My friends surrounded me, mere shadows in a blazing light, though I could hear their cries of as if they were right in my ears. Each left me, pushed me away. The light enveloped me, tore into me, sundered body and spirit and soul, and I left the world forever.

When I opened my eyes, I beheld the stars. Before me hung a vista of ever-dancing motes of light that moved to the rhythm of a song just beyond my perception, reminding me of a place that felt so achingly familiar, but which I had never before seen.

I felt as if I should be there, dancing amongst that river of stars, but then I was falling, the stars and their dance and their promise receding from me as I was drawn into the depths, and I cried out and reached for them to bring me back, but to no avail.

As I fell, I closed my eyes once more.

When I opened them again I saw a single shaft of grey light that danced thick with dust blinding me to the darkness. It seemed out of place, but I couldn't remember why. The room around creaked and shook in a strong wind, rhythmic like a ship at sea and accompanied by the occasional dull ring or iron on iron, possibly tools of some description swinging to and fro and against one another out of my sight. Behind it all the dull clatter of rain on shingles and board and the low moan of wind tearing through the trees that sucked at the air and emptied it of the last dregs of silence.

I lay still for a while, listening to the low-key cacophony, searching the darkness as I tried to remember the dream from which I had awoken. It had been bright. Painful. My friends had been there, but I couldn't recall why or what they had done, except that it had hurt. Trying to think of something more pleasant, I closed my eyes and lay back again, but my mind kept returning to that bright light surrounding me from every direction, brighter than anything I had ever seen. Burning hotter than the sun itself. And then the stars.

Of all the dreams I can recall, the most fearful and most common are the ones where I lose my magic and my horn, followed closely by those in which my friends abandon me one at a time until I'm left alone. Objectively I can understand that they're a manifestation of a deep-seated anxiety about losing the things I love. The friends I had only so recently found. Had it been only three years? Such a short time to have friends... Yet the fear remains, and has always remained: that I would lose them one day, either through betrayal, or death, or simply drifting apart as our lives took different courses.

Unlike those other fears made manifest in my dreams – banishment to magical kindergarten, or losing my horn, or Celestia sending me away – the fear of losing my friends is more potent for the simple fact that I know what the outcome would be. Like the sparrow flying through darkness, who suddenly and briefly passes through a lighted room before returning to the emptiness beyond, I would be forever haunted by what I had and found and lost again.

The wind gusted, and my ruminations were cut short as the air chilled around me. The first puzzle surfaced in my mind then, as I reached out for my sheets: why had I kicked them away on such a cold night? But then my hoof met an unfamiliar surface, and the chill in the air somehow became more potent. As I felt around I realised that I was lying not on my comfortable bed, but on a pile of hay. I finally noticed the musty scent, the annoying prickles in my back and sides, and the gentle crackle of well-worn straw as I shifted fractionally to feel around.

Of my sheets there was no sign.

I thought at first to summon a werelight, the better to see my surroundings. A weariness clung to my mind as soon as I considered the idea, and I came to the understanding that my magic was, for the moment, beyond my ability to wield. It was an unusual state to be in, but not entirely without precedent. My abilities as a unicorn were strong even when I was young, but times past had shown that even I have my limits, and that to overtax myself the previous day would leave my power in need of rest just as inevitably as overworking my body would leave me stiff and fatigued the following morning.

As I considered my situation again, another possibility occurred: that I had been drinking. Alcohol had about the same effect on magic as it had on the mind, rendering it dulled and predictable, and eventually impotent. The possibility was appealing. It certainly seemed to explain a lot about the situation in which I found myself.

The second time I opened my eyes, I found I was able to see more than the dancing beam of light. I blinked and stretched, and as I sat up in my makeshift bed I found myself surrounded by the battered clapboard walls, dusty air and piled hay of a barn. Applejack's barn, I assumed. A hypothesis was quick to form in my mind: that I had been at some sort of Apple-family shindig, over-indulged, and rather than suffer the embarrassment of stumbling home drunk, had ended up sleeping off my excess in this quiet little nest at the back of her barn.

The fact that I was located at the rear of the barn and invisible from the door seemed a little odd, but I put that down to a drunken desire for privacy. Not wanting to outstay my welcome I quickly extricated myself from my resting spot and took a few doddering steps away. I was drawn to look back, however, and found myself looking at a bed that was rather more well-used and lived-in than a single night of sleep might suggest. I had to assume that my nightmare – whatever it was – had driven me to thrash about in my sleep.

Further ponderings on that little mystery were driven from my mind by a very particular pressure in my abdomen, one that I put down to the same assumed source as my other problems: Applejack's rather too potent alcohol. I skittered around the baled hay and toward the door, moving as softly as I could, only to find myself assaulted almost right way by the same lethargy that had stripped me of my magic. Now it tugged at every muscle in my body until I almost couldn't bear to walk. It was only the nagging need for relief that prevented me crawling back to my straw-lined bed for a few more hours of rest.

Rain pattered against the rich soil beyond the doors as I peered through a crack in the boards. I could see the edge of a well-tended grove of trees, a track, and what appeared to be one of the vast pasture meadows that served to provide fodder for the many cows that called Sweet Apple Acres their home. I didn't recognise the area, but it had to be some part of the Acres. Where else could it be? Casting aside a feeling of uncertainty I pushed open the door and stepped out into the chill, keeping to the lee of the barn for a moment longer as I tried to find my bearings.

Dawn had barely arrived. The light was bright enough to see by, but the heavy cloud still managed to suck all but the faintest trace of colour from the world, leaving it a dull, lifeless shadow of its normal quality. I glanced around and soon spotted a convenient bush, to which I darted as fast as possible to avoid getting completely soaked. Despite my efforts I was still wringing by the time I reached it. Not that it mattered anyway, as I spent the next few minutes contemplating a persistent drip that somehow managed to find the most sensitive spot on my back, leaving me chilled and shivering and completely miserable.

The rain had eased slightly by the time I was finished. For a moment I considered returning to the barn to wait out the shower, and perhaps gain a little more rest, but the idea as quickly rejected. I had to tend my library, and home carried several things that a barn would never have: A blisteringly hot shower, a warm bed and a steaming cup of tea. I felt as if I hadn't had a decent tea for an entire lifetime. As I set out along the track toward what I hoped was home, I considered which of my favourite blends I would try first. By the time the track turned beneath the trees I could almost smell the aroma of steeping leaves and hot steamy water.

I had walked Applejack's orchards many times in the last few years, either helping with her harvests – admittedly less often than seemed fair – or just because they were such a beautiful place to spend the day. In the spring they were soaked in the scent of apple blossoms, each tree festooned with countless white flowers that would slowly drop their blooms over the course of the days as spring lengthened toward summer, carpeting the carefully tended orchard floor with a dense layer of soft white fluff, like snow. And as the year wound toward late summer and early autumn, the orchard would be rich with the heady stink of ripening apples, and for the next month or so the air would be filled with the rumble of tumbling crops and the calls of field workers as they pulled in the harvest.

Every moment spent in those woods was a treasured one, and I had grown familiar enough with the orchard to know many of the major landmarks within them, from the wells dotted around the place, to specially marked trees, little gullies, rills and creeks and hillocks. To my growing concern I could see none of those things, or none that looked familiar. I paused to examine a broken down hut and a little cairn, and then moved on as I tried to fit it into my map of the orchards. Perhaps I was simply in a part I had not previously visited? The barn had been strange to me. Obviously the Acres were even larger than I had realised.

The persistent rain was reduced by the trees to splattering runnels that fell unpredictably when I finally found sign of another pony. Two of them, a stallion and mare, walked toward me along the path, huddled close against the chill air of this unseasonable rainstorm. I didn't know them, not that I could claim to know every one of Applejack's workers.

"Good morning," I called, with a voice that felt rough and hoarse in my throat. The wind gusted between the trees, wet and cold, and I shivered.

The pair had stopped, but didn't answer. They stared at me as if they had never seen the like before, whispering to one another as they watched me with furtive glances. As I was working up the energy to speak again, the stallion took a hesitant step toward me.

"Are you lost, miss?" he said. The tone of his voice seemed odd, along with his accent. I tried to put him at ease with a smile, but the cold made it difficult to maintain for more than a moment.

"I suppose I am. I thought I knew the area," I said, noticing again how odd my voice sounded. But I hadn't slept well, and it was cold enough that I could just see hints of my breath on the air now. I cleared my throat and gave the stallion another hopeful smile. "I'm trying to find my way back to town, but I seem to have gotten myself turned about. Would either of you kind ponies be good enough to direct me?"

Another retreat, another round of furiously whispered conferencing between the pair, as if I were some dangerous savage or unknown monster come to haunt them. The treatment was growing tiresome, I mused, but again before I could speak the stallion stepped forward.

"You're the one as was sleepin' up in the barn, miss?"

I couldn't stop the blush rising on my face as I nodded. Obviously they knew what I'd been up to the previous night – perhaps more than I did, given how little I could actually recall. "I didn't think it would be any trouble."

"Well now—"

"No dearie, t'was no trouble at all, long as you didn't steal owt," the mare cut in. She brushed past her companion and faced me. "You ignore Slim, he's not the most trustin' sort."

"Um, o-okay. I wouldn't have slept there, but I was so tired, and—"

Another gust of wind curled around us, and I was wracked by a bitter cough that rose up from nowhere. Hacking and trying not to spit the phlegm I found in my mouth, I looked up again to find the mare had stepped back a stride. She was examining me with guarded caution. Her eyes slid to one side and she locked gazes with Slim. He nodded and wheeled to trot away along the path.

"T'is a cold mornin'," the mare said. "And t'is no sort of day to be out walkin', especially in your state?"

"M-my state?" How much did these ponies know? I looked toward the mare again, my embarrassment heating my cheeks until it felt as if I could dry the entire orchard just by facing it. "I-I—you—it's not, I'm not in any sort of state, I'm perfectly f-fine!"

"Oh come now, it's nothin' to be ashamed of, dearie. You've just caught a touch of the weather is all. Now," she said, guiding me forward with a gentle touch of her hoof. "You're on the right path to town if you feel like it, but I reckon you'd do well to spend a little time resting first. Come by ours, we're just down the road here. We've got a nice fire on the go, and plenty of hot water if you're in need of a bath."

"I have to get back to Spike. He'll be worried about me if I'm gone too long."

"Spike." The mare frowned and half-turned with a question on her lips, but her companion was of course long gone. She shook her head and sighed. "Don't know any Spike, miss, leastways not round these parts. Still, that's one of the problems of being new to a place ain't it? Names ain't always familiar."

Another gust of wind drove me closer to the stranger as my chilled body instinctively sought the warmth of another, but she drew back from me almost as fast as I approached. I had encountered but a few ponies who were so careful about personal space – even in the days when friends had seemed like an unnecessary burden, the physical proximity had always been a welcome comfort on a cold day and it was rare for a pony to deliberately avoid it unless they had no choice. I bowed my head a little as I backed away from her, and found myself huddling against the trunk of a tree in short order as I sought a little shelter from the icy rain.

I could see the conflict on her face as instinct fought... something, some desire to be separate. Perhaps she had suffered some minor trauma in her past, some event that had driven her away from the safety of others? I couldn't know, neither could I pry it from her without being rude. Instead we watched one another in silence, and I couldn't help but feel a hint of apprehension at the way her eyes kept moving over me.

She spoke suddenly. "What's your name, dearie?"

"Twilight," I said quietly, but before I could finish the name I was racked by a coughing fit. The cold was starting to get to me, and I felt constrained. Instincts I hadn't even known were rising, a single call at their head: keep moving. Get away. I grit my teeth and pushed back against the urge to run.

"Odd name for one such as yourself, around these parts anyway," the mare was saying when I returned my attention to her. She frowned and then seemed to dismiss the thought with a cheerful smile. "Plum Petal, but everyone round here calls me Pet. That owd bugger's Toasted Oat."

"You called him Slim."

"Aye," Plum Petal replied, as if that was all the answer she needed to give. I would have pushed for more, but Slim – Toasted Oat – rounded from behind a tree and trotted up the path with a small pack hiked up to his withers. If anything he seemed even more surly than when he'd left.

I crept over to the pair as they met, nuzzling one another with the easy familiarity of close friends. For a moment I was overcome with a longing that I couldn't explain, a desire for closeness that welled powerful, catching at my throat and kicking deep in my stomach.

My internal ructions caught both their attention; Slim rolled his eyes as he tugged his pack to the floor, before pulling out a thick raincloak, which he held out to me without a word. Even in the midst of his hostility to me, something I had no explanation for, the simple gesture of kindness struck close to my heart. I couldn't stop the tears welling as I bowed to accept the gift, and with clumsy hooves dragged the cloak about myself. After exposure to the elements, the tiny shelter the cloak offered felt like a piece of heaven, and I couldn't help but sigh as I leaned into its wool-tufted collar.

"Thank you," I finally remembered to respond. Slim gave me a curt nod and turned away, while Plum Petal sidled up beside me – not too close, I noted – and repeated her offer of shelter and fire. I could only shake my head, knowing that Spike would surely be worried about me if I tarried too long.

"In that case we'll walk you as far as ours, since it's on the way," said Plum. I followed the point of her hoof along the path and found myself staring into more unfamiliar scenery. The trees looked wrong. I wanted to put it from my mind – I was putting a lot of things from my mind, it seemed.

We set off at a slow pace, and right away I felt more at ease. The cloak warmed me, and even the distant companionship of these two strangers gave me comfort. I let myself forget the worries and fears of a moment before. Instead I tried to enjoy the walk, the scenery, even the slivers of conversation that passed between the three of us, though Slim was taciturn and Plum Petal, for all her warmth, was guarded and tight-lipped.

In only a short time we reached their home – a squat, grey stone cottage with a thick thatched roof, nestled in the lee of a small hillock and a patch of wildling trees. Smoke poured freely from a single chimney and the windows glowed with ever-shifting light that spoke of inviting warmth and comfort. I was sorely tempted to take their offer, but the need to get away, to find Spike, was stronger than any desire to rest even for a little while.

I thanked them at the gate, and bade them goodbye with a promise to return the coat as soon as the weather had improved. As I departed I heard Slim mutter darkly about never seeing the coat again, to which Plum Petal's response was a sharp bop on his snout. I paused at a turn to look back and found both still watching me. A quick wave and a few steps later I was out of their sight, and free to think of my own needs again.

All my worries returned with vengeance, one upon the other. I found myself driven to haste as they came to mind, my eyes dancing from tree to tree as I sought something familiar, or some reason why everything was so strange. The ground, the weather, the air; even the trees themselves seemed out of place, alien and distorted in ways invisible to my eyes. I dearly wished to probe and test with my magic, but my power was dwindled and lost. Even something so basic as a light spell was still beyond my ability.

The wind gusted again, carrying with it a forlorn howl. I bolted instinctively. Even knowing as I did that it was only the wind in the branches high above, I was unable to rein myself in, but instead galloped along the path until I finally lost my breath. I stumbled to a halt at the edge of the orchard, just beyond the tree line and fully exposed to a renewed assault of the rain as it pelted my back.

I tugged the hood of my cloak forward, only to find it tip over my eyes. It was a gift, I reasoned to myself before I could voice the complaint that came to mind; I couldn't expect it to be a perfect fit. And so, with the occasional awkward brush of my hoof to clear my sight, I continued along the path until I reached a bluff from which I hoped I could finally see where I was going.

The horizon was flat in all directions, studded clumped thickets and spinneys that sat between open stretches of farmland. I turned toward the distant monolith of Canter Peak to the north, but found nothing save a low spine of hills protruding from an unfamiliar forest.

The road wound around my bluff and to the south-east, toward a river that curved around a small town, though it was barely large enough to merit the name. A collection of drab cottages gathered around a few larger buildings that were probably all the industry the place could boast.

I tried to swallow back against the bile rising in my throat. It was wrong, so wrong, it had no business being here where my home was meant to be. But nothing about it was familiar, nothing on the horizon, nothing of the forest behind me. Nothing. My ears rang with my own uncontrollable sobs as I wheeled and ran the only way I could, away from this hideous place, back to the safety of the forest and my comfortable barn. But after only a few dozen paces I stumbled against something solid, and slid across the grass, dragging mud and foliage along beneath me until I came to rest at the edge of a pool of water.

For a long while I lay, letting the rain and my misery soak and mingle together. Without the sun to guide me I had lost all track of the time, and had little idea of how long I remained by that pool. Eventually I was driven to move, by thirst if nothing else, and in between choking gasps I leaned over the water to take a drink.

The water was cold, but so was I; and it was muddy, but again there was little difference to me. I sucked at the pool until my belly felt as if it would explode, and once sated I flopped back against the quagmire in which I lay, and returned to my pity. Yet I knew, even as I lay in denial, that I had seen something. I hauled myself toward the pool again, and peered into its depths, and through my tear-filled eyes I beheld the impossible. A cross a pale muzzle and grey snout, unfamiliar brown eyes regarded me, topped off by a pair of comical ears and a short mane, deep brown and run through with a single pale stripe.

When I moved, the interloper moved with me, and when frowned she glared at me menacing intent. I opened my mouth, and she tried to interrupt, and I could do nothing but shriek at her as I brought both forehooves crashing down on the pond again and again, until I was soaked by the water rising up from my withering assault.

And as the reflection reformed beneath me, shuddering and breaking to the rhythm of my falling tears, I began to laugh, and I kept laughing until I could no longer stand. I fell to my side and stared at the heavens, gasping and choking on the pouring rain as another bout of laughter fought to overwhelm me. At the sound of cautious hooves, I rolled my head to find a pony floating upside down between the trees, and I held my hoof to the pool.

"Look," I said. "I'm m-miss Smarty Pants!"

And then I laughed some more.