The days passed by, and soon the money went away. But Inkie didn’t think that was a bad thing. Every now and then, she would end up walking into a new city. and there she would find shelter and play. If she didn’t get shelter, she would sit down in the first bench she would see, and then she would start playing. Sometimes she would try to find new chords, but it was difficult. Sometimes she would just play.

Soon she noticed that some ponies would stop to listen to her. And now and then, they would toss money, and she would accept it with a smile.

She never sang Pinkie’s songs again. Those were not hers, and she wanted to sing something that she owned. Instead, Inkie’s song would sometimes be about a little story she knew. When that happened, she sang about a little bird in the road, about an indestructible rock, about a little filly who didn’t know better, and about the sister that left and the sister that stayed.

Now and then, she would refuse to tell a story, so the songs would be about images, about nonsensical pictures that came to her mind. When that happened, she sang about the color of the sun when seen across the window of a hospital, about rebellion against one’s own desires, about pride and approval, and about empty fields against the sunset.

And lastly, sometimes she would sing about her pain, about her weakness, about her pride, about her death.

As time went by, her hooves became a little stronger, and her body became a little weaker. She didn’t need to look at the guitar while playing, as she could feel, better than anypony else, the strings of the guitar. Her voice got steadier, darker, softer. Her hooves moved faster.

Inkie Pie continued travelling the land, never talking to anypony, never trying to reach a goal. She just enjoyed her walk, forgetting about her pain. She enjoyed the view, forgetting about her loneliness. And she enjoyed her guitar, her music, her songs; never forgetting that she was not a musician, but never caring about it either.

Those were Inkie’s happiest years. The first one was harsh, yes. Sometimes, she would end up with almost no money, and the pain in her hooves would burn more than usual. But she survived, and as time went by, she had less and less economical problems. Ponies would always toss money at her when she was finished, as long as she played at least two songs, and the crowd would be bigger every month.

She never really cared. Inkie Pie played for herself and herself only. She was too proud to sing about anything that wasn’t related to her, and too aware of the death to do anything but enjoy her life.

Inkie Pie became a travelling musician, and her ability with the guitar reached incredible peaks. Nopony ever knew if she noticed this.