Sweetie followed Lyra into a small garden that she knew had once been full of blooming red roses and delicious vegetables. Now all that remained were the yellow thorns and disgusting vines that had overgrown everywhere and crunched greasily under the pair’s hooves. The mare turned to face the fresher of the pair, as her eyes became as dead as the past’s roses. “Do you remember Carrot Top?” She asked, almost with a bit of anger tied into her words.

Lyra’s changing attitude was beginning to worry Sweetie with the tips and the angry rants and questions on what she remembered from the town’s long gone past life. Why would the past come back every time they went seeking it? Was it because she was seeking it with a closed hoof to what information was being given, or was it because it was seeking her, and by seeking it at the same time, it was making her easier to find.

Sweetie thought hard about that, worried about how Lyra had said it. Her tone was once again cold and menacing with no real motive behind it. Could it be a river? “I kinda remember I would sometimes see a mare with an orange fuzzy mane in town. I never really talked to many ponies in town when the CMC were out and about.”

“Ah yes, your little club that you had with Applejack’s little sister and that homeless pegasus.” Lyra looked at the dead flowers like they held the answer to all that was good in this world.

How could she say that about Scoots, she had been a glorious friend when Sweetie needed one. Had she ever been this angry at one pony at a single time so quickly? She could only think of one other time, back at school. But that was for another day.

“Hey, Scootaloo was much more than an orphan! She was a friend, and a much better one than you could possibly hope to be with that attitude!” She had to be right about that. It was much too simple to believe that she wasn’t.

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t change the fact that she was homeless. You just cemented my statement of her being homeless by saying that she was an orphan. Your argument went against what you wanted, so what was the point of arguing to begin with? Also, I have no wish to make friends, since everypony I know is dead…with exceptions. We really need to work on your anger because it’s starting to get a little annoying.” She turned back to the rose bushes and began to shift through them with her hoof, the thorns cutting deep into the flesh, and Sweetie could see the blood was oozing out and surrounding the limb like the vines covering the ground.

How could Lyra not have a shred of care about anything... and by the look of it, herself including. It was like she was a dead star, ready to explode or flake off into the abyss. The major question for Sweetie was whether she was going to flake off or explode?

“Are you just going to stand there or am I just going to get home myself? Even with no fog, the prospect of getting jumped by ne'er-do-wells is higher when the fog isn’t here to protect us against them.” Lyra continued on after she had pulled her forelimb from the bush without even wincing, continued on as if nothing happened. Sweetie didn’t feel like asking if she was okay, and was kind of hoping that she would get an infection and die. Or maybe get a parasite in her so Sweetie would have an excuse to cut off her head.

“Ne'er-do-wells?” Sweetie asked Lyra, curiosity filling her voice for some reason. That statement for some reason, made a made Sweetie’s ears prick up. Was she still angry?

“Yes. They are the ones who have banded together to take what is not theirs and kill those who are not a part of them or if they are bored. To me, they are a bunch of pricks who deserve to all die in a vat of cooking oil, or staked over a nice warm fire to cook, and have ourselves a barbeque.”

From behind Lyra’s back, Sweetie’s eyes widened and her heart quickened. Maybe she should keep on her hooves around Lyra. “Why would they do that?” She decided not to question why Lyra had said that, but not letting get far from memory.

“Who knows? Let’s just get back inside before they show up, and believe me, they will show up at some time.” Sweetie couldn’t disagree with that logic.

Lyra directed Sweetie into a rickety shack that was falling apart at the edge of town. Underneath a pile of old tarps, tool boxes, and gardening equipment, she lifted a metal trapdoor that revealed a ladder going down into a dark, cavernous room. To Sweetie, it didn’t have the feel of just a hole in the ground, but something more.

“Is this your humble abode?” She asked to Lyra, who didn’t answer. Instead, she unleashed her golden colored magic with its normal sparkling glow, and the room flashed with light. Craning her head, Sweetie saw a large fire in the center of the room. “How do you have that without suffocating from the smoke?” Wonderment like a child came back to her with the prospect of learning something new.

“Look up and see for yourself. You can’t always ask some pony and expect to get an answer every time. You should look around and figure it out on your own. Only when the answer is not so obvious should you ask for an explanation. And even then, you might not even like the answer.” Lyra never looked at Sweetie throughout that whole lecture. She only laid down on a pillow on top of a smooth rock that stuck out from the walls. “But to answer your question from before,” She continued. “Yes, this is the rotten stink-hole of a home. It’s connected to the town’s sewer system, so don’t go traveling through the dark halls, for I fear that you may not come back.”

“It doesn’t stink down here as much as it should be.” Sweetie snuck in a little conversation to try and lighten the mood that hung around Lyra. She could almost see a strange change in the mare’s eyes when she had some pony to talk to.

“I found some cement in the work shack above and sealed the way up.”

“Then, what was the use of telling me not to go off into the tunnels?”

“I remember back to how you three were. I would have to tell you not to light a match after some pony farts, and then watch to make sure you wouldn’t do it.”

“You do realize that thirteen years have passed. Most likely I would be a new mare. Especially after thirteen years of what has been going on out there.”

Lyra played with a small rock in the dirt of the floor. “I don’t know. I would only talk to you when you three would come into Bon-Bon’s candy shop.”

That reminded Sweetie that she had not seen Bon-Bon at all. The two had used to be inseparable. Now Lyra has not even said a word about the mare. “Where is Bon-Bon anyway?”

Lyra’s eyes shifted back to their original mood once again, and Sweetie knew that she had said something wrong. There was that nervous pause that followed that made the wait on the mare’s reaction and atmosphere even worse. Down here, and alone. No pony would miss her if Lyra decided that Sweetie needed to be silenced. “The Bon-Bon I know is gone, don’t ever bring it up again.”

Sweetie decided that it was best that she changed the subject. “So, what are we waiting for?”

“I didn’t tell you? Oh, silly me. We are waiting for those ne'er-do-wells to leave. I have it down to a system of what time they come in and what time they leave. I am always right. Their leader is very punctual and concise.”

Very punctual and concise…why did that stand out to Sweetie so much? It was like another memory, but this one was only sound. “Sweetie Belle…” The memory said. Could they be calling her name to the ticking of her life’s clock? Was she to die?

“Are they the type of ponies that would throw a crowbar at another’s face to see it stick in their eye to watch it bleed out before silencing them for good with a snapped vertebrae?” For some reason, Sweetie always liked the sound of vertebrae snapping. Maybe it was purely the sound, or it could be the fact of making sure that the enemy…other pony…was dead and then she knew for sure that she was safe. Maybe…

“Oh yes,” It sounded like she had an orgasm right there. Her voice was breathy and it wavered from strength to a weakness. “They would do that and so much more. But it wouldn’t be as much fun if it was done to you, so I would keep out of their way. I’ve found a friend for the first time in so long and I wouldn’t want to lose her yet.”

Sweetie blinked at the green mare, who had rolled over onto her back was sticking her legs up in the air and slowly rocking back and forth. She is a crazy one, but Sweetie felt that she could kind of relate to Lyra. “You think of me as a friend?” Her heart fluttered and beat faster from more blood circulating. Was Lyra a friend? Like a real friend? One that had your back through the thick and thin?

Lyra took her usual sweet time to answer a question. “Somewhat. Though I could kill you later and feed you to the timberwolves. I don’t know. You want a drink? I think I might have some fermented fruit in the back there.”

“I think I might just do that. Where would I find it?”

“Ummm.” Lyra, for once, looked a little scared like something was going to go wrong. “J-Just let me get it myself. Like I said, don’t want you getting lost out there.”

Lyra left Sweetie alone. She was once again worried about Lyra and her changing moods. She looked and saw a large pipe sticking out from the rock and she could see the smoke from the burning fire being sucked into the tube and out of the room.