *

Celestia knew she had reached her destination when she could advance no further.

Mountains had grown around her. The vast plain constricted, becoming a valley, then a canyon, then finally this: a narrow trail between high rock walls that ended in a little pit not much larger than the bed of a wagon. If she bothered to measure it, she guessed it would be the exact dimensions of the dungeon cells beneath her castle, so mercifully unused in these civilized times.

She tried to move forward. Something prevented her.

“Mine,” a weak, rasping voice whispered. “Mine, not yours.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to trespass. May I enter?”

“Of course not.” His form came into view. A centar, frail and diminished, huddled atop a basalt slab. All around him the pit flowed with fire. Flames licked at the bare rock, questing for him. “All the world is yours, Celestia, but this is mine.”

She studied the pit. It didn’t take long. “How proud you must be.”

“You mock me, but this is no little thing. All throughout Creation mighty Celestia may go as she pleases, but not here. I forbid it.”

“And what if I offered you more?”

Silence. Tirek studied her for what felt like hours. “More?”

“Freedom. Parole from this prison.”

He snorted. “In return for supplication, I presume?”

“No. Just your word that you will not harm anypony. Live as you please, but make slaves of no thinking beings. That is all I ask.”

“A type of slavery for myself, then.” He reached out a bone-thin arm. The flames caressed it, blackening it. “No. I will stay here and grow. Tartarus purifies those who who embrace it. In this purgatory I will find the strength to challenge you again. And here, I am the master. You must come to me to beg for an audience. And I say to you, no. Begone.”

Celestia took a long, slow breath. It stank of roses and fire. When it was clear Tirek had nothing more to say, she she turned and left.

In the pit, unseen, Tirek reclined on the rock slab. He sank again into the flames, bathing in the fires that refined him.

Not Actually a Euphemism

The girls (and Spike!) stared up at the enormous door blocking their exit from Tartarus. The arcane runes and symbols carved deep into the stone were dead now, powerless without the magic that animated Equestria. And without their power, the doors would never open again – they were trapped in the subterranean hell with all of Equestia’s exiled monsters and villains. The cages stacked all around them, filled with dolorous beasts and somnolent giants, were their new home.

“We… I’m afraid we might be stuck here,” Rarity said. Her pale coat was smeared with ash and dust. “Without our magic, there’s no way to open the doors!”

“Isn’t there, like a secret button or a secret lever we can pull to get out?” Pinkie asked. “Or maybe a secret admirer who knows the secret to escaping from Tartarus?”

Twilight sighed. “I’m afraid not. The most powerful villains and monsters of all time are trapped here, and without our magic, so are we. Unless…” She trotted over to the nearest cage, a small little kennel holding a dispirited cockatrice. It hissed at her and stared death at her, but the magic in its gaze had long since fled. “These creatures might be losing their magical powers, but there’s still a magic that makes up what they are. Maybe we can borrow some of that!”

“Awesome!” Dash exclaimed. “But, uh… how do you borrow magic? Is that like a spell you cast?”

“Sort of.” Twilight let out a deep breath and surveyed the collected monsters. They all seemed so placid and tired. Even the bugbear that had given them such a fight all those years ago sagged in its cage. She felt sorry for it. “It’s kind of like how changelings absorb love. Girls, I’ll need all your help for this. Can I count on you?”

There was a chorus of affirmation. She felt them squeeze in around her, and they shared a hug as one. That was all the answer she needed.

“Alright.” She opened the cockatrice’s cage and carefully lifted it out. Its serpent’s coils wrapped around her forelegs weakly. “Let’s get started!”

* * *

Hours later, they were mostly done. Only a few of the larger monsters remained.

“Ugh.” Twilight groaned. She could barely move. “I… I don’t think…”

“Shh, shh… You can do it, Twilight.” Rarity held a cool glass of water to her lips. “Soon you’ll have all their magic.”

“You’re doing great!” Pinkie said. She opened the manticore’s cage and pulled it out. “What do you want with this one? I’m thinking some sort of dry rub, maybe like a Jamaican Jerk?”

“Too spicy,” Twilight said. She let out a little belch and blushed. “Sorry. Do you have any more teriyaki?”

Pinkie fished around in her mane, finally producing a dark bottle of Kikoman’s. “Yup! Should be enough left for a nice basting.”

“Okay.” Twilight focused on her breathing. Her stomach was so full it was fit to burst, but she still didn’t have all the magic she needed. “I’m gonna take a nap, okay? Wake me when it’s ready.”

* * *

Finally, hours more later, they had borrowed the last of the monster’s magical energy, and Twilight was ready to open the door. She waddled over to the door, where her friends joined her. They held their hooves together, and Twilight focused all her energy on her horn. Her head went light and the room swam, but she fought through the sensations to call forth the magic that would open the door. I can do this! she thought. It’s working!

Nothing happened. Twilight frowned.

“Is… was something supposed to happen?” Rainbow asked.

“I… I think so?” Twilight racked her brains. Maybe having a full stomach made it harder to focus her magic? “Gosh, I’ve never done this, you know. Maybe it’s not like changelings absorb love?”

“What? What?!” Rainbow Dash shouted. “We just spent hours watching you eat all those monsters—”

“Borrow their power, darling.”

“—and we’re still stuck here? Now there’s no food for us! We’re going to starve!” So saying she flung herself back at the door, crashing into it hooves-first. It didn’t budge, and she topped to the floor. “We’re going to starve!”

“Wait,” Fluttershy said. “Didn’t these doors open inward?”

Everypony paused. After a moment Applejack walked to the doors, got a good grip on one of the dead runes, and pulled. With the shriek of stone grinding on stone, the doors swung open, revealing the cool, crisp air and golden light of an Equestrian sunset.

“Huh.” Twilight stared up at the starry sky just beyond the gates of hell. “Well, uh, at least we learned a valuable lesson, right? Don’t, um, eat a bunch of monsters to try and gain their magical powers in order to open a door before trying to open it manually, because it might just open in the direction you aren’t expecting?”

Silence. Finally, Rarity sighed.

“I suppose, darling. I just wish we didn’t have to keep learning that lesson.”

Author's Note

We were all thinking it.

The Memory of Trees

It wasn’t often that Rainbow Dash heard laughter all the way up in the clouds.

To be fair, she rarely heard anything while she was in the clouds, as most of her time in the clouds was spent napping. Naps easily beat out her other cloud-related activities, most of which were related to her job on the weather team. She pushed clouds around because she needed bits; she slept on clouds, wings spread and belly turned up to catch the sun, because it was the second-best part of being a pegasus.

There was nothing special about this day or this nap. She’d already worked for an entire hour that morning, helping usher a cold front through the airspace above town, and later she was scheduled to shepherd some cirrus clouds out west where they would veil the setting sun and turn the sky all the colors of autumn. But that was for later and right now the sun was at that perfect point in the sky where she could easily toast half her body at a time, rolling occasionally to make sure she baked evenly in its warm rays.

Sometimes, Rainbow Dash felt sorry for ponies who weren’t pegasi.

She was dreaming some indistinct dream about the spring and a stallion and all the things they might get up to when she heard the laughter. If it had only lasted a few minutes it might not have woken her, but as time went by and ponies kept laughing below her, she was slowly dredged from comfortable sleep into waking life. She grumbled and rolled over and peered down at the houses below.

A crowd of colorful pastel dots surrounded Sugarcube Corner. She squinted, and the dots became ponies, a crowd of them, all crammed around the outdoor patio. Now that she was more lucid, she could hear them shouting as well as laughing. They seemed to be having a hell of a time.

Huh. She rolled her shoulders, stretching the muscles in her wings, then flopped over the edge of the cloud. A few hundred feet above the town her wings snapped open, and she came to a gliding stop atop Sugarcube Corner’s gabled roof. Several pegasi were already perched there, and she squeezed in beside them to peer down at the crowd.

She elbowed Thunderlane in the ribs. “Hey. What’s going on?”

Thunderlane elbowed her back, but playfully. He pointed with his snout at the center of the crowd below. “New tree. Somepony found it in the Everfree.”

“Yeah? So?” Rainbow squinted at the town square. Sure enough, a tall, slender sapling bowed too and fro in the gentle wind, its roots bound up in a canvas ball. Several earth ponies surrounded it, lifting it carefully toward a newly dug pit beside the candle shop. Its leaves were arrow-shaped, like a poplar’s, but rather than green and silver they danced between peridot green and juniper blue. The shifting mosaic was dazzling and beautiful and not nearly enough to get ask worked up as this crowd seemed to be. She looked between the tree, the crowd, and her fellow pegasi, and finally frowned.

“So? It’s just a tree.”

Thunderlane shook his head. “It’s magic, I think. That’s what they’re all saying. The earth ponies, anyway.”

“Right, magic tree.” Rainbow Dash spread her wings, ready to head back to her cloud. “Sounds exciting. I’m sure I’ll get to hear all about it from Twilight, so—”

“It’s a Retreeve,” Cloud Chaser said. She scootched up and shoved her head between them. “It stores memories.”

“Huh?”

“Watch.” Chaser pointed with the tip of her wing to the crowd below.

Some earth pony Dash didn’t recognize – which was a not inconsiderable portion of the town’s population – walked up to the tree. He paused before it, hesitating, then stood on his rear legs and reached up to touch one of the lowest leaves with the tip of his muzzle. He froze, then stumbled back, a shocked expression on his face. The crowd went silent, holding its breath.

The stallion suddenly jerked. His face lit up, and he pointed at somepony in the crowd – Roseluck, maybe? It was one of those three sisters. Whatever he said caused the ponies around them to burst into laughter again, and the flower mare blushed so bright Dash expected the blossom in her mane to wilt from the heat. But then she giggled too, and ran out to wrap him up in a hug.

“Its leaves catch memories when you forget them,” Cloud Chaser said. “Then, when somepony else touches the leaf, they remember it instead. That one’s just a sapling, but it’s probably got twenty years of memories stored up.”

Rainbow Dash squinted down at the crowd. “That’s it? That’s stupid.”

Cloud Chaser shrugged. “Earth ponies love them. But you know how they are.”

Both Thunderlane and Rainbow Dash nodded at this. They knew well how earth ponies could be.

* * *

Starlight Glimmer and Twilight Sparkle waited a few days for the crowds to die down before approaching the sapling. Little stakes had been driven into the earth around the young Retreeve, and a white rope formed a quaint fence to keep animals from bothering it. But it was well cared for and watered and in just the past week it had grown six inches. New buds sprouted from the tips of its branches. It was enjoying its new place in the sun.

The mares stared at the tree in silence for several minutes. They glanced at each other, glanced at it, then both looked away, finding some other interest in the clouds or the rocks or the ponies going about their day.

Finally, Starlight Glimmer sighed. “One of us has to go first.”

“Yeah.” Twilight swallowed. “I guess, uh… well, I am a princess, so…”

Starlight opened her mouth to counter. She was older, after all. She was stronger, in many ways. It should be her who tested it first. And besides, wasn’t it the hallmark of a good friend that they were willing to do something tough or painful on their friend’s behalf? But before she could work up the courage to intervene, Twilight was already moving toward the tree. She stretched out a wing, and brushed a low, fluttering leaf with the tip of her longest primary.

Long seconds passed, both of them frozen. Starlight reached out to pull Twilight away, and as her hoof touched Twilight’s shoulder, she was distracted for a moment by the oddest thing. A memory she hadn’t considered in years bubbled out of the dimmest recesses of her mind, of a time when she was much younger and much happier, and she had so many friends they were like the stars in the sky, and at night in the winter they would sneak out of their Ponyville houses and ride the cold winds up into the crystal clear night air where the moon shone like a lantern, and they would laugh and dance on the wing until their throats were sore and ragged and their manes filled with frost. Those were such easier days, and a pang of longing dug like a needle through her heart. She could barely wait until night when she could go flying again, and try to recapture those days—

She stumbled away with a gasp. Beside her, Twilight Sparkle sat on her rump in the dirt. Her wings shivered faintly in time with her pulse.

“Did you…” Starlight ran out of breath. She gasped for air, waited until the alien sensation of having wings finally faded, and tried again. “Did you feel that?”

Twilight nodded.

Starlight licked her lips. “That… that was somepony else’s memory. And now it’s mine.”

Twilight nodded again.

Starlight gazed up at the tree. Its leaves, so beautiful dancing in the wind, struck her with a sudden sense of terror. Each of them, each of the thousands of them, was somepony’s memory, waiting to be shared. Some of them were probably hers.

“We should burn it,” she finally said.

“We could,” Twilight said.

Starlight frowned. “Memories aren’t meant to be lost or found or shared. They belong up here—” she tapped her head, “—and nowhere else. If they’re forgotten it’s because they were meant to be forgotten.”

Twilight sighed. “I agree.”

“Right.” Starlight paused. “So… we’re agreed. We should destroy it.”

Twilight stared up at the tree as well. Minutes passed, filled only with the steady rustle of the Retreeve’s leaves as the wind played with them. Then she shook her head.

“I don’t have the right, and neither do you.”

Something hot stirred in Starlight’s heart. She felt her lips begin to peel back from her teeth. “Those are your memories in there too, you know! Somepony might find them someday. Do you want that? You want somepony looking at your secrets?”

Now Twilight looked down at the cobblestones. Her wings sagged to her side, and the tips of her ears wilted. The anger bled out of Starlight’s heart, replaced with something just as familiar. Shame.

“Sorry,” she said. “I mean, I just don’t think—”

“I’ve forgotten many things,” Twilight said. “And obviously, I don’t know what all I’ve forgotten. That’s part of it, isn’t it? You forget what you forget. But… the things I most remember are the times I’ve been ashamed, when I’ve been hurt or guilty, or done something wicked and cruel. Those moments I never seem to be able to forget, no matter how hard I try. Is it like that with you, Starlight?”

Seconds passed. A tumult of memories poured through Starlight’s mind – memories of Our Town and her mad vendetta and her infinitely varied failings as a student and a friend. Memories so distant she’d almost forgotten them. Almost, but not quite.

Yes, they were still in there. She could never really forget them. Which meant the tree would never catch them.

She swallowed. Her throat burned. “It is. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Twilight cast one final look at the tree, then turned. “C’mon. Coffee’s on me.”

And they went to reminisce over coffee and talk about happy memories.

* * *

“Here it is,” Applejack said. She drew in a deep breath through her nose – the Retreeve had a unique scent, somehow indescribable. It reminded her of childhood, but she could never have said why. “Beautiful, ain’t it?”

Apple Bloom squinted. “I guess?”

“It is!” Applejack hoisted her little sister onto her back for a better look. “See? Lookit those leaves, how they all shimmer and shake. Tell me that ain’t just the prettiest thing.”

She felt more than heard Apple Bloom sigh. “It’s nice.”

“More than that.” Applejack felt a smile stretching out across her face. She couldn’t resist it if she tried. “It’s magic, Bloom. Real magic. Earth magic. These trees don’t need no fancy unicorn help. They’re magic all their own.”

“All trees are magic,” Apple Bloom countered.

“Well, that’s true too,” Applejack allowed. “But this has a special magic. You see, Retreeves catch memories that other ponies forget, and they—”

“Yeah, they store them in their leaves. Cheerilee told us all about it in class.” Apple Bloom hopped down. “So what? It’s just memories. Not even important memories. It’s all stuff ponies forgot! Who cares about that stuff?”

“Ah, who indeed?” Applejack stared at the tree, then stepped over and held out her hoof to Apple Bloom. The filly looked at it cock-eyed, squinted, then shrugged and reached out to grasp it.

Good. Applejack turned to the tree, and let the rustle of its leaves speak to her. She breathed in deep again through her nose, and there it was. The scent of apples. The farm in summer. Hay and dirt and the old firepit out back. She closed her eyes and let the scent lead her hoof up, out, and she felt it touch a leaf dangling from a low branch close to the trunk.

It came slowly, as all the best memories do. But it came with such force that she wondered how she ever could have forgotten it. She remembered the look on Granny Smith’s face as she leaned over the bed, where the new foal pressed against her mother’s belly to nurse. Bright yellow, with a bright red mane, as rich as the flowers in spring.

We’ll call her Apple Bloom, she remembered saying. And she remembered Granny Smith’s smile.

She heard a faint gasp beside her. It was filled with wonder, and sadness, and love. All the things earth pony magic was made from.

Author's Note

Written for one of GaPJaxie's writing contests.

I'm afraid of Changeling

“So, what would you like to talk about today?”

I heard my new patient shift his weight on the couch beside my chair, as though he weren’t quite comfortable in it yet. It wasn’t, to be fair, an entirely comfortable couch – too comfortable, and my patients would find themselves drifting off rather than listening to me and having emotional breakthroughs that subsequently led to emotionally driven cash payouts in a show of their unending gratitude.

No, I couldn’t have patients falling asleep on me.

My patient – he hadn’t given me a name yet – took his time with the question. Again, not unusual. If my patients knew what was wrong, they wouldn’t have come to me in the first place. This was a voyage of discovery, and that voyage often started with a bit of introspection on their parts.

“I suppose... well, this will sound silly, but I’m afraid of changing,” he finally said.

“That’s not uncommon. Many ponies are afraid of life changes.”

“Yes, but... come on, look at me.”

“I actually can’t from this position.”

“Oh, right, sorry.” There was a pause, followed by a loud ripping sound as he tore away some of the green gunk that fastened me into the chair. “How’s that?”

“Much better. Thank you.” I twisted my neck back and forth to work out the kinks. The rest of my body was still entombed in the goo he’d liberally slathered on me (to my great surprise) on entering my office, but I felt we were making some progress toward a trusting relationship.

“I feel like we’re making progress toward a trusting relationship. Do you suppose you could get the rest of this off me?”

“How about we talk first? I think one of my problems is that ponies keep abandoning me. Or, you know, fleeing from me. Screaming.”

“I promise I won’t do that.”

The changeling sitting on my couch frowned at that, to the extent that his chitinous muzzle could form a frown. “People lie to me a lot, too.”

“I’m a professional. It would be unethical of me to lie to a patient. Besides, I can’t take notes like this.”

He spent a full minute in silence. His wings, little gossamer things filled with holes, but somehow beautiful all the same, buzzed as he thought.

“You promise?”

“I do. I am very serious about helping my patients.”

He let out a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. I really... I really hope you’re telling the truth, though. I don’t think I could take another pony lying to me.” He stood, and with a few unhygienic actions from his mandibles that I won’t describe here tore away the sticky goo gluing me to the chair.

This? This was progress.

“Thank you. I appreciate your trust,” I said. “Please, sit down and make yourself comfortable. You said you were afraid of changing?”

“Yes.”

“Forgive me, but that seems odd. I don’t mean to stereotype, but changelings are known for changing.”

He waved a hoof. “Don’t worry, I’m used to it. Everyone just assumes that about me, you know? Oh, Drone42351, I bet you love changing. It’s probably your favorite thing.” The voice he mimed sounded so completely like a young mare that I would have jerked in surprise if my coat weren’t still a bit sticky.

“I see. That’s very interesting.” I snagged my notebook and a pen from my desk and started scribbling some notes. “What about it scares you?”

“Well... what if I changed, and then I couldn’t change back?”

“Like, back to yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“Has that ever happened?”

“No.” He set his head down on the armrest. “It’s completely irrational, I know. There’s nothing physically wrong with me, or our queen-mother would’ve devoured my pupae when I was first hatched, but I’m still terrified that I’ll change into some poor pony and then be stuck in that form forever. I’d be cast out! Or eaten! Or cast out, then eaten!”

“Perhaps it’s rejection that really scares you.”

“Oh, well, a lot of changelings are afraid of rejection. It causes all kinds of relationship problems, we just get so clingy. Then we end up eating each other.”

“You seem like you’ve been able to avoid that so far.”

He shrugged. “Eh, mostly. Long story.”

There was a lull as I digested that.

“Anyway... you mentioned your mother? Can you talk about your relationship with her?”

“Oh, I worship her, of course. If I didn’t she’d eat me.”

“That doesn’t sound like a healthy relationship.”

“It is for her. She has to eat something.”

I scribbled some more notes. The page stuck to my still-gooey hoof and tore. The ripped piece adhered to my fetlock and slowly began to dissolve.

I was done with that page anyway.

“This next question is a bit sensitive,” I said. “Many of my patients find it very emotional to talk about, and I want you to know that it’s okay if you feel like crying. Did your mother ever abuse you or your siblings?”

“Not really. I mean, if we failed a test she’d eat us, or if we went out to collect some food for the hive and didn’t come back with enough for the nursery drones, she’d eat us, and of course if we thought something dangerous like how nice it would be to turn into a pony and live in the sunlight with a loving family, she’d eat us. And then there was that battle for Canterlot, remember that? Man, she ate all kinds of us after—”

“Okay, I’m just going to mark ‘yes’ for abuse. Let’s try something different. What do you hope to get from this session?”

“Oh, well, they say if you talk about your problems, they sometimes go away, right? Also, then I was planning on eating you.”

“I see. Let me offer a gentle rebuttal by suggesting something: are you sure that’s really your problem? This... fear of changing?”

“Huh? What else would it be?”

“Perhaps you’re afraid of succeeding. You’re worried that if you manage to change yourself, you’ll become something better than you were. If it’s possible to become better so easily, maybe you fear that what you are right now is somehow unworthy?”

He was quiet for a while. Perhaps my words had made an impact, and he was reassessing the challenges in his life. Perhaps he was ready to make a breakthrough.

Or perhaps he was just hungry. It was hard to read changeling body language.

“Let’s say you’re right,” he said, drawing out the words. “What should I do?”

“Well, I can recommend a couple positive therapies. Most of my patients will vouch for my abilities, and many of them have gone on to live happy, well-adjusted lives without fear of being eaten by their mothers.”

“That’s good. I’d like that.”

“I think we both would. But I actually have an idea I think might work better for you.”

“Oh?” He leaned forward.

“Yes. I don’t normally recommend patients to him, but there’s a new psychologist who just set up shop across the street from here. An old... friend. I think you two would get along splendidly, and I’d be happy to write a recommendation for you.”

“Really? You’d do that for me?”

“Oh, of course. And this other psychologist? I hear he tastes delicious.”

Author's Note

Written for Thirty Minute Pony Stories prompt 281: “I’ve been afraid of changing, ‘cause I built my life around you. But time makes you bolder—even children get older—and I’m getting older too.”

The House at the End of the World

The end of the world was a forest, vast and without measure. It stretched like a green ocean away from the last mountain, on and on into the distance, until the sky and trees merged into one, and the horizon was lost, and compasses went mad, and even the sun high above grew exhausted and fell into darkness. And still the forest went on.

How long he had wandered the forest, Vermillion could not say. Time had no meaning, so far into its depths. Only the forest had meaning. Only the trees existed, marching away from him into infinity.

But still he wandered, searching. Still he searched, hoping. And still hoping, one day, he found what he was looking for.

The cottage was not where he left it. Back then, countless years ago, it had sat at the edge of a small town next to a pond filled with reeds and cold water and bullfrogs that sang in the night. It had neighbors, back then, and a road with a little red mailbox he always forgot to check on his way to work. Once, once, foals had laughed in its yard, and ponies called it home.

How different, now. The thatch roof was rotting, its walls smeared with some dark lichen that climbed up from the mossy ground, devouring it. Its chimney, once proud, lay in pieces. Its windows, once open to let out songs, now were broken, were empty holes. Eye sockets in a skull.

Vermillion regarded the cottage for some time. Years wandering the forest had taught him patience, and for days he watched it from across the clearing, barely moving except for the slow rise and fall of his breath. The trees swaying in the wind were more alive. And within the cottage, there was nothing.

A field of rich green moss filled the clearing, as brilliant as emeralds. When the confused sun finally paused for an hour in the sky, he took a step forward.

His hoof sank into the moss, then came to a rest with the sound of a dozen brittle cracks. He tilted his head and took another step forward; the sound repeated. Curious, he reached down with his teeth to grab the carpet of moss and pulled, tearing it away from the soil.

Beneath the moss lay countless small bones. Squirrel skulls and rabbit legs. Bird wings and fox ribs. A million million little white sticks laid out in a jumble, hidden just beneath the surface. He grunted quietly and let the flap of moss fall back to cover them.

The ground crunched beneath his hooves as he walked toward the cottage. Its wood door had long since fallen away. He couldn’t knock even if he wanted to.

The rotting roof still held the sun at bay and cosseted the darkness like a treasure. He paused to let his eyes adjust to the dim streams of light pouring in from the door. And then he closed his eyes and remembered.

* * *

“What if you don’t come back?”

He paused at the door. “Come on, don’t talk like that. This will be just like the last time.”

“You keep saying that.” She held her foreleg over her chest, as if unconsciously holding in her feelings. “But what if this time’s different?”

“It won’t be.” He stepped closer to give her a quick peck on the cheek. “Just keep waiting, and I’ll be back. I promise.”

She sighed. “Yeah, you promise. They always promise. Cinnabar promised he’d be back too, remember?”

“I’m not Cinnabar.”

“I know... look, just be safe, okay?”

“Heh.” He gave her another kiss. “For you? Anything. I’ll be back before you know it.”

And then he was gone.

* * *

Something stirred in the darkness.

He opened his eyes. Outside the sun had already set, and streams of silver moonlight flooded in, painting the room in fog. Beside him, in the shadows, something like a pony moved.

Her mane was a tangle of wires and vines, filled with twigs and charms. Bones showed through her coat where the skin had cracked and worn away. Her hooves, split and broken, cut deep gouges in the wood as she stepped toward him.

Time passed as they stood together, each waiting for the other. Her eyes, once a deep caramel orange, now glowed with tiny malevolent sparks. Blood dripped from her nose in a ceaseless patter onto the floor.

Eventually, he moved. From his saddlebags, worn around his sides all those years, he pulled a small envelope, and set it on the remains of a ruined table, the only piece of furniture still in the house. All the rest had been smashed to kindling long ago.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. She could hear him perfectly, he knew. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I’m sorry.”

She didn’t stop him as he left. The bones crunched silently beneath the moss as he walked across the clearing, back into the endless forest, back into the night.

Behind him, the house at the end of the world waited in silence for the sun.

Author's Note

Written for prompt 289: All alone, at the end of the world.

First short in the Vermilion/Cinnabar arc.

The Adventures of Rainbow Dash, Iceberg Wrangler!

Author's Note

From the October Writeoff, where two of my stories took 1st and 16th place. This story was the second one, and I plan to turn it into a full-form comedy adventure someday. Never enough time.

The Adventures of Rainbow Dash, Iceberg Wrangler!

“Ahoy! Down there! What town is this?”

Rainbow Dash looked up at the sound, which was odd. Not the sound – that was pretty normal. What was odd was that she had to look up. In her world, other ponies were down below, and she was on top.

She was on top in lots of ways. Physically, of course, being way up in the sky, but also just all-around awesomer than most ponies. It was hard work being the best, but she managed.

Naps helped. Naps on clouds, like the one the strange coming-from-above voice had just woken her from. She squinted up at the sky, where a huge shape blotted out the sun.

Huh.

She leapt, wings beating, and soared around the strange object. It was an airship, with a long wood gondola suspended from a gas envelope the size of a house. Sails and planes and rigging and spars protruded from it like a lionfish’s fins. Beneath them, perched on the tip of the long bowsprit, was a sandy pegasus. He waved.

Dash zoomed down to hover beside him (and above him, because she was on top). “Who are you?”

“I’m Nutmeg!” he called. “And what town was this, again?”

Rainbow Dash ignored him and flew a few lazy orbits around the airship. It had a homemade look to it, all stitched and planked together, with no two parts the same. But it was sleek, and when the wind blew it twisted effortlessly, sails and fins aligning to keep it straight.

She flew back down to the gondola. “You’re a pegasus. Why are you in an airship?”

“Why, for hunting, of course! You need an airship to hunt icebergs. Also, I really would like to know what town—”

“You can’t hunt icebergs!” Rainbow Dash said. A touch of anger infused her voice now. “Icebergs just sit in the water. Besides, you’d need a boat.”

“Ah, those are normal icebergs. I’m hunting air icebergs!” Nutmeg patted the spar beneath him with a hoof. “Need an airship for that.”

That was dumb. “That’s dumb. And you’re dumb.”

“That’s what most ponies say, before they see their first air iceberg.” He took on a dreamy look and sighed. “They’re magnificent, really. A treasure. Until you see one… hm, you know, you strike me as the adventuring type. Would you like to join me? With the two of us, we could net a big one!”

She rolled her eyes. “Look, bud, I’m busy here, alright? I’ve got stuff to do. Stuff, like, uh… stuff. So why don’t you just go hunting or whatever?” She snickered and turned to fly off, and as she zipped away she called back. “And it’s Ponyville!”

* * *

Nutmeg’s airship was back a week later. He tied up on the spire above the Carousel Boutique. Towed behind his ship was a massive iceberg, easily five-hundred feet across. It bobbed in the air over half the town, shedding cold wind and snow. Ponies gathered below it to ooh and aah in delight.

Rainbow Dash found him buying groceries in the market. She scowled and stomped her hoof. “Why are you back?”

“Ah, you again!” He grinned at her. “Ponyville happened to be on the way. Heading to Appleloosa with that beauty.”

Rainbow followed his gaze to the iceberg looming over them. It was a pretty nice iceberg. Towering and white, fading to a deep blue in the center. Almost the same color as her coat. She scowled.

“It’s dumb.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s dumb,” he said. “And I don’t think you do either, miss. In fact, with those wings of yours, I bet you could be the best iceberg wrangler of this generation. You’ve got that look, you know? I’m heading to Cloudsdale next, rumors of a big pack of bergs harassing the town. Could use some help.”

“Well, I am awesome,” Dash allowed. Then she frowned. “But icebergs are dumb and I don’t need any dumb airship. So, just take your iceberg and get outta here.”

And he did just that.

* * *

It was evening when Dash settled onto her cloud. Far to the west, Nutmeg’s iceberg was a dim retreating shape. She could still smell the ancient ice, even from miles away.

She glanced down at the town. The streets were emptying as ponies settled in for the night. Another day done. Just like yesterday. And the day before.

“Dammit, I’m dumb,” she mumbled. Her wings flared, and she took off in pursuit. "Wait!"

Thank You for Coming

“So, uh, thank you both for coming today,” Twilight Sparkle said. She tapped her index cards on the table for the fourth time, making sure their edges were perfectly aligned. “I know it’s, uh, a long trip, and—”

“I live here,” Starlight Glimmer said.

“Well, not you you, obviously. I was thanking her for coming a long way. But, uh, thank you too, Starlight.”

“You’re welcome,” Sunset Shimmer said, before Starlight could reply. “Nice castle.”

“So, why are we here?” Starlight asked. She peered around the Friendship Castle map room. “And why are the girls all here?”

‘Hi! Hiiiii!” Pinkie waved at them. “Sunset! Hiiii!”

“Hi Pinkie.”

“Yeah, why are we here?” Rainbow Dash asked. She yawned. “You made me get up early for a meeting?”

“It’s noon, Dash.” Twilight tapped her index cards on the table again. “Anyway! This is a very important day for Equestria and for all of us. After Flurry Heart was born, Cadence, Luna, Celestia and I agreed that Equestria needs more alicorns. So, based on your unparalleled accomplishments and experiences, I would like to ask the two of you—”

“YES! YES!” Starlight shouted. She jumped upright, throwing her hooves into the air. “I knew it! I knew it! Oh, thank you! Thank you Celestia!”

“Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh it’s really happening, isn’t it?” Sunset let out a sob. Tears ran down her cheeks in dark tracks. “I thought, I thought it would never happen after all those mistakes I made! But I kept hoping and praying and telling myself that friendship would win in the end and I was right! Thank you Twilight Sparkle!”

“Okay, uh, wait—”

“What am I the princess of?” Starlight spun in a circle, her eyes darting around the room. “Is there a new element? How about Sorcery? I could do that. I could totally do that!”

“Calling it now, Princess of Fire,” Sunset said. “No, no, Princess of Magical Fire!”

“Sunset!” Starlight cried. She wrapped the other mare in a tight embrace. “We’re going to be princesses!”

“Oh, you deserve it!” Sunset sobbed. “The moment I saw you, I knew you deserved to be a princess! You’ve overcome so many obstacles, saved Equestria—”

“Okay, stop.” Twilight gavelled her hoof onto the table, stunning the room into silence. “Let me clarify: we’re not turning you both into alicorns. Instead we’re—”

She got no further. The two mares gasped simultaneously and jumped away from each other. Their horns lit, filling the air with an electric charge, like a meadow waiting for the first strike of lightning from a spring thunderstorm.

“So, that’s your game?” Starlight growled. “Only one of us gets to be the next princess? Very well! I will settle this quickly.”

“Ha! You?” Tiny flickers of flame danced in the air around Sunset’s mane. “I knew you for the mewling little sycophant you are the moment I saw you. I will wipe this castle clean with your hide!”

A magical switchblade snapped open beside Starlight. Its edge glittered, as wicked as the snarl on her face. “Bitch! You think I haven’t been preparing for this day? I waited years for this!”

Sunset howled in response and dove forward, leading with her horn. Sunset met her charge. The air snapped and burned with violent magical energies. Errant bolts of lightning scored the crystal walls black. Fires hotter than a dragon’s breath turned the silken tapestries above into drifting ash. A terrible, all-consuming roar filled the hall as the two contestants grappled with each other, hooves hammering into flesh, shaking the castle to its foundation with each blow. The crystal floor cracked beneath them, no match for the terrible forces unleashed by each mare upon her foe.

“Stallions!”

The room froze. The battered combatants staggered apart. Sunset licked blood from her muzzle. “What?”

“Stallions,” Twilight continued. “We decided Equestria needs an alicorn stallion. We want you two to help us find the right one.”

Silence. Little bits of flaming tapestry drifted through the air. Rarity brushed one off her shoulder, leaving a smear of soot behind.

“Oh,” Starlight said. “Oh.”

Sunset sat. “Huh.”

More silence.

“But…” Starlight tilted her head. “If I marry that stallion… yes! I can still be a princess!”

She vanished in a flash of magic. Sunset gasped, stood, and galloped out the door in pursuit.

A profound silence settled on them like an ashen pall. There was also a real ashen pall, of course. Fluttershy coughed quietly.

Finally, Rainbow Dash spoke for them all.

“I thought Starlight was gay.”