A Mile In Your Hooves

by Akumokagetsu

First published 22nd of January, 2014

Granted a mystical ring by his dying grandfather, a boy switches bodies periodically to find a happier life. However, every time he returns home, he finds that the pony he switches bodies with is destroying his life...

Secretly gifted a mystical ring by his dying grandfather, Jonah finds that every time he wears the ring he trades places with an alien creature for twenty-four hours. This seems like a pretty sweet deal, and for Jonah, life just keeps getting better and more fun.
However, things take a turn for the worse when he finds that the pony he periodically switches with seems to like his life a lot more than he does...
And she'll do just about anything to make sure that she keeps it.

Credit for awesome cover art goes to Johnjoseco.

One Ring To Ruin Them All

I never liked hospitals.

The crisp, clean sterile smell that is always a little too strong and singes your nose. The bright, painfully white glare of everything in the building. The constant bustle and noise of people that are either sick or in horrible pain, covered with more white curtains. White, white, and more pale bland white.

The whole place reminds me of death, even though it’s a place where you’re supposed to go to get better. Heck, I’ve been to graveyards that don’t remind me of death as much as hospitals do.

I walked in between my parents down the hallway, the sound of our shoes on the pristine waxed floor grinding uncomfortably loudly back at us from the walls as we passed a couple of nurses handing out prescriptions.

One of whom was rather… voluptuous, I might add.

Ree-awr.

Whack.

“Jonah.”

I was jerked rather rudely from my admittedly disgusting daydream by a casual smack to the back of the head from my dad, who only glanced down at me in the way that only a dad actually can. It was one of those ‘I know exactly what you’re thinking about because I’ve been in your shoes, and can easily relate to your impish mind, but you should know better than to ogle the nice ladies when you’re supposed to be on your best behavior. Now, stand up straight, your mother is upset enough as it is,’ kind of looks.

To which I stupidly nodded so much that my neck hurt.

I know. I’m a genius.

I really did try to look as professional as I could, kind of like my dad did – he’s the kind of guy you would expect to always wear a suit, and he does. Dad can actually pull it off – black suit with a bright red tie over a plain white shirt, and he looks classy as a mother-effer. That is something that I do not inherit, I am sad to say.

As a matter of fact, most people say that I take after my mom more than anything, which is true. I have her blonde hair, her waiflike figure (which makes lifting weights to be more ‘buff’ looking a total pain) and even her long sloped nose. Thankfully, I didn’t get the short end of the stick completely, because I’ve had a lot of people tell me that I have my dad’s razor sharp brown eyes.

Not that they’re literally as sharp as razors. Can you imagine? Now, that’s something you’d expect to see in a hospital. Some dude who can’t blink because he has razor eyes. Actually, that sounds like the beginning to a comic book-

Whack.

“Jonah,” dad glared at me again. “You’re doing it again.”

“Sorry, sorry,” I rubbed the back of my head sheepishly, which was actually starting to get a little sore. I hated getting slapped in the back of the head. It makes me feel like a puppy that’s peed on the carpet.

So long as my nose isn’t being rubbed in anything…

“Don’t look so sour,” mom said somberly, straightening my own tie (which is a horrible invention, obviously created to make people suffer) and nearly strangling me with it. “This might be your grandfather’s last birthday, so I want you to go in and behave yourself. Understand me, Jonah?”

I kind of hate that, too. Mom always expects me to get into trouble, even though I hardly ever do.

Actually, I take that back. I’ve been in trouble plenty of times.

But I’ve really cleaned up my act since I’ve started going through the teenager-y motions. I’m totally mature now.

Actually, I take that back.

“Yeah, yeah,” I rolled my eyes.

Whack.

“Yes’m,” I cleared my throat uncomfortably as we waited outside grandpa’s door. I know I really should have been taking it more seriously, but this was, like, the fifth time my grandfather was on his deathbed. This might sound kind of heartless, but it was kind of sad the fourth time. By the fifth time you’re rushed out of the house in the dead of night, you’re probably bitterly wishing that you’d just stayed home in a nice, warm bed.

I know I was, those hospitals are cold.

Anyway, mom knocked a couple of times and we pushed our way in, just like last time. And, just like last time, grandpa was most definitely not dead.

Which is a great thing, because my grandfather is an awesome guy.

“Hey, Jo!” the wizened old man cackled at me, his large baby blue eyes lighting up the moment we walked in. He had some gnarly looking dentures, but grandpa always had the goofiest looking grin I’ve ever seen. It’s kind of lopsided, like he’s trying to decide whether to smile really wide or just plain laugh.

“Hey, yourself, you ol’ coot,” I hugged grandpa warmly, trying to be really gentle because of all the tubes he had stuck in him. From the beeping EKG machine, the tubes and wires, the fact that he was still lying like a skeleton in bed would have made one think that he really was close to death.

Dude, let me tell you. My grandfather had some hugs that could put an angry bear into submission.

I think I nearly heard my spine crack when he wrapped his enormous, flabby and slightly hairy arms around me, cackling like a madman.

Again, I was quietly assured that he was just about as far from death as a living person could get.

“It’s good to see you again, Daddy,” mom kissed him on the cheek, granting me a precious moment to pull myself from his (ironically) death grip and actually catch my breath. Seriously, nobody in their nineties should be that strong. Old people are supposed to be trembling, and smelly, and really into Parcheesi.

I was still grinning when I pulled away, though. I always like hanging out with grandpa. He just gave off this… vibe of coolness, like no matter what he did he could pull it off without a hitch. It made my dad look kind of like a chump in comparison, and I think that they both knew it. Dad was still very respectful, though.

“Spry as the day you were born, Ronald,” dad bowed his head a little, closing the door behind us.

“Bah!” grandpa waved him over good-naturedly. “Did you really expect anything fuckin’ different? Come ‘ere, ya big galumph. Sasha gets a hug, Jonah gets a hug, you’re gettin’ a hug. Move your rump!”

I swear, it was hard as all hell trying not to laugh my butt off watching dad give in to somebody half his size. Then again, I guess grandpa could be a little intimidating sometimes. Those were rare occasions.

We all stayed and chatted with grandpa for a while. He didn’t seem at all like he was on his deathbed. To tell the truth, he actually looked like he was getting better than he was the last time we saw him, for crying out loud. He looked more cheerful, he had this rosy color in his cheeks. Grandpa Ronnie was just so full of life that it made you feel a little bit like you were being turned into a better person just by being around him. That’s the kind of awesome guy that he was.

And then, out of the blue, grandpa did something significantly less fun than he usually did.

After we’d all chatted for a while (well, mom and dad talked with grandpa, I got bored and started staring at cars out the window) grandpa got this really weird look in his eyes.

“Sasha,” he did a complete one-eighty out of absolutely nowhere, but mom didn’t look at all surprised. Dad did, though. “Sasha, if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to my grandson one more time. In… private, if that’s all right.”

She turned toward my dad and nodded wordlessly, kissing grandpa quietly on the cheek again.

“I’m sure it’s-it’s not the last time, Daddy,” she said without much reassurance, but she and dad stepped out into the hall. I was kind of freaked out when the door snapped shut behind them, watching mom’s sad face as they were cut off from me.

I gulped, definitely uncomfortable.

Grandpa loudly said “Son, I know I haven’t said it before, but I just wanna tell you how much you mean to me.”

Except while he was doing that, grandpa winked conspiratorially and drew me closer with a signal to shush. He pulled something out of his pocket, glancing nervously toward the door.

Intrigued, although wary that it was just another of his infamous pranks, I drew a little closer. My feet squeaked over the floor, and he held out his hand for mine.

“Jonah Miller, don’t tell your cousin, but I play favorites when it comes to my grandkids,” he again said in that stage voice. I actually smiled a little, and he silently passed me whatever he was hiding. “… Your cousin Deborah is my favorite.”

“Dude!” I frowned, and he was snickering when he slipped me the little gift. Although I was a lot more curious about what he was so intent on conspiratorially hiding from my parents, I will say that much. At first, I thought that it was just an excuse to hand me money, or something.

Not like Grandpa Ronnie has ever slipped me money. Or even sent it for my birthday, the cheap – that’s beside the point. Whatever he gave me was way too hard to be money. More round, and cold – really, really cold. Like, uncomfortably so. At first, I thought it was an ice cube, and I almost tried to open my fist to look at it, but he clasped his hands over mine the moment I tried.

I guess it’s a good thing he did, because no sooner had he done so than mom peeked her head back in, and said “Daddy, the nurse says you skipped your last medications. Please tell me she’s lying.”

I could hear the nurse getting angry about that, no wonder why. Taking advantage of the distraction, grandpa got this really… disturbing look in his eyes. I swear, they almost changed color. He pulled me right up close to him, throwing an arm around me to make it look like it was a hug. Without missing a beat, he whispered as quietly as he could in a hurried, hushed tone that made my hair stand on end.

“I was always too afraid to use this after seeing what it did to my father. I want you to take this, Jonah. Don’t be the coward that I am. Too afraid to die alone. Be brave. Make me proud of you, Jonah.”

I don’t know what happened to his voice, because it slowly got weaker and more croaky as he choked out the words. I won’t lie, I was kind of scared by what he said. What did he mean, a coward like him? Grandpa Ronnie was one of the bravest people I’ve ever met. Heck, he’s the guy who taught me my first skydiving lessons. He once took a trip to Africa, and then hitchhiked all the way home. He climbed a mountain, and I don’t even know why that impresses me more than any of the other stuff he’s done.

I just really like mountains.

Whatever.

The point is, I was already freaked out by grandpa by the time mom and dad were pushed past by a cranky nurse, who stopped right in front of me with grandpa leaning on my shoulders.

“… Oh, I am so sorry,” the young woman held a hand to her lips, looking down at me sadly. “How long has it been?”

It was right about then that I noticed grandpa’s EKG machine had stopped beeping.

Grandpa fell pretty unceremoniously to the floor, and I immediately did the manly thing and started shrieking like a little girl.

Well, so much for being brave.

I laid in bed, staring at the little ring.

It seemed like such a weird thing for grandpa to give me at the moment of his death. Even weirder that he didn’t want mom or dad to see it.

After I’d had a good two or three hours to finish ‘wigging out’, as dad put it, we finally went back home to our little two story home in the city. It’s a pretty nice place, but not as nice as some of the others here in the suburbs. I was way too awake to fall asleep for a week, I was pretty sure of that.

For a long time, I just laid there, holding the ring between my fingers and stared past it up at the ceiling where my posters of aliens and UFOs were. Posters for NASA and little school projects hanging from strings displaying rockets and shuttles dangled off the edge of my desk, but my attention was drawn right back to the ring.

It was, for lack of a better word, precious.

I don’t mean it in that Gollum kind of way, I mean that the ring really seemed to shine in the light in a way that made me feel like it was incredibly important and valuable. Or maybe that was just because my dying grandfather had given it to me with a cryptic statement.

The ring itself still felt oddly cold to the touch, even though it hadn’t left my fist all night. That was one thing that really bothered me. I couldn’t think of a single kind of metal that did that. Another thing – I don’t think that the ring was any kind of metal at all. It was unexpectedly heavy, like a small stone. The mint green substance that it was crafted from glinted hungrily in the moonlight, flickers of light dancing along its whorls and ridges.

It took me ages to realize that I had been staring at it. The ring really was a hypnotic thing, almost. It was so beautifully forged that I’m a little surprised my grandpa didn’t wear it himself, even though he had never really been the kind of guy to show off what he had.

I got the sudden urge to jam it on my finger, a ridiculous thought of turning invisible if I did so flittering through my mind.

Yeah, I know. It’s stupid, and I’ve read Tolkien way too many times, but I still thought it.

Much to my disappointment, it really did just seem to be an ordinary ring. I didn’t turn invisible. Not even transparent.

Bummer.

I did admire it on my index finger for a little while, where it finally started to feel a little bit warmer and more comfortable. It then occurred to me that I was such a selfish jerk, being more focused on a friggin’ ring than I was losing my own grandfather. The guy that had helped raise me, and he was practically the last thing on my mind.

I felt a sudden sense of self-loathing right about then.

Disgusted, I tried to jerk the ring off – only to discover that it was stuck tight.

Had I gotten it lodged on my knuckle?

No, that wasn’t it; the ring was still in the same place, just… not moving. And it wasn’t so much warm now as it was hot, burning hot. It hurt my hand, the pain spreading up my arm…!

I actually cried out, falling out of bed as it felt like my whole body was being consumed by fire. There was nothing I expected less than that, let me tell you. For the way grandpa preached about courage, I sure must have seemed like I never listened. I thrashed in the blankets, the pain growing so intense that I couldn’t see.

And after that…

Nothing.

Head Injuries ALWAYS Cause Amnesia

Fire.

Intense heat, pain, fire, fire, fire!

“Fire! Fire, fire!” I shrieked, thrashing around in the blankets, unable to even form coherent sentences.

“It’s too early,” I heard as I tumbled out of bed, half wrapped in sheets. “Not in th’ mood to play that game, Lyra.”

I froze, somebody else obviously in my room.

My heart was pounding loudly in my ears, I laid stock still and stared at the ceiling.

The pale custard ceiling that obviously was not my room. Although I was a little more concerned with who had just spoken to me than I was with my ceiling. I scrabbled to my feet; or at least, I tried like hell to. At first, I thought that the fall might have messed up my spine, because I couldn’t seem to get my legs to work properly.

I managed to catch a sight of whoever was laying in my bed though – and I promptly fell over again, because I couldn’t feel my feet. There was no mistaking it, though; I definitely saw what I thought I saw.

There was a pony lying in my bed.

It took me a moment of just lying on the floor the messy sheets before it fully sank in. This wasn’t my bed, this wasn’t my house, and freaking pony!

It probably wasn’t such a good idea to start hyperventilating, but it really wasn’t a good idea to try pinching myself.

My fingers were gone.

There was some kind of high pitched, pathetic whining wail that pierced my ears, before I realized that it had come from me. I was still staring at my hooves – hooves – in complete horror as I failed again and again to wake up before I was lifted up by powerful hands – uh, hooves – that looped under my arms – legs? – and helped me up.

“C’mon, Lyra,” the other pony said, making me flinch as she ran a hoof over my head. “Snap out of it, hon. You had another bad dream.”

Not wanting to upset the pony who was helping me up (aren’t I frickin’ chivalrous?) I just nodded stupidly. A lot. I nodded so much that she stared at me.

To be honest, I really did want the mystery pony to not be upset. Although it was mostly because I was pretty certain that I was going to die here, and it would be caused by my saying something profoundly stupid.

“Gotta – gotta…!” I struggled, my voice cracking like it wasn’t even mine. My hooves shook beneath me, and I nearly toppled over again as I tried to make a run for it. As it turns out, trying to run at top speed without actually figuring out how to work four legs was pretty profoundly stupid.

The cream colored pony sighed when I fell over and started flailing again, almost like she had dealt with my antics before. She helped me to my feet – hooves, whatever – again.

“Take it easy, hon. Go wash the sleep out of your eyes.”

I nodded furiously, shaking like a leaf in the wind. I did manage to take one trembling step at a time, inching forward for fear of falling over again. Much to my surprise, the other pony scared the ever living hell out of me by slipping one hoof over and linking it with my arm/foreleg/thing (I don’t really know what to call it, I’m calling them my arms) and sighed again.

“That way’s the kitchen, Lyra.”

There was that name again.

This pony kept calling me ‘Lyra’. I almost corrected her to insist that my name was Jonah, but managed to bite my tongue at the last second. Even my tongue felt weird, and the inside of my mouth was unfamiliar. I whimpered again, definitely not the manliest thing I’ve ever done. The nice pony managed to finally lead me to a bathroom, though.

“One step at a time, Lyra. I’ll grab the thermometer, you stay put.”

The pony with the interspersed pink and blue mane left me alone in the doorway to a washroom, and I tried to keep from falling over again. I couldn’t help it – I was dizzy. Then again, I was also reeling from shock, so there’s that. I managed to catch myself on the bathroom sink, which was made from some kind of ceramic or porcelain. I can’t really tell the difference, to tell the truth. They’re both fancy things that I’ve accidentally broken in the past by running into them, and that’s all I can say.

I wasn’t really focused so much on the fancily carved bathroom sink as I was the mirror. Or, to be a little more specific, my reflection. Sure, it was hard discovering that my hands had been replaced with mint colored hooves. Yeah, my voice wasn’t my own, and my mouth felt funny, and that was a shock enough. But I guess that it didn’t really sink in until I saw my own reflection.

Or, rather, a mint colored unicorn’s reflection.

I screamed, falling away from the sink in terror and scrabbling away from it. Had to get away, had to get away…!

“Easy, easy!”

I thrashed, caught in the strong arms (hooves?) of the cream colored female pony again. She kept me still for a few seconds while I struggled to wriggle free, fear coursing through my veins and nearly stinging them.

“Dammit, Lyra!” I heard her say in distress. “Snap out of it, wake up!”

I froze again, shivering. She sounded really worried, and kept calling me ‘Lyra’. I might be a little slow on the uptake, but I’m pretty sure that the pony she was referring to as ‘Lyra’ wasn’t here anymore. And I wasn’t home anymore.

I let out another pathetic whimper, curling up in a tiny ball.

The pony seemed relatively relieved that I had stopped flailing around like a dying fish, and kept petting me on the head and speaking soothing nonsense.

Which seemed a little ironic, being calmed by an animal.

I couldn’t really call her an animal, though; she was talking to me, and holding my head in her lap. Talking. I seriously could not wrap my head around that. There was a talking pony, likely some alien life form that –

How did it speak English?

I stared up at her in bafflement, her eyes meeting my own in concern. I’m not going to lie, when I looked up, I swear that I saw my grandfather’s baby blue eyes looking back at me. In all likelihood, though, I was probably just really scared and trying to find anything even remotely familiar to help calm myself down.

“… Are you going to be okay, baby?” she asked worriedly, biting her bottom lip. It was a weird sight, seeing a pony biting her lip in such a human fashion upside down. Although I guess she wasn’t technically upside down, it was just the way I was laying on her lap.

I slowly nodded again, suddenly remembering that normal people blink instead of stare like freaky bullfrogs. I gulped and blinked a couple of times, desperately trying to make a couple of more human-looking emotions aside from don’t-mind-me-I-just-shit-myself.

Or, maybe ‘human’ wasn’t what I should have been trying to appear.

It was all too much – way, way too much for me to handle.

I’ll admit, I really was scared out of my wits. I was actually kind of grateful to the cream colored pony for just being so… well. Nice, I guess you could say. I wasn’t really expecting it.

Then again, I wasn’t expecting to be a freaking pony when I woke up, either.

Once again, I was jolted out of my thoughts when I realized that I was staring again. The other pony leaned over me and nuzzled my nose, holding me a little more affectionately.

I know that it was probably a sign that she really cared about ‘Lyra’, but it threw me off. Well, more than I had already been thrown off. Seriously, this whole ten minutes had been like what I’d expect from a drug trip.

I froze again, lying as still as I could. I know it was stupid, but the first thing that came to mind was ‘play dead’.

Yeah, like that wouldn’t freak her out at all.

I could just imagine it now, my suddenly falling limp with a death gurgle. The pony would freak the hell out, probably dropping me. Or attempting CPR, maybe. Did ponies know CPR? How could they pull it off without hands? I mean, I guess you could do CPR without using your hands, but I suppose that they could use their hooves. Hooves really are weird, when you think about them –

And obviously I was thinking about them a little too much, because it was a full four seconds before I even realized that the pony was kissing me.

Kissing me.

Oh, god, my first kiss was from a frickin’ horse.

I twitched again, held still by the pony with her hooves and… mouth. To be honest, it really wasn’t bad; getting kissed upside down, Spiderman style. With a little bit of tongue action thrown in, I might add.

Not to say that it didn’t still freak me the hell out, though.

Which made for one hell of an internal argument.

I’m terrified… yet simultaneously aroused.

She held me with my head in her lap for a while, just… being comforting. It was kind of pleasant, in a weird, scared shitless kind of way. She kept running a hoof over my hair – or, mane, I guess – just trying really hard to help calm me down.

And I almost did, for a minute. I really thought ‘Yeah, I can do this.’

That’s when I realized that, yeah, I was also a tiny bit aroused.

At my age, every guy has that problem. A very specific problem that tends to make situations awkward by pointing out what hormones are doing to them.

It was probably a lot more awkward discovering that I no longer had that problem.

“MY PENIS!”

“… I’m sorry, what?”

So…

Breakfast.

I was kind of hungry.

I know that might seem a little weird for a follow up, but I’ll consider my awakening a whole lot weirder than anything else that could ever happen to me.

I’ve never made a decent breakfast in my entire life. I mean, I can pour cereal, but that’s about it. I am an absolute terror with a frying pan. After the last few… abominations, mom and dad decided to never let me near the stove again.

It was a really nice little kitchen, with a cozy little place for a couple of little ponies. A wooden table just next to a round glass window overlooking the street, sunlight pouring in past the shades. Little heart shaped decorations in the woodwork, doilies and flowers to match the bright, cheery wall paint. It was almost like something out of a fairy tale.

I guess that the cream colored pony (who was kissing me, in case you forgot) must have taken pity on me (after kissing me) and decided to make breakfast herself (obviously while not kissing me).

Did I mention that I got my first kiss?

I really don’t mean to harp on about it so much, but, seriously.

Freaking pony.

I wonder if that was some kind of bestiality. I mean, that’s kind of gross. Then again, I don’t really have to worry about going around sticking it into any ponies, because there’s… there’s nothing down there.

Actually, I take that back.

It’s just that I’ve got the wrong equipment for the job, if you get my drift.

Yeah, like that helped to keep me from freaking out even more.

Anyway, after Bon Bon (who thankfully said her name once while trying to get me to remember her and calm down) started making breakfast, she let what I think was some kind of oatmeal warm on the kitchen stove while pouring us each some coffee.

Two things.

Well, three or four, actually.

But the first one… uh, first.

Shut up, I’m not eloquent when I’m scared.

First, this pony reminded me of my mom. The way she was just taking care of me with so much affection, it was… well, actually a little touching. Bon Bon was kind of sweet, in a weird, unfamiliar way.

Secondly, ew. It only made it so much more uncomfortable being kissed by somebody that reminded me of my mom. That made me shudder a little. I mean, just… mom. Gross.

Thirdly, I was starting to realize just how badly I was completely boned.

I was in some alien world without my – my – body, stuck living as a pony that smelled a little like apricots. Must have been the shampoo. Did ponies use shampoo?

I ran a hand – uh, hoof, hoof – over my head absentmindedly, thinking about it while staring at the untouched cup of coffee. That was when I met a rather bizarre obstruction.

There was a horn on my head.

It was weirdly stiff to the touch, and clunked against my hoof. I poked it and it felt like… almost like a normal appendage. It was like another arm right there, but really short and hard.

Insert respective genitalia-related jokes here.

I very nearly started freaking out all over again, but managed to keep myself under control. No need to go making Bon Bon panic over my stupid flailing again.

Oh, right, the fourth thing.

Would you believe me if I told you I was more worried about getting my junk back than I was getting home? I mean, you can lose a home. People find new homes all the time.

But, dude. That’s my manhood.

That’s something that you just don’t joke around about.

“-a.”

“What?” I blinked out of my reverie suddenly, having been glaring intently at my untouched coffee with a voice that sounded a little too feminine for my liking. Not like I had a really deep voice or anything before. It was weird (along with fricking everything else) how much smoother my voice sounded, though. I was just getting used to my voice being a little scratchy from the ‘normal’ changes I was going through.

I sincerely doubt that any human being ‘normally’ goes through these kinds of changes, though.

“I said, are you going to drink your coffee, Lyra?” Bon Bon asked me again patiently, finishing the oatmeal and making us a couple of bowls.

“Right, right!” I nodded quickly, desperate to appear normal. I didn’t know what would happen to me if she ever found out what happened to the ‘real’ Lyra, but I was sure that it wouldn’t be anything good. There were a lot of things I was terrified of, but one of the big ones was being… well, I don’t know exactly. Burned at the stake for a witch, maybe.

I immediately tried dunking my equine face toward the coffee and miraculously managed to not tip it over. I did painfully scald my chin, though. That coffee was hot.

Bon Bon stared at me hard for a second.

“I don’t want to be burned at the witch for a stake!” I blurted suddenly, panic growing more intense as I made myself look like more and more of an ass. So much for keeping up appearances.

Wordlessly, Bon Bon slipped her hoof around her own mug and drank deeply from it, never dropping eye contact.

How the crap did she do that?

How did the pony manage to pick up the mug without fingers? I watched her do it again, and I swear she slowed down while I watched. It took some kind of… cupping with the hoof, using them to balance the cup between them. It took me a couple of tries and a lot of spilled coffee, but I finally managed to do it.

I grinned enthusiastically, elated by success as I slurped noisily from my now half-empty cup.

The rest of it was on the table.

“… Are you sure you’re okay?” Bon Bon asked again in concern, placing the oatmeal on the table and slowly reaching for towels.

I noticed that she didn’t actually put mine near me. That was probably a good decision on her part, because I most likely would have just slammed my face in that a couple of times, too.

You know.

Normally.

“Fan-dee-diddly-tastic!” I swung an arm in my best Ned Flanders impersonation, giving her a winning smile. I almost spilled the rest of the coffee doing it, and was careful to put it back on the table.

“I don’t know, Lyra...” Bon Bon said in a mixture of worry and disbelief. “You just don’t seem… yourself this morning.”

“No idea what you’re talking about!” I said with forced optimism, my heartbeat increasing to a painfully fast rate.

Bon Bon looked at me in apprehension, and pulled at the tip of her curled mane in distress. I was surprised at just how bad I felt for making her so uneasy, but in my defense, I felt that I had a bigger reason to feel anxious.

“Still,” Bon Bon said uncomfortably, poking the oatmeal towards me with some butter and sugar. “You make me worry, Lyra. It hasn’t been that long since your last bout of night terrors, and you’ve been strange all morning.”

I laughed robotically, sweat beading along my brow.

“Uh, yeah…” I chuckled weakly. “I probably just… uh, hit my head when I fell out of bed!”

It was a crappy excuse, and we both knew it.

Bon Bon snorted, and said “Just how hard?”

“Really hard,” I jumped on my opportunity quickly. “So hard that I think I have a concussion. Or amnesia, maybe. Who are you again?” I asked hopefully.

Bon Bon gaped at me in horror, and I knew that I’d just royally screwed up.

“What?” she spluttered. “Lyra, why didn’t you say something?!”

“I tried to, your tongue was in my mouth!” I shot back, trying not to cringe.

“Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, Celestia,” Bon Bon pulled at her mane again, before letting out a long, agonizingly slow breath of air. “Okay. Okay,” she tried to reassure herself. “We’ll-we’ll finish up breakfast, and then we’ll get you to a doctor as fast as we can.”

I suddenly felt much less hungry.