Many Canterlot ponies were out on a Saturday night, letting loose from the work week and enjoying their one day of total freedom. Bars were full, restaurants were slammed, concerts played, parties roared, and on and on did the city breathe with night life, while April Showers rode in a quiet car down the mountain, shaking to keep her composure. They were on the freeway, curving around a series of canals and reservoirs that the river fed, the river where they had disposed of two bodies just a half hour ago.

The pegasi volunteered no comforting words for her. In the passing streetlights, their faces were indistinct and jaundiced, but April could not stop looking when they turned her way.

When at last one of them spoke, it was Long Luxury, to offer to drop her off at home. April said okay, and guided them through the suburbs with some difficulty, her addled mind making it difficult to give good directions. She got out of the car outside her apartment complex and watched the car disappear into the night, like nothing had happened.

It was two o’ clock in the morning, and there was but one light on in the complex, no noise. She sat on the sidewalk and stared, at nothing in particular, breathing. It felt like it was all she could do. After a minute, she went to the brick wall and found a spot behind a bush, where she lay down. With ringing ears and closed eyes, her entire body shaking and her mind in disarray, she did nothing else, just lay there. She couldn’t think to order the events in her mind. She could not begin processing them.

When she brought a hoof to her face, she found that she was soaked with sweat and tears, and she looked around with a jolt to see whether anyone might have noticed her. Self-consciousness flooded back in, and she stopped crying and sat back up. The bush tickled her as a gust vibrated it, and there she remained, quiet and more composed, still shaking, occasionally letting off a single sob or spitting snot into the grass. Her wings were sore from constant tension, but she could not relax them; every time she tried, her body revolted, and the shaking would intensify, running up her legs and through her shoulders, all the way to the base of her neck. Her head would go still, and her mouth would slacken, and her eyes would fixate on whatever was before her until the shaking passed and she could move again. Anything more than a shallow breath made her stomach quiver and her throat constrict, and a few times, she doubled over to dry heave.

April had no idea how long she had stayed outside the apartment in such a state, but it was still dark when she reached the abuse shelter. Nothing rational had brought her there; she simply stood up and walked. She could not imagine going back home, or sleeping, or doing anything at all, so her shaking legs led her to the only other safe place she knew. She walked into the complex slowly, lost, looking for nothing. She went around the dining room to a sand pit, where ponies could play volleyball or walk around the encompassing track, and then came to a stop where the shelter was fenced off. Behind, she could see the living quarters and the administration building, square shadows against the darker shadow of the mountain behind. She went to the gate and stared through its chain links, resting her head against cold, rough metal.

Green unicorn light showed first in a window, then in the open doorway to a building close by, and April backed away from the fence as its bearer approached.

“Do you require something?” he asked. His voice was commanding without being harsh, but on April’s frazzled nerves, it was too much, and she only looked back at him, still shaking, trying to find a response. When he got closer to see her through the fence, he adjusted his tone. “Are you in danger?”

April tensed her wings and willed her body to be still as she formed her words. “I… I don’t… I gotta…”

“Come in,” he said, unlatching the gate. “Are you in danger? Do you need the police?”

She shook her head and entered the complex, eyes down, and followed alongside him. They walked for a long time, long enough for April to respond to his calming presence. She could feel her muscles loosening, her shaking lessen, and by the time they were indoors, she could distinguish the sounds around her more clearly. Her heart had slowed and her mind with it, and she was able to look around and see that he had taken her into a small chapel. He knelt for a second before the symbol of the crescent moon and led her to an office.

Seated, with a cup of water before her, she finally spoke. “I apologize for waking you, sir.”

“It’s no trouble,” he said. He had made his voice gentle and slow for her. “Though I would caution against loitering outside the gates like that. Makes ponies nervous. My name is Reverend Green. Can you tell me yours?”

“Flitter,” she said, aware immediately of her mistake. “Oh. It’s actually April Showers. Flitter’s a nickname.”

“Do you need help?”

She still could not look up at him, so with her eyes frozen on the reflection in the wooden floor, she nodded.

“We can give you a place to sleep, a place to live temporarily.”

“I have a place.”

His shape nodded in the corner of her eye. “Tell me what you do need. We can help you.”

April did not respond, and the reverend did not press for a time.

“We can offer counseling, employment assistance, legal consultation, temporary child care, anything at all that you need.”

“I think I just want to talk,” she said at last, and took several drinks of water. The reverend was an elderly stallion, thin, balding in places; in his plain, blue pajamas, he looked somehow empty, out of place in the office, almost unsuitable for April’s problem.

“My ears are open, sister.” He yawned. “I apologize, I haven’t gotten much sleep tonight. Do you mind if I brew a cup? You can have some if you like.”

“Sure.”

With the coffee machine bubbling, the reverend scrutinized her again. “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t know how to say it.”

“I find,” he rose and got out two mugs, “when I have difficulty telling someone something, that starting at the beginning is most helpful.”

“The beginning. I guess that would be…” “Meeting Ink Pearl, right?” She blinked, her eyes dry. Emboldened by the discovery, she began. “I think I joined up with the wrong crowd, and I don’t know if I can get out.”

“What sort of crowd?”

She looked at him and wished that he weren’t a unicorn. “I don’t know how you’re going to take this, but I fell in recently—like really recently—with the Pegasus Advocates.”

The slightest pause. “Okay.”

“But I think that was a mistake.”

He poured their coffee.

“We…”

“Has anyone been hurt?”

April swallowed. “I didn’t hurt anyone, but… Not directly, I mean. But yeah, two ponies got hurt pretty bad.”

“How bad?” he asked quietly.

April remained silent.

“Have you told anyone?”

She shook her head.

“It sounds like you might get more help from the police, April.” He glanced at the phone on his wall, and her heart beat faster.

“I don’t think I can do that.”

“They accept anonymous tips.”

“No, I mean… They’ll know it was me ‘cause I was the only other one who saw them.”

Reverend Green blew on his coffee and stirred a cube of sugar into it. “They wouldn’t find you here.”

She just shook her head.

“I can make the call for you.”

Her head was buzzing again. She had been thinking of the Pegasus Advocates, but now, with the tension eased off a little and the coffee warming her, she thought instead of the Datura. In the dark of predawn, her assignment seemed ludicrous to her, bordering on abusive. Her commander’s expectations were simply too high, and the training she’d received insufficient. She had been told to expect incidents like that night’s, but no one had helped her prepare for one. No trips to the morgue, or roll playing, or even violent films to get her used to the idea.

And now, instead of a resource she could go to for counseling, someone to whom she could speak openly, she had to wander the streets until chancing to find a charitable soul.

“I think I’m trapped no matter what I do,” she said at last. She could not reveal her work with the Datura on her own, but thought she might be able to if the reverend pried.

“You’re here,” he said. “You’re safe here, April. There are options for you.”

“Maybe.” He hadn’t asked the right question, and the way to telling him her true problem was shut. She felt clear enough to stand and thank him, and apologize for wasting his time.

She woke up in her own bed, skipped breakfast, and went straight to the sidewalk, where she stood and watched the simulated clouds break apart for a nine o’ clock sun. It was Sunday morning, and on the other side of the country, Twilight and crew were preparing for an ordeal of their own.

Sleep had brought no clarity to April, as she had hoped. She still feared for her safety from the PAs, and she still feared for her safety from the Datura—the latter, for she knew with queasy certainty what she must do. She went back into the apartment and penned a resignation letter.

Ink Pearl and Chilly Clouds both had made it clear that April was the only Datura working at her job, and that there was no one in reserve if things should go wrong. She had been given sensitive information, a delicate assignment, and an expensive procedure to carry it out. She knew that Ink would not take her resignation well, and that the consequences could be permanent.

To save money, for she did not know how much she would need to get out of town, April walked and flew to the nearest train station. Out of Canterlot, only a few trains were running: one to Ponyville, five all the way out to Manehattan, and a few to stations on the eastern edge of the Everfree Forest. She jotted down the departure times for the day and walked back.

It was noon when she was back in her apartment, and she had cherry tomatoes and fruit juice for lunch while rereading her letter, trying to build up her resolve, and thinking how best to deliver it. She did not know how to get into the lab where they had built her new body, and going to the shelter was out of the question, it seemed to her, for her Datura connection would not be volunteering that day—and she did not want to risk running into the reverend there either.

The only other place she knew was Ink Pearl’s house, way out in the southern fringes of the city. She could not remember Chilly Clouds’ location, but Ink’s was remote enough that she thought she could find it. She checked the time, did some calculation, and then packed her saddlebags. Water, the few loose bits she had left, her letter, a coat in case it got cold, and a city map. Everything else she left in the apartment, not wanting to waste time packing. It was going to be a long walk.

“Like, what am I gonna tell her?” she thought, imagining a taxi driver. “I need you to take me to my boss’ house. It’s way out in the boonies, on the edge of the city. I’ll just shout it out when I think you’re close. No way.” Besides, she was in no big hurry. As long as she was underway, she felt secure, safe in the space between decision and consequence.

Her apartment complex was in the northwest quadrant of the city, close to the mountainside, and Ink Pearl’s house was at the southern edge. She set off down the street, the mountain to her left side, and walked. It was still warm, except when the wind stirred the leaves and grass, of which there was not much in her immediate surroundings. Across an intersection, she was already past the reaches of the mountain’s influence. The sharp corners and flat walls of a granite and tile company passed her by, granite and limestone, etched with simple designs. Beyond that, a rental car facility. Beyond that, the rich foliage and dirt inroad to a wholesale grower, its shining metal arches dripping water on rows of fat-leaved soybeans.

A bus ran past, and she thought about trying to catch it, but she had not the money for a round trip. Moreover, getting to Ink Pearl’s house quicker would bring her no pleasure, and she gave a small wave as the bus pulled away. The pony it let off thought she was waving at him, and gave a hesitant wave in return.

Before Canterlot, April had never been in what she thought of as a large city. Cloudsdale was only a little larger than Ponyville, and much denser, but it did not have the same qualities of Lower Canterlot. She remembered being abashed at the wide roads and the huge parking lots, the signs and billboards, the concrete everywhere. Ponyville was mostly dirt roads and wooden fences, and Cloudsdale’s roads were of hardened cloud. Asphalt and cement had been foreign to her, and as she passed a pool supply store, a family negotiating a stack of boxes into their small carriage, she reflected on her experience in the city, faceless up close but charming to her nonetheless.

She could still see her apartment complex if she turned around; it looked like she had barely covered any ground, though she was twenty minutes out. She got into the air for a few minutes and touched down outside a convention center, its low, white arches offering shade in a space without trees. A young mare was outside one of the glass doors with a book, and April tried to see the cover as she passed.

When she was out in the sun again, she stopped, realizing then the extent of the journey she had started. In her apartment, a six-hour walk sounded interesting, and good exercise that she did not strictly need, but cutting through the parking lot of a small bank, stopping to let a car back out in front of her, she saw how large the city was. No village, no town, Lower Canterlot was a full city, and she was crossing it on hoof. Still, the thought to take her time held. She had written her letter with the idea, had accepted it by the time she was out the door. Another bus whizzed by as if to prove to her that she did not want it.

She had worked as a bank teller for a few months in college, just to take the edge off her tuition. She had not remotely enjoyed the work, though she was fair with numbers. April smiled to herself, crossing the street, and remembered how Cloudchaser—employed as a grocer at the time—would come in every weekend and wait for her sister to cash her paychecks. A fond gesture, and from it, April thought about Cloudchaser for the next few miles. The farthest apart they had ever been was when Flitter was in college and Cloudchaser was working, and it had seemed for a while that they would drift off into their respective professions, but it was not so. For want of money, the two wound up becoming roommates in Cloudsdale, and had never really moved past that, even after moving to Ponyville.

April spied the top of a hotel over the squashed roof of a coffee shop tucked into the corner of a shopping complex. Equinox was its name, and though she had never stayed, she had heard Wings and Jet talk about it. She had circled it as a landmark on her map, which she consulted in the mist under a flower shop’s awning. Behind the wide window, vases and knickknacks were arranged on brittle-looking shelves, hanging over a wide basket of white peonies and dahlias, brushed with artificial snow. The doorbell jingled as someone entered beside her, and she watched them for a minute, browsing through greeting cards and stuffed animals before finally seeking out a florist and losing April’s interest. She flapped to the other side of the road, where an airship whacked steadily for takeoff on a wide tarmac.

She was entering a better part of town, closer to a natural offshoot from a mountain stream. She had not been there herself, but had passed through the area a few times; at night, the hotels and malls would don gaudy lights, and certain streets would close to allow for increased pedestrian traffic. Several roads narrowed and spun off in different directions as one neared the neighborhood, but April’s shot straight through, splitting off farther south to join another freeway up the mountain.

She angled her head away as she passed a pair of delinquent-looking fillies, smoking on the wall between a convenience store and a tire shop. She was reminded again of Flitter and Cloudchaser, though neither of them had ever touched a cigarette. Their wild hairstyles and youthful faces had earned them more than a few cautious looks.

Waiting for the light to change, she stretched her wings and watched a pair of ponies stringing Hearth’s Warming lights between the trees outside a massive care center. The front was all glass, two wide wings expanding outward in welcome under a huge, plaster sign for the center’s name. Above that, an airship pad for those who had to be rescued from the mountain—there was at least one every month, it seemed.

“Do they let Daturas go to regular hospitals?” she wondered. Then, she realized she had never even heard of a Datura going to a hospital; they usually just disappeared for a while and came back unaccountably well again. There were healing potions, she knew, and magic as well, but those were difficult to mass produce, so conventional techniques had to remain predominant.

“There’s gotta be special Datura hospitals,” she thought to herself, pausing for a minute to look enviously in on a busy doughnut shop. “‘Cause we get hurt in unique ways, or we can. How do you explain to a non-Datura how you got some kinda crazy magical wound or something?” Perhaps that was one of Chilly Clouds’ jobs, she thought, to bring injured Daturas to the special Datura hospital, wherever it was. By the time the care center was out of sight, April had convinced herself that there was a Datura hospital somewhere in the city, perhaps underground, with all their other secrets.

“Here we go,” she said to herself. Another way point she had marked on her map, Sand’s Weight Consulting and Law. The only pony name she had read with a possessive in the title, it was one of the places she had fantasized about working for when she was in college. Canterlot was, not so surprisingly, known for its top-notch lawyers. In the last century, there had been more than thirty landmark cases decided in the city’s courts, only a few of them making it up to the palace, and all of them subject to intense study in schools around the country. Flitter had known them all by heart, and April still remembered the majority.

Bitterly, April watched the suits moving outside, flowing through the building’s front doors, all of them busy and successful. She had dreamed big at first, and then that dream had shrunk all through her final year of college—shrunk, but not died. She always imagined herself as having a place in one of those hallowed Canterlot courtrooms. The view from the sidewalk, on her way to resign from a different career, held her attention far after she left it behind.

It was easy to get caught up pitying herself, as April did as she put the law firm farther behind her and approached an apartment complex on the other side of the street, much nicer than her own. How did other Daturas do it? She knew for a fact that she was not the only one who had given up her original identity, nor the only one who had experienced trauma, nor who had been unjustly treated by a superior. Yet ponies carried on; they got up in the morning and tried again. “And here I am, quitting. After all the crap I’ve done, I’m quitting.”

She sat and contemplated, for just a second, going back home and trying to continue with the Pegasus Advocates. Putting the idea aside once more, and rising to make her way to a noisy overpass, she thought instead of where she would go after resigning. She had thought but a little earlier, more concerned with what all her options were, and whether she could afford to spend any money in the intervening time; she had not seriously considered what her actual move would be. Ponyville was easiest and most obvious, and therefore where the Datura would look for her first—if they looked for her at all. Ink Pearl did not seem the sort to just let her go, so she assumed there would be a search. Manehattan was still a mess, and that left one of the random trains east, to tiny towns and stations she had not heard of.

“If I do go back home, Cloudchaser could help me.” She was not sure whether that was true, though. A string of pessimistic thoughts played through her head, wherein Cloudchaser did not believe her, or turned her in before she could properly explain herself, or left her to own devices out of angry hurt. Then the Ponyville Datura would take her, and then the thoughts became more and more cruel, more and more self-pitying.

The street was roped off from traffic to let her get around a construction zone at one of the overpass’ abutments. Soft grit filled the air with the scrape of earth movers, matching the fuzzy sound of unicorn magic as a tired-looking stallion unpacked traffic cones. It was midafternoon, but the sun was mild on her head and wings as she stepped back onto the sidewalk; soon, she would need to find something to eat.

She had traveled four or five miles from her apartment, and Ink Pearl’s house was still far away. She crossed the street to a wide park where a group of young stallions hustled with a colorful ball, and she snuck a couple bites of grass, which would have to do. She could see that she was passing into another residential stretch of town, having only clipped the corner of the glitzy, downtown-esque oasis. Thoughts of grilled vegetables and ice cold fruit punch filled her head as she moved deeper into the brown-roofed, green-lawned pocket of suburbs, into a section of town she had never seen.

Only one pony was outside on her walk, a retiree trimming her bushes. She gave April a wave from across the street, and April said “hello.” It was peaceful out, but inside, as if revolting against the suggestion that she be calm, April could feel her insides coiling tightly with refreshed anxiety. She was thinking about her task again. Each step brought her closer to Ink’s house, and she knew that as she got closer still, it would be harder to think of anything else.

The temptation to simply run without giving her resignation had come up several times in the morning, before she had committed to her long march. The only thing she could think of was that, perhaps, giving an official resignation would spare her even graver consequences than simply vanishing. She had not heard of the Datura hunting down its defectors before, but it required no stretch of the imagination.

“Good Celestia, it’s just like the mob,” she thought. She laughed a little to herself, but the more she thought about it, the more she thought she might have accidentally gotten it dead right.

A high, brick wall emerged from the ground, cutting off her view of the houses, leaving the tops of trees and the poles of trampoline nets or tetherballs. She could fly over much of it, she knew, but she was walking a fairly direct route to Ink’s house anyway, and was not comfortable using her wings—still relatively new to her—for so long. She wondered what would happen if a Pegasus Advocate spotted her then, not using those special wings. Probably an admonition, nothing more.

That was the one silver lining she could see from the night before: with the stroke of falling stone, she was no longer afraid of verbal confrontation. She was not inured, but numb, her capacity for ordinary fear blasted apart. Passing a section of wall behind which a large dog barked frantically, she wondered what it meant for her in the long term. Therapy and lingering scars were givens, and she supposed she would probably grow into some particular hatred against Pegasus Advocates, but she could not imagine it further. She was too clouded with everything else, and dropped the line of inquiry. The irony that she was more afraid of Ink’s reaction than the Pegasus Advocates’ did not escape her. “One thing at a time, I suppose.”

At a stop sign, she told a mare in a car that she didn’t know the neighborhood and couldn’t help her, and after the mare drove away, April thought wildly to catch up and ask for a ride. She didn’t, and it was a little after four o’ clock when she was out of the neighborhood and to a wide, low library. She entered the shady breezeway to see whether there were any vending machines, but found only rows of tiny lockers for ponies to place their backpacks and saddlebags. From the cool darkness, she looked out at the sidewalk and the city spaced out behind, so vast, so monotonous. The novelty of journey was gone, and with tired legs and eyes dull to interesting details, she went back out into the world.

Fifteen minutes and two intersections later, she came to a specialty grocery store, and without thinking, she turned in. With a start—and the sudden, dusty smell of concentrated feathers, which she tried not to let show on her face—she realized she was in Griffontown. She had never been, but finding it randomly brought a little of her old spirit back as she browsed the aisles. One or two griffons looked at her sideways, but the neighborhood, she assumed, attracted enough tourists that she would not cause any major stirs. She knew there was an even smaller neighborhood for minotaurs somewhere, and wondered whether she would find that too.

Only six bits rattled in her saddlebag, bits left over from a recent trip to the grocery store. She grabbed a little basket to hang around her neck and wandered to the meat section, not realizing that was what it was until she was there. The sight of it made her stomach turn, pink and red mounds of flesh in the freezer case, artfully winged with lettuce and cherry tomatoes, with little signs saying from what beast they had all come. She watched the butcher stack and wrap up some blood-red patties for a young griffon in a frumpy set of scrubs, amazed and aware that she should stop staring. No one said anything, but she could tell the butcher had noticed as she passed by, eyes averted.

The produce section was more comfortable, and she settled on six plums, which were out of season and on sale. A griffon, with her talons, helped April place them in her bag.

She ate one immediately outside the store and set off again, passing another apartment complex and a liquor store nearby. Momentarily sated, and a little less sorry for herself, she was nearly content as she found the other end of Griffontown and walked into the wide, empty spaces of undeveloped land. A few houses dotted the flat, rocky expanse, and she could see more far off in a broken line, but for the next mile, there was nothing nearby. The freeway up the mountain was a thin, black thread, and she was silently amazed at how small it had gotten without her notice. She consulted her map for a few minutes and eventually decided that she was not lost, and that following the road was still the correct thing to do.

There was so much of Lower Canterlot that she had not seen, and so much she was realizing did not need to be seen. The mountain, and the palace, and the city around it were what ponies thought of when they thought of Canterlot, and she had thought of it too. She still did; it was like the two areas, though technically the same city, were separated by more than just class and a bit of vertical distance. Seeing how many ponies and griffons, and minotaurs too, made their livings in the unremarkable spread of houses and shops, it drove home the old and none-too-impressive awareness of her own smallness in the scheme of things. It was an easy conclusion to reach in a place like Canterlot, and in her opinion, it did not usually lead to interesting talk. She had had the conversation with Cloudchaser a few times, and there were always the same surface-level observations: everyone was tiny compared to the world, and very few of them would leave lasting impressions, and so forth. Even in the Datura, she thought, there was some huge percentage that would never be remembered for their deeds. For every hero, there were legions of functionaries, for whom working for the Datura meant nothing special. There were ponies whose jobs it was to book flights all day, or to organize car rentals and hotel rooms, or to research populations and events, so that the big operations could go smoothly. Perhaps, she thought, she could ask to be demoted to one of those.

Reality reasserted itself as she trudged past a construction site and found the rest of the town. A carriage with “#1 smoke” painted on its side rested outside a tatty smoke shop. “They’re not gonna take me back,” April thought. “They’re gonna kick me out at best. I’m a deserter—will be. About to be. How long have I been out here, anyway?” She had another plum and made her way through another tract of undeveloped land, pausing for a moment beside a fenced-off enclosure of humming pipes and electrical boxes, connected to nothing apparent.

Class was over by the time she passed a high school, but its field was alive with athletes for track and field. The sun was on its way down, and the bleachers were tinged with gold. April wanted to stop and watch, but she did not allow herself to do so. She still had to get home, and she wanted to do so by midnight. She thought for a sentimental moment she could feel the town tightening around her, getting ready for work the next day, but knew it was just her, beginning another wave of nerves.

She would be lonely once she left. Shortly after she dropped off her letter, probably the following day, there would be all the action and tension of her exit. She would race to the train station and spend the rest of the day looking out the window as she thundered out of the capital and into the spacious Equestrian countryside. Then, she would find somewhere to sleep, and then she could apply herself to finding a new job, a real job, something that paid money and did not endanger her or swear her to secrecy from loved ones. She would have to find her own place to live, something the Datura took care of for its members, but that was only one disadvantage in a sea of positives.

A mare was dragging an animal carrier to the front doors of an animal hospital, and April could hear a cat crying inside. She had never owned a cat, but had wanted to, and the sound as it disappeared into the building dampened her mood further. In a way, she was already as lonely as she would be in the coming months, but far from comforting her, the thought made her feel worse. There were a few points in her time with the Datura that she had thought she had crossed some invisible line, and she wondered which of these had been the worst, which had been the one to lead her to the Pegasus Advocates and to the fatal underpass by the river. More probably, there had been no single point, but it was easier to think in terms of distinctions like that.

The road curved, the first time since leaving home that she had taken any direction other than straight south, around a large hill. A few massive houses waited at the top, at the ends of serpentine paths buried in groves of fruit trees. She knew that this was the point at which she was officially more than halfway to Ink’s house. In the next forty minutes, she would be arriving at a canal, and she would take that path the rest of the way to the city’s edge, where she would then have to hunt for familiar scenery. The one image she recalled about Ink’s house was that it had a battered washing machine in the front yard, a telling detail and one that she had not before thought might be deliberate, a way to mark her house for anyone looking for her. As a team leader, April supposed she must occasionally interact with Daturas in trouble, seeking asylum or council. A shame that the mare herself was such a bitch, April thought.

How much of that, though, was the real Ink Pearl? April could not remember how long she said she had been in the Datura, but it had been a while. The mare was probably jaded and embittered, her ability to sympathize with newer Daturas atrophied. Or it could be something about April that Ink simply found disagreeable on a personal level. Or, it could be that she was just a cold, impatient mare, and nothing more. April entertained herself for a minute imagining Ink’s reaction to her note, and on the other side of the hill, she passed an empty church with a low roof, denomination unclear from the outside. She thought of Reverend Green and their awkward encounter the night before.

It was the first church of several in a row, after which she passed by a dinky pawn shop, closed for the day, its front door chained and gated, its windows shuttered. It was getting chilly, and she threw on her coat. Very few ponies were out, and the sense of loneliness reasserted itself. She had assumed at the start that she would fairly float back home on a cushion of relief, but was no longer sure. Coming night was making her more pessimistic, and she had not the strength of will to stop it.

She bowed her head and crossed the street to a hardware store that marked the end of the tiny business area of the newest neighborhood. Closer to the mountain, the suburbs were packed and well-kept, with bustling shopping centers and parks, restaurants and bars, places for the middle and upper-middle class. Those were gone to her eyes as she kept moving, a little quicker than before. Dogs barked behind chain-link fences, weeds grew up in gutters, trash choked storm drains, trees were larger and more wild. Seed pods crunched underhoof, and she could smell smoke, the source of which she soon observed in the front yard of a tract home. Its residents had pushed their furniture outside, where they lounged with beer and soda bottles covering a cooler’s top and a little fire pit throwing brown smoke into the darkening sky.

On her map, she had marked The Smoking Bowl as the point where she needed to turn off her street and take the canal path, and she was relieved to spot it from a distance. The only building of its kind in the area, the saloon was stylized as a log cabin, with a huge, plaster badger lying like an ugly throw pillow on its roof over the entrance. She had heard the live music before she had seen the sign, and stood on the little walkway around its perimeter, listening and not enjoying what she heard.

The canal ran under her hooves, some machinery buried in the overpass thrumming up her legs like the tremble of distant traffic. There was no gate and no wall, so she was able to quietly walk onto the thin road, absent a curb or rail to keep ponies from falling into the green water. The way the canal curved, gently southeast for a couple miles before diverting sharply east and then south again, she could see no more of Lower Canterlot, and had to trust her map that she was going the right way, and was not simply leaving town completely.

No joggers passed her by, no water technicians, no hikers or homeless. April Showers felt like a trespasser as she followed the curve and left familiar civilization behind her. Between trees on the other side, she saw a junkyard and the front of a destroyed truck, an enclave of savage-looking shadows from the setting sun. She had another thirty minutes of good light left, and she did not like the idea of wandering the canal path at night, but there was nothing for it. She was beyond feeling foolish, and walked on, scuffing tired hooves on dusty pavement.

The sound of water was not preferable to that of the city, and as light slipped away little by little, April found herself walking closer to the path’s outside edge. She could smell the algae and the trash churned up against weirs, the pungent air of decomposition and stagnation. She shook her head at clouds of gnats and kept her ears up for any noise other than the gurgle of water. It was easy to forget she was still in the city from such a position, blocked out by the trees. Once, she was able to make out the back of a house through a gap, its wall strung with wire, a shopping cart askew in a ditch running behind.

When the pavement ran out and the path thinned, April had to walk more slowly to not slip in odd patches of mud. The lights of an overpass broke through the trees as the path straightened, and she sighed with relief. The familiar, beckoning glow of streetlights buoyed her spirit, and she even jogged the last few minutes to the overpass. She looked into the black tunnel, splattered with poorly-covered graffiti, and flew over instead, for a moment enjoying her height over the cars, few of them out at this time of day, so far from anything. She did a quick circle over the road to confirm what she already knew: she was in the middle of nowhere, and would be for yet a while.

It was after nine o’ clock when the path gained surface again, and she met the first of a little cove of houses. Her canal was lower, and she could only see the glares of lit windows over the trees, the triangles of rooftops. When the path curled inwards, she flapped over to the other side and trotted through an opening where, briefly, she could reach the sidewalk. The concrete stairs were slick with mud, and she flew the last half, shaking off her hooves on a patch of gravel before an alley. No one was out, but she could imagine the sorts of ponies in the neighborhood. Somewhere, she had moved from a poor section of town to a gentrified, safe one. These were the houses of stay-at-home parents, businessponies, middle managers, and other above-average working folk. Square lawns, matte paint jobs, clean cars in clean driveways; April even spotted a tire swing hanging from a tree, a dog sleeping in its house right beside.

The street would rejoin the canal path toward the neighborhood’s end, and there she would have to venture back into wet darkness; excuse enough to stop at a low, brick wall and enjoy the third of her plums. The houses grew the farther she went, and she could see the fronts and sides of even larger ones built onto a slope nearby, where the land sunk down into a shallow valley: the valley where Discord had clashed with the Canterlot army months ago. She could see a solitary windmill far out on a tiny hill, but it was not connected to anything that she could see.

Phone lines bent over her head as she crossed a wide, empty intersection. The towers ran all the way up the mountain’s south side, down the north, and out into the plains and meadows until splitting off for Hoofington and Fillydelphia, and eventually Manehattan. These cities were still sheared off from the Crumbling, and the phone lines at the edges would just stand, disconnected and useless. April’s mind wandered with the lines, and it was not the first time that she wondered how they would get back down to the rest of the world after Discord was handled. She had distantly supposed she might somehow have work there, but no more.

Another apartment complex marked the spot where she went over the fence and got back on the canal trail. The antiquarian-style lanterns outside winked away behind trees and scrub brush, and April’s path was clear only by starlight and what little light pollution could be found on the city’s edge. Greater Canterlot was still patchily aglow with electricity and traffic.

She flew over another overpass, seeing even less than before. The nice neighborhood was a reduced stain of semi-light from flying height, and south of that, a new angle on the valley. She could see where it narrowed around a river and then vanished into the Everfree Forest. The forest was only fifty or so miles away, but in the dark and flat grassland between, it appeared twice that, a huge expanse of nothing. She thought of crossing it in a train, and her heart sank a little deeper.

Where she landed, there was the canal on one side and a utility staircase into a field of grass and piled lumber, absent signs of construction or digging. This she passed until her trail had curved away and she was again in the constricting corridor of trees and water. On the city’s side, the wall had grown to hide even the rooftops, and there were no more gates. She could see where the wall grew taller and thicker to meet with another overpass, quiet and imposing, a narrow tunnel bored through the concrete to its side. When she reached it, she looked up and looked through, seeing the path continue clearly on the other side. To give her wings a break, she ducked her head and trotted into the metal-lined tunnel, mind racing to not think about what she might be stepping on. Multiple times, something crunched under her shoes, and she told herself that it was broken glass.

On the other side, after climbing uphill and leaving the canal below to flow out of sight and mind into the southern wilderness, April spotted another tiny extension of town, the white dome of a church and a couple houses nearby. Before trees and wall had overtaken the view, she was astride a second canal, flowing the other way but to the same point she had passed. She tried to consult her map, but had not thought to bring a flashlight, and had to wait until the moon had risen higher. Her trail had brought her to the shoulder of a steep drop-off, and she could see only the tops of the trees on her side, the same side as the valley. No light came from that direction, and it was on a softly humming generator and leaning against a chain-link fence that she was finally able to figure out where she had wound up.

Ink Pearl lived in a neighborhood called Elm Heights, which covered a kidney-shaped section of Lower Canterlot’s south edge, a large and sparsely-populated blob of land. From what April remembered, Ink had driven her there by one of the main roads, which tapered off into a dirt trail and then curved without obvious offshoot into a little bulb of houses. Once April got there, she reasoned she could just look around for the distinctive washing machine.

In a wide field of wild trees and waving grass stalks, broken intermittently by small houses, April abandoned the canal trail and began her search for the road. On her map, she had indicated the one she thought most likely, cross referencing it against Wings and Jet’s house, from where Ink had driven her. On her map, the location had seemed easy, but in the fringes of the city, where every road seemed significant for the empty space surrounding it, her confidence dwindled. At each crossing, she had to stop, think about what she had just seen and what she could see from there, and decide whether it was the road she wanted. If it was, and she passed it, she would be set to wandering for the rest of the night.

“Landmarks? What landmarks were there?” She remembered a house with too many pink flamingos in the front yard, nothing helpful. There was a water tower in the distance beside another little hill, and April, thinking for a moment, decided that she could assume she had gone too far if it got close.

At the next road, she took to the air and counted the street lights. Ink’s road had gone south for a while before losing its pavement, and April thought she remembered that it was one of only a few that made it so far. She flew low and slowly over the dark patchwork of houses and black fields, sagging porches and square yards that expanded into emptiness. A lone car was making its way toward the city, its headlights flat, yellow feathers on the road.

She could see Ponyville from her height, just barely, a couple out-of-place lights nestled in a crook of the Everfree. She wondered whether her sister were still up, and what she was doing. She thought of Limestone, the runaway from the rock farm, and Allie Way—and then Colgate, who she hoped was far away.

One road looked likely to her, so she passed it to see whether the next one felt the same, and then circled back and landed under a street light. She felt like she had been out all day, not just the afternoon, and had to take a minute to herself when she remembered that she still had the entire return trip to make. Thoughts of collapsing into bed filled her mind, and she looked back at the city, where her own little apartment light was not even visible from her spot. Walking had been a stupid idea, but it was too late now. The buses would be done by the time she got back from the city’s edge, not that she had any money on her anyway.

She sighed and set off down the road, even farther from home, into the frayed edge of suburban Canterlot. It was another miserable forty minutes before she had found the house. She had found a cul-de-sac earlier and wasted time looking nearby, when Ink’s house was across a lot on the other side, at the end of a tiny road that April had missed every time she reached it.

Ink Pearl’s lights were off, her cramped house surrounded by tall grass and an overhanging tree. The washing machine was still there, its shattered eye pointed up at the lone street light on the corner, and April rustled around her saddlebags for her resignation letter. She read it under the streetlight twice more, and, heart racing, walked up the overgrown path to Ink’s front door. She partially expected the door to spring open, for Ink to look down at her with indignity, having somehow been awoken by April’s approach, and waited for a second for just that, frightened to move but more frightened to shove the note under the door.

No one moved, not a sound came to her in the darkness, and April folded her letter and slid it through the crack between door and front step. Then she sighed, looked up at the little house again, and half-ran to the dark street.

It was over. She had officially resigned from the Datura, and she could not be brought back. Whatever the future had in store, she thought distantly and excitedly, it was fine. She would take it one step at a time, and she would keep on. Giddily, she flew back up and away, remembering the direction to the canal trail and covering the distance much faster the second time.

By eleven-thirty, April’s legs and wings were sore and slow to respond, and she left the canal behind and set off down the long road that would take her home. The difficult part of her journey was over, she thought, but she knew how much longer there was to walk. By twelve-thirty, she was too tired to worry about appearing suspicious as she went through Griffontown, and by one, she could make out her first familiar buildings. She walked with single-minded purpose, her sore legs and hunger forgotten, her goal to simply get home as soon as possible. All other needs could wait.

By one-forty, she saw someone walking from the other direction, both of them approaching the wholesale growers she had passed in the early afternoon. Their gates had long ago slid shut, the trucks gone, the vegetables shaded for the night. April nodded courteously to the mare, but stopped, recognizing the face.

“April Showers?”

“You’re…” The gray mare with the pink and black mane, from the shelter. “I’m sorry.”

“Lacey.”

“Right, Lacey.” She looked around. “Um. Good to see you. Nice out, isn’t it?”

“Sure is.” The two looked around for a few seconds. “Well, I’ll be seeing you, then.”

“Yeah, good night.” They separated, but before Lacey had reached the intersection, April was running back to her. “Hey! Hey, hold on!” She stopped before Lacey, legs crying out in protest from the short run. “Hey, you live at the shelter, right?”

“I… suppose I do, yes.”

“Do you…” She felt dirty, sanctimonious, but she did not want to back out of the interaction. She flipped open her saddlebag. “I’ve got some fruit, if you’d like.”

Lacey peered into the bag and shook her head. “I couldn’t, but thank you.”

“You sure?”

“I really appreciate it, April.” She closed the saddlebag with a hoof. “If you had a warm bed in there, I might take you up on it, though.”

April laughed politely, and so did Lacey. When the mare was turning again, April blurted out, “I have an apartment.”

Her step faltered.

“If you want. I mean—” She hastened to catch up with Lacey’s long-legged stride. “If that’s not weird. I can crash on the couch tonight.”

“Oh, April.”

“I mean it.” She didn’t, and she hadn’t, but saying so made her feel bolder. “I really do mean it. If you want, I mean. My apartment’s just up the road.”

Lacey looked at her, sighed, and then laughed. “Sure? Yeah, let’s go. You’re—I’m not imposing or anything?”

“It’s the least I could do.”

“Okay.” She laughed nervously and fell into line beside April, and the two of them were back at the apartment by two. April collapsed onto the couch and let her wings lie limp, and Lacey just stood in the entryway. “This is really kind of you, April.”

“Just being a good neighbor.” The sudden collapse had left her lightheaded, and with it came giddiness as she remembered all the good that was sure to come of her resignation—all the good, and none of the bad. She felt completely free, and an insane idea whipped through her brain, borne on the tide of floating joy, which she struggled to hold back. “Say Lacey, I’m leaving tomorrow, never coming back, how about you just live here for a while? No strings, I promise.” She had to laugh at herself, and Lacey chuckled too.

“Something the matter?”

“I just…” She sighed again. It felt so good to breathe, to lie on a couch, and April smiled stupidly at the ceiling for a minute.

“Are you okay?”

She shook her head. “Sorry, sorry. Lost in my head. Uh, I’ve got food in the kitchen if you’re hungry. Shower’s in the bathroom, bedroom’s right there.”

“I’d love something to eat,” Lacey said. “I don’t mind saying now, I turned down your fruit to be polite.” She went into the kitchen. “Wow, look at this place. I thought you said you were a student.”

April froze. “It’s, uh, complicated.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine,” Lacey said, emerging with half a sandwich. “Thank you so much, seriously.”

“It’s all good, Lacey. Really.” She sat up, and her eyes went to the pulse crystal behind her pile of movies. She had not hidden it well, not expecting company, and wondered whether Lacey had noticed it. “What were you doing out there?”

Lacey sat, and April scooted over. Up close, she could see a lot of makeup on her new friend’s face, and she smelled a strong perfume. “Just living my life,” Lacey said.

The two of them looked at the blank TV, and April finally turned it on.

“What about you?” Lacey asked.

“Evening stroll.”

Lacey nodded, and they watched TV for a while in silence. After a while, Lacey asked, “why do you have a crystal?”

April just looked at her, then to the crystal, unambiguously visible from the couch. Her entire mind felt frozen up, stalled, defeated with the day and overloaded with emotion. She could not even begin to form a plausible lie, so she just said, “it’s part of my job.”

“…As a student?”

April turned away slowly. In her head, she was yelling at herself to focus, to wake up and figure something out, but she couldn’t. It simply didn’t matter anymore, but now, rather than freeing, it was frightening. She felt trapped, but she was incapable of reacting how she knew she should, and only gave Lacey a bland look and a shrug. Whatever Lacey might suggest, she would just agree to it and let that be the conversation.

But Lacey did not say anything, and when April looked away again, she had her words. “It doesn’t matter, because I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Moving out?”

“Sort of.” “Am I really doing this?” she thought quietly. “I’m leaving town, probably forever.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I guess that’s why I don’t feel nervous having you around, ‘cause I’m gone tomorrow anyway. You can stay here as long as you need, honestly. I’ll give you the key.”

“Whoa, whoa, April, let’s slow down,” Lacey said, holding up her hooves as April made to stand. “You better tell me what’s going on. Maybe I can help.”

“You can’t.” She said it innocently, not meaning to sound affected.

“Let’s just sit back down.” She put a hoof on April’s shoulder, and April sat, feeling curiously accused, like she was about to be interrogated. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

She took a deep breath. “It’s not like I’m on the run or anything like that. I’m blacklisted. I just pissed off some powerful ponies, and they’re not going to want me getting away from it.”

Lacey glanced at the crystal again as she rose. “Then let’s pack you up now, April. Celestia above, if I knew you were—”

“Tomorrow. They’re asleep. That is, I left a note, they’ll see it tomorrow, I’ll be blacklisted tomorrow. Tonight’s okay.”

“You should get a head start.” She did not sit down, and April looked up at her, feeling foolish.

“If I get up early—”

“Tonight is better. Trust me, if you’re running from someone powerful, you need as much time as you can get.”

Noticing her confidence and wondering about it, April nonetheless said, “tomorrow is fine, I know it.” She was so tired.

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely sure.” To prove it, she lay back on the couch and closed her eyes, miming confidence. “I know what I have to do, it’s just doing it.”

“If you’re sure you know what you’re doing.”

“You can take the bed tonight. If I’m gone by the time you wake up, then…” She waved a hoof lazily. “I don’t expect to be back.”

Lacey sighed and sat back down, and April opened an eye. After a while, Lacey asked, “where are you going?”

“East somewhere, I guess. As far as the train can take me.”

“You don’t know.”

“If you mean specifically, no. Should I?”

“It helps,” Lacey said. “It’s not necessary, though.”

April sat back up and faced her. Tired though she was, she could not relax. “Have you had to run before?”

“Manehattan to Applewood, then Applewood to Trottingham, then Trottingham back here.”

“From who?”

“Various ponies.” She flipped her mane back. “A little bit from myself. You learn a lot about yourself when you’re running from something. The journey shows you things—you know how it goes.”

“I’ve heard that.”

“It’s true.”

“So,” April moved a pillow behind her back. “How’d you get from Trottingham to Canterlot, but without any money? That’s a long way.”

“You might not believe me, but I actually ran into the Elements of Harmony in Trottingham. We’ve interacted before, long before.”

April widened her eyes.

“It’s never been good with us. They don’t really like me, let’s say. But in Trottingham, they took pity—some of them did, anyway, enough of them—and had me hitch a ride with someone else who was coming up here. They gave me a little money too, but it didn’t go far. Now… I’ve got the shelter.”

“At least it’s something.”

Taking her meaning, Lacey did not pursue a complaint about her living situation. Instead, she said, “they’ve been good to me, better than I’ve been. That’s for sure.”

“The reverend really likes you.”

“I like him.” She looked sidelong at April. “Not like that. I’ve known him all my life, actually. He’s a family friend.”

April nodded, envious suddenly. To her, it seemed that she and Lacey were passing each other on their own life tracks, both going in the direction the other had come from. Lacking anything truly thoughtful to say, she asked whether Lacey liked it at the shelter.

“I get three meals a day, somewhere to sleep, a roof over my head. I can’t complain, but… I know there’s something better for me. I mean—that’s not really right, everyone there thinks that, and they should—what I mean is I don’t think I’m cut out for working there either.”

“What are you cut out for?”

“That’s the big question. I thought I had it a few times now.”

April nodded encouragingly.

“I wanted to be an actress for a while, but that didn’t work. Modeling, can’t do that, and I hate office work. I don’t know. I don’t know if you’ve ever felt this way, but it’s like I’ve spent all this time looking for something to do, and I still haven’t found it, and now it feels like I’ve wasted the best years of my life.”

“Yeah.” She didn’t want to say, but Lacey was touching her own thoughts with alarming alacrity.

“I’ve been saving up money for an airship so I can leave town. I don’t know where, maybe Fillydelphia—I don’t know if they’re recovered from their tornado, I haven’t heard.”

“How close are you?”

“Not even. A down payment on a crappy airship costs around a thousand bits, and I have two hundred-some.”

April tried to remember how much money she had left. After a few grocery store trips, and no income, she was down to fewer than five hundred bits. “There goes that idea.”

“Who knows, maybe by the time I’ve gotten the money to get out, I won’t want to leave anymore.”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t know,” Lacey said. “I don’t want to disappoint Reverend Green, that’s another thing. He’s glad to have me working at the shelter now.”

“That makes sense.” She yawned twice in a row, and Lacey got up.

“Thanks again for this. If you end up staying in town, I’ll find a way to repay you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” April said, turning over.

“I mean it.”

April was already asleep, and Lacey turned off the light and went to bed.

At the Pegasus Advocate encampment, safe and secluded in the forest and under cover of night, the pegasi gathered around a massive bier in the cleared common area for one of their private rituals.

Starting in the afternoon, they had pushed the tables off to the trees, swept the area of trash and debris, and piled logs and tinder. It was inglorious, communal work, and over each of them hung the respect of that work, making them serious. Understanding one another in the space of that work, the Pegasus Advocates moved with strange cohesion; not a one jostled the other, no arguments arose, no misunderstandings or mistakes broke into more than respectful exchanges. White Wine had closed her bar early that day to be there with her brothers and sisters, laboring alongside them to build what would become a massive bonfire.

Once night fell and the pyre was ready, White Wine was the first to take up her torch, which she did slowly and reverently, the silence ringing around her as she began. With the torch lit in her mouth, she set flame to tinder, then returned to the circle and passed it to the next pegasus. When it was clear of her mouth, she said, “Do you accept this fire of our life and our spirit, sister?” To this, the pegasus nodded gravely, and on down the line it would go until the bonfire towered and every pegasus in attendance had added their piece. Those who went later would symbolically bow at the fire’s edge, it being too hot to reach.

They called it “The Night of Reason,” when the most devoted Pegasus Advocates would meet every month to reinforce core values, renew their faith in the organization and its cause, and to simply get to know each other better. The only formalities conferred by tradition were the time of day—best to hide the giant tail of smoke—and the general shroud of solemnity that usually held for the first half of the night. As the Pegasus Advocates shared their stories and encouraged one another in prejudice and hatred, books and speeches would gradually be replaced with liquor and games; the fire would explode upwards with wanton hoots and the smells of gasoline and overproof alcohol, and the forest would ring with unbridled, furious fun. It would not do for White Wine to say so, but she much preferred the latter half of the ritual to the former. Rarely did she get to cut loose with her sisters, and even more rarely could she do so without them feeling awkward around her.

It was just when the festivities were beginning that Long Luxury drew White Wine aside and showed her what she had brought to the gathering. She had kept her car parked right outside the camp’s entrance, and as the first bottle of bourbon was making its way around a little group seated on old tires, voices rising with laughter, White Wine went with Luxury out to the dark road to see what her minion had to show.

In the back seat, in a sack, unadorned and horrible, was Whippoorwill’s head, which Long Luxury rolled out for White Wine to better see. Its unicorn horn was shaved to an abnormally sharp point, and its teeth had been knocked out, but White Wine knew the face right away.

“Good. Who was with you?”

“Me, Winter Leaves, and Passionate Promise.”

White Wine looked at her; she could tell that Long Luxury was leaving something out.

“We brought a sprout too, just to see.”

“Oh yeah?” She saw fear cross Long Luxury’s eyes.

“We wanted to see if she could hang with us, if she was right. She talked a big game, so we had to see.”

“‘Had to’? ‘We’?” White Wine led Long Luxury back to the fire, glowing like the mouth of Tartarus behind the trees. Whistling shrilly, she silenced the fun. “Winter, Promise, can I borrow you for a second?”

The two pegasi slunk over, abashed. A cigarette drooped from Winter Leaves’ lip.

“This will be quick.” She ushered them inside one of the empty cabins. “Hopefully. We’re talking business. The sprout who went with you to get Whippoorwill.”

Long Luxury knew better than to speak out of turn, but she sorely wanted to. White Wine gave her an insincere smile.

“Her name was April Showers,” Passionate Promise said. “Weedy little thing. She almost wet herself during the getaway.”

“Whose idea was it to bring her?”

No one spoke at first.

“All of yours?”

“It was mine,” Long Luxury said. “I wanted to.” Beside her, Winter Leaves exhaled, relieved.

White Wine nodded. “It was her idea, and no one else’s? We agree?” Silence from all three pegasi. “Well all righty-o then. You two, you can go. Save me a spot for charades if it’s happening tonight.”

“You got it, ma’am,” they said at once, scampering back out to the crowd.

When the doors had bumped closed, White Wine turned her gaze on Long Luxury. The slinky pegasus looked back with attempted steel, but White Wine knew what feelings hid behind those eyes. “Luxury, you know I don’t like sprouts going on jobs.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You wanted to test her? Explain that, please.” She went back to the doors. “We can talk on the way to your car.”

Long Luxury, head low in deference, said, “She’d been hanging around, and we—”

“You mean you.”

“Yes. I wanted to see if she could handle it. Either she’d be spooked, and we wouldn’t see her anymore, or she’d be real.”

White Wine said nothing until they were back at the car, where she fixed her eyes on the black X on Long Luxury’s forehead, the mark of a true Pegasus Advocate. Silent eye contact, White Wine had learned, could be the most persuasive thing in a pony’s repertoire.

“She spooked, ma’am, she wasn’t back today—which we kind of expected, but I had hoped not. I… had a feeling about her, had it the first day.”

“You thought she could be one of us.”

Long Luxury nodded. “We went to her apartment earlier to talk to her. Or silence her, one or the other. Passionate Promise wanted her dead; I hoped if we caught her, we could bring her back in. Maybe she was just a little shaken up.”

“Well, that was your intent, wasn’t it? You brought her for this.” She nudged the sack with a hoof. “You certainly didn’t expect a happy reaction from this sprout.”

“You’re right, I did want her shaken.”

“You’re holding out on me, sister,” White Wine said softly, gently. “I’m not upset, just confused. Why not kill her with him? If it was clear she wouldn’t do, then there’s no reason to keep her alive.”

“…Passionate Promise was exaggerating a little, ma’am. The sprout did okay. She didn’t freak out, she followed orders. I didn’t want to snuff her in case she could come around.”

White Wine nodded. “I respect your judgment on a lot of things, Luxury, you know that.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“She didn’t show at all today?”

“Not at all, and we didn’t see her at the apartment either.”

“I’d like you to go back tomorrow morning and see if she’s there. If not, ask the neighbors, make some calls, see if you can find her. I don’t like that someone’s out there with your names and descriptions.”

“You got it, ma’am.”

“Bring Winter Leaves and Broad Daylight, and keep it between you three.”

“Not Passionate Promise?”

“I want to see how she acts if she doesn’t know you’ve tied this loose end up.”

“Is something the matter?”

White Wine looked at her.

“Yes, ma’am. We can leave tonight, if you prefer.”

“You can stay here tonight.” She paused to let relief spread on Long Luxury’s face. “We need someone to clean up.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” She looked at her as if to ask whether there was anything else, and then went to the sack.

“I’ll put it back. You go to your friends.”

Luxury gave her a single questioning look, which she contained just as fast as it had come out, and went back to the trees.

“Bright and early, Luxury,” White Wine said, following behind. “As soon as the first rays of sunshine are on the road, so are you!” Her voice echoed in the mountainside woods, and Long Luxury replied with a strong “yes, ma’am!”

When she was alone, she went to Whippoorwill’s head and kicked it back into its sack. She had had to look at it sufficiently long when Luxury had shown her, long enough for the dead eyes to reach out to her. She had been a fool to trust him, and worse than that, she had known it even then. She should not have met him when he reached out the first time, but their former friendship had swayed her. She had not imagined that it could be tainted, but there it was, and all the evidence she needed in a stinking bag at her hooves, a humbling lesson.

What no one knew, not even her most trusted brothers and sisters, was that she still sometimes harbored kind feelings for her fellows. It was one of those feelings that had brought her back together with Whippoorwill, and which had slowed her in seeking his destruction after he had turned on her. Not sympathy, and not pity, but occasionally a splinter of kindness would find her and stay her wilder decisions. She claimed it to be good business sense or a realistic outlook, and it frequently was, but she was always aware when a thread of kindness had inextricably woven itself into her reasoning. Aware, and frightened that someone else might recognize it.

Why it should happen with Whippoorwill, she could not say, for he had been just as toxic as she, as aware and unrepentant. Most of her foes were not really hers, not personally, but enemies of the Pegasus Advocates; Whippoorwill had been different, close enough to her to make her question just how securely she held her core beliefs. If she could be shaken by kindness for something as simple as an old friend, then was she strong enough to lead her brothers and sisters?

She imagined someone like Long Luxury asking her that question, and her measured response. Whippoorwill had been like an animal beaten into unthinking aggression, and did not such a beast deserve at least a little mercy? Did White Wine owe him more than a speedy death—which she had specifically ordered be withheld? Was he owed anything by anyone, or was she? Such questions, given voice, would have her hanging over that roaring bonfire by the very ponies who now jumped at her presence.

She kicked the head, inside its bag, and slung it back into Long Luxury’s car. Always before, her kinder side would disappear the minute she stopped thinking about it, but she could not stem the simmering feeling of hidden guilt as she walked back through the trees.

White Wine came to a group of burly mares, all in matching black and pink latex body suits, playing pinochle and passing a bottle of cheap vodka around. “Room for one more?” she asked, and the mares happily made space for her. She drank of the alcohol offered her, and thus the unwelcome feeling was dulled.

April forced herself off the couch at the crack of dawn, smacking her alarm clock rudely and staggering to the bathroom. Lacey was still in bed, snoring lightly, and April packed as quietly as she could. She did not know how much time she had, but Ink Pearl seemed like an early riser to her. She had to assume that a Datura was already on the way to her apartment, perhaps Ink herself. Throwing toiletries, as few clothes as she thought she could get away with, and as much food as possible into her bags, she scrawled a note for Lacey, left her key on the table with it, and trotted with gritty eyes into a beautiful November morning.

She had loose bits enough to get a train ticket and a taxi to the bank. Her legs felt like wood as she stood on the curb and waited, and she silently cursed herself for her fanciful idea the day before.

There was no line at the bank, and it was with a small smile of triumph that she told the teller what she needed—a smile that died as soon as the teller frowned at April’s identification.

“Is something wrong?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the teller said. “But it appears this account has been frozen. As of… let me see… four thirty-two this morning.”

“Frozen?” Her lips dried in an instant, and she heard herself ask, as if through a tunnel, “do I have any money?”

“Oh, the money’s there, it’s just that you’re no longer authorized to access it. It’s a corporate account, perhaps you can call your employer and ask for a release. Some companies automatically freeze accounts if there’s been an overdraft. Although… I don’t see anything like that here.”

“It’s okay,” April said, her voice thin as ice. “Thanks. Have a great day.” She went back outside in a daze, and without the money for a second cab ride. With the sickening feeling that she was too late, she looked down at her hooves and started running. Four thirty-two. Ink had known of her desertion for two hours already.

Her only consolation was that she was within earshot of the train station. A whistle sounded off as she got to a painful jog down the sidewalk.

The land around Ink Pearl’s house was enchanted in various ways, some for surveillance, some for defense, some for emergency evacuation or storage. Of all her enchantments, the most frequently used were the enchantments to let her know when someone entered her yard. If the approaching party, or anything they carried, had the magical potential greater than or equal to that of a pulse crystal, a light would flash inside her house and a little chime would go off. If the approaching party did not possess any sufficiently strong magic, just the light would go off, something which Ink could sleep through if she had had a long day.

When she woke herself up, dreaming of her work, and saw the approach light, Ink Pearl went straight to the door, where she stepped on April’s note. It was a little after four, and April was fast asleep, when Ink received the news. At first, she didn’t fully believe it, but as her head cleared of sleep, she took in the resignation, slowly and painfully, feeling her world drop out from beneath.

The Canterlot Datura operatives were still mostly in hiding, with Ink was the de facto leader until the mare who was Fleur dis Lee could come back in a new body. She had four operatives she could reach out to directly, and five more she could only access through dead drops or radio signals: nine total, not counting any functionaries, like office plants or medical technicians.

First, she called the bank and froze April’s account. Then she called her three other peers and told them to be on the lookout. She called her connections at the nearby train stations next, and then she rooted around in her attic for her potions and recording equipment, infrequently used. Then, sitting at the telephone with a thermos of coffee, she began writing April Showers’ life story.

April caught the eight-oh-four train to the tiny town of Stringburg, a freckle of civilization on the northeast corner of the Everfree Forest. The train station was a shell of girders and skylights, with no personality or decoration, only weary travelers, among whom she felt as one as she looked around. No one had time in the morning, and while she was waiting for her train, she watched. Most ponies were heading out to the big cities to the north, and when her train pulled up, only a few boarded with her. She had most of the train to herself, and selected an empty cabin in the very back from which to stare out at the city.

At eight-sixteen, they were rattling out of the trainyard, and April covered in thirty minutes the distance she had covered on hoof the previous day. Lower Canterlot swam past her, still pale in the young light. Tall, wooden fences covered in graffiti slid past next to dreary, concrete stanchions, bases damp with overgrowth. The canal was a broken, mossy cord in the middle distance, eventually turning away and going underground where their train took them around the southeastern rim of the city. As they were stopping for another station, April pressed her face against the glass to see whether she could spot Ink’s house inside the scattered neighborhood that touched tangents with their tracks.

The city was awake by the time they were reaching the eastern border, and it was nine twenty-one when they had officially reached the countryside. Only then did April let herself relax.

Among the standard Datura equipment were Ink’s invisibility amulet, a simple light-bending article, and the Quick Boots, which allowed for accelerated walking. With these packed into saddlebags light with ampules of potion, a pulse crystal, and her ID, she slipped out of her house and drove to the train station. She would put on her boots there, where she could walk along the tracks without having to worry as much about slamming into pedestrians.

She had gotten the call at seven-fifty that a mare matching April Showers’ description was begging for money for a train ticket. Ink made a quick call to Chilly Clouds, and then she was away, her hoof burning to punch the accelerator.

It had been shaping up to be a long week already, and her plans had not room for a sudden Datura termination. Sunburst, the intermediary at the shelter, had his own information-gathering assignments, with which Ink had been needing more and more to help. It seemed that she had spent nearly all of her last week following up on ponies he thought were suspicious, meeting him for false alarms, and once posing as his older sister for what turned out to be a fruitless lead. There was him, and then there was the sky dome; Ink had given that project over to one of the team leaders helping with its setup, but she was still in charge of its operation at the highest level. She had to fund the electricity it required, the constant maintenance, and technicians’ wages, and her Datura bank account was not infinite. Figuring out where next to pull money from to keep the sky dome aloft was a daily juggling act for Ink, and the primary reason why she could not move ahead with bringing more Daturas back into the fold; if she did, she wouldn’t be able to send them on assignments, so there was no point. Only April and Sunburst were excepted, partially because they had been with her before the sky dome, and partially because their jobs were some of the cheapest. Adding to that the stacks of medical forms from Chilly Clouds that she had to sign, as well as an ever-changing pattern of dead drop locations and ciphers, she had no time for weak links in her tenuous operation.

Slamming on the brakes for a red light she thought she could beat, Ink snarled to herself and cranked the radio off. April had been infuriatingly vague in her note, saying only that she couldn’t take the work anymore, and was out. There had probably been some unpleasantness with the PAs, but she had to remind herself that the cause was unimportant, that the only thing to do was contain April and hopefully finish with enough time to make some of her evening calls. She had a conference with one of her contacts in the police, someone who thought she was a security consultant, and it had taken her weeks to schedule.

The mare who had been Fleur dis Lee was somewhere in town, but that was all she knew; it was not enough to bring any comfort. She did not know whether the mare would eventually turn up and want her leadership position back, or whether she, Ink, would receive an official promotion one day and stay where she was. Communication between her and the mare who had been Fleur was reduced to matters of strictest necessity. She would have to contact her regarding April’s fate, and that presented its own frustrations.

“I’m gonna have to strip her apartment too, shit,” Ink thought. That would be another ninety minutes, at least. She sighed as the last of her pity for her frightened operative drained off.

The train paused at a station in far view of the Everfree Forest, from which April could see a single dirt road snaking toward the trees, a little line of carts jostling with bales of tall grass. The train was quiet, and her mind too. She could still see Canterlot if she twisted in her seat and put her face to the window’s corner.

Someone tapped on her cabin door, and she bade them enter, not for a moment imagining who it could be.

In Quick Boots, Ink had kept pace with the train at a healthy trot, and with her invisibility amulet, she had boarded without difficulty once it stopped. She waited for them to be well between stopping points before wandering, still invisible, until she found April’s cabin, where she doffed her amulet and rapped lightly on the door.

“Come in.”

April’s reaction was like a rabbit in headlights, a speechless gawk that would have turned to babbling fear if Ink had not preemptively drawn her crystal, closing the cabin door in the same motion.

“This is just to get your attention, April,” she said. “Here.” She fished around in her bag and withdrew her ID card. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“How… what? Where?”

“Don’t worry about it.” She took a seat and replaced her ID on the table with a vial of opaque, green liquid. That the procedure would be so much easier for April than for Ink and Chilly made her seethe quietly, and she pushed the bottle toward her former employee a little aggressively. “Drink this, please.”

“Uh, no thanks.”

Not looking away, Ink tapped her crystal. “Voices down, please.”

April took a deep breath, not taking her eyes off the crystal, and let it out slowly. On her face, the clear lines of hatred and fear screwed themselves up. “At least tell me what it is,” April said sullenly. “Why are you even here?”

“Well, April, since you chose not to submit your resignation through the proper channels, I had no choice but to come to you.”

“I wasn’t gonna do anything. I want to live my life, that’s all. As far away from you as possible.”

“I can respect that,” Ink said, not trying to sound convincing. “These are the regulations, though. Drink up, we’ve got a long ride ahead of us.”

“Tell me what it is.”

Ink pulled the crystal closer to herself when she saw April’s eyes flash to it. Ink sighed. “I don’t like doing this either, April. All right? It’s a medium-strength sedative to make you compliant for the termination process.”

“Psh. Great.”

“You’re going to drink this, then we’re going to take the train back home, then I’m gonna wipe your memory.”

April batted the vial off the table, where it landed, unharmed, on the floor. Ink picked it up with her horn and put her hoof to the crystal.

“You’re not gonna use that in here.”

“I hope not!” One thing she had admired about Flitter and April was the speed with which she could go from meekness to defiance under pressure. It was a quality that made for quick-thinking, proactive Daturas, and in the field, those were indispensable. In the train, however, Ink only found it frustrating. She felt like she was on her last nerve, and did not have the patience to admit respect for her foes. She just wanted the day to end, and it was still morning.

April looked at the vial, and Ink read the understanding in her eyes. She could fight it all she wanted, but she was cornered, and when her hotter emotions dimmed, she would realize it fully. Ink waited for just that, one hoof on the crystal, not speaking, going over what she would tell April once they had her back in town.

“What about Cloudchaser? What about my parents?”

“They’ll be informed of Flitter’s unfortunate demise in Applewood.”

April glared at her.

“You won’t be harmed in this process. You’re losing your memories of our relationship only.”

“What about Flitter?”

“She was involved with us before you came along, April.”

“So I’m just gonna get kicked out in this form, and that’s it? I don't get a say?”

“You chose to resign. If you’d like to change your mind, I can see if—”

“Screw you.” She exhaled and looked down at the tabletop, murmuring to herself, eyes shimmering. “They’ll be okay, though?”

“They’ll be sad for Flitter’s death, but otherwise, everything will be normal. You can go back home, I’ll release your bank account, and then you get on with your life. I’ll have to put a note in your file to make you ineligible for future recruitment.”

“Cloudchaser’s a Datura too, I don’t know if you know that. I want her to know the truth.”

“Nope, nope,” Ink said, shaking her head. One thing about Flitter and April for which she had no patience was her tendency to lose sight of the facts when beset with trying emotions. “We can’t have her tempted to come looking for you.”

“Oh, come on.”

“It’s against regulations.” She inched the vial closer. “I know this is hard for you, but it only gets easier after this. Drink this, and you’re done. You’ll coast through the termination after that.”

“Can I get last words?” April asked gruffly. Ink thought she sounded defeated, but kept a hoof on the crystal.

“If you can make them quick.”

April closed her eyes. “Fine. I just… You…” She shook in her seat, silently crying. A twinge of guilt hit Ink—she had never been in charge of a termination before, only assisted with them. She let April cry for a minute, expecting a torrent of insults and accusations, but April said nothing. When she had dried her eyes, she looked at Ink, cornered and sad, and grabbed the vial.

“Let me,” Ink said, magically uncapping it.

“I wish we’d never met,” April said, tipping up the glass and swallowing the liquid.

“I’m very sorry to hear that.” She was, but she knew April wouldn’t believe it. She took back her vial and waited a couple minutes, watching while April visibly relaxed.

“I don’t feel any different.”

“Can you stand for me, April?”

April shrugged and slid out of her seat to stand before Ink.

“Give me a little dance.”

April did a little jig in the wobbling cabin.

“That’s good, you can sit now.”

“You’re the boss,” April said. “So what next? I’m going back to get my memory wiped?”

Ink sighed. “That’s right. We’ll get out at the next station and catch a train back. I’ve got enough sedative to keep you in line for the return journey.”

“That’s smart of you.”

She clicked her tongue, dreading the boring ride home, realizing she should have brought a book. “Yup. Get comfortable for now.”

April slumped over in her seat.

It was a little after four when they got back to Ink’s house. They had reached Canterlot before three, but Ink had to stop to sweep April’s apartment for any possible reminders of her former life. The pulse crystal, anything with Flitter’s name on it, any possible recording material, any receipts or marked maps, it all went away. With April still soft and compliant, Ink needed only ask her where to find the hidden personal affects. April had few, and then Ink brought her to her house. She let April in and left her on the couch, then went to the kitchen to talk with Chilly Clouds.

“What are we gonna do about the PAs now?” Chilly Clouds asked.

“It sucks, but we’ll just have to ignore them,” Ink Pearl said. “I can’t spare anyone else now.”

“Their neighborhoods are doing worse every week.”

“Yep. I know it.”

Chilly shook her head.

“Let’s get this over with. I’ve got the script right here, and we can use my recorder. Unless you brought one? Mine crackles a lot.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“We’ll use mine.”

The two Daturas sat around the coffee table on low seats and faced April, who looked back with infuriating placidity. Ink brought out her papers and slid one to April, who signed before Ink had even said what it was for.

She got out her recorder and placed it on the table in plain view, turned it on. “The date is Monday, November twenty-eighth, thirty-three fifteen. The time is…” She checked her mantlepiece clock. “Four twenty-four p.m. Interview conducted by junior team leader Ink Pearl, assisted by medical team director Chilly Clouds. Subject: termination of junior operative, April Showers, formerly junior operative Flitter via standard body-replacement procedure. Interview conducted at Ink Pearl’s residence in Canterlot, under no significant duress or emergent circumstances. Please confirm your identities, ladies.”

Chilly leaned in. “Chilly Clouds, medical team director.”

April cleared her throat. “Uh, April Showers, junior operative.”

“Thank you,” Ink said. “Subject attempted to desert the organization during a covert assignment, leaving a note of resignation under interviewer’s door at some point in the middle of the night on Sunday, November twenty-seventh. Interviewer later apprehended subject on a southeast-bound train out of the city. After administration of standard compliance potion, subject voluntarily returned for termination. Her apartment has been scrubbed, and here follows…” She heaved a long sigh directly into the recorder. “Standard deep memory wipe procedure. Chilly? The potion, please. Let’s try to get done by dinner.”

Chilly gave April the innocuous-looking memory wipe potion, and April drank without any hesitation. She gagged, and Chilly got up to get her a soda from Ink’s fridge.

After a few minutes, the interview resumed.

“Subject has consumed standard memory-wipe potion.” Ink shuffled her papers, on which was written the condensed story of April Showers’ life. “Your name is April Showers, that is how you were born. Your cutie mark pertains to your skills with the operation and usage of rain clouds, hence your name. You were born in Canterlot, and you live there now, on your own, in an apartment on the northwest side of town. You are an only child, and you lost both of your parents after moving out of their house. Your father died in a carriage crash, and your mother died two years later, bereaved, having seemingly given up on life. You were at college in Cloudsdale at the time, where you focused on your studies at the expense of making lasting friendships.

“You moved to Ponyville for a few months, where you got a job at the local spa. You enjoyed the work, but it didn’t pay well, and it was not long before the small-town atmosphere began to suffocate you. You would occasionally venture to the edge of the Everfree Forest in search of stimulation, and once, you ventured too deep and got lost. Fortunately, one of the locals was nearby and helped you find your way out, and since then, you never went into the forest. Your memories of the forest are hazy at best.

“You had a brief romantic relationship with Spike the dragon, of Ponyville, but it didn’t work out. You remember him fondly, and his demise was one of the things that ultimately made you move back to Canterlot.”

She turned her page, and April looked at her with blank eyes, taking in everything she was told, her brain quietly rewriting itself.

“There was a mare named Minuette Colgate in Ponyville, a surgeon at the Ponyville hospital. You two were friends for a while, but you grew to distrust and even fear her when she revealed herself to harbor psychopathic or sociopathic tendencies. You remember an incident in which she bloodied her own mouth in order to convince the town that she had been in a fight with someone else. You were happy when you heard she left Ponyville, and you hope that you never meet her again. While you disliked her, she did not bear any ill will toward you, that you know of. You do not fear her seeking you out in the future.

“You were in an airship heading toward Canterlot when you witnessed the third battle, on the plains. You saw an armada of airships from Discord turn and betray their master, and by this, the battle was won. You feel pride and optimism for your country and your rulers, and while you are sad that the battle had to happen, you feel honored that you were able to witness it.

“Upon landing in Canterlot, you met up with two mares you met through the spa, names Wings and Jet, not related to you. You roomed with them for a few weeks before finding a job at The Equine Sun, which you did not enjoy, but which paid well. You rented an apartment shortly after and moved out of Wings’ and Jet’s house. You separated from them on good terms, but you were not friends. You have no desire to seek them out in the future.”

She turned a page.

“Once you moved into your new apartment, a group of Pegasus Advocates attempted to recruit you, and you went to a meeting in their camp out of curiosity. You thought they might be a good fit at first, but quickly realized that you did not like their methods or beliefs, and stopped attending their meetings. You are not sure whether they will try to contact you again, and you worry that they might.”

She turned to Chilly Clouds, who nodded with a soft, tired smile.

“Now for the shitty part,” Ink mumbled. “April, please give me the names of every pony who you remember well, and a brief description of your relationship with them. Start with your earliest memories.”

The script that Ink had read was only the beginning of the interview, the recitation of which primed the pony’s mind for a more precise, intensive reworking. Properly wiping a memory was not just providing a story to substitute the pony’s actual life. Any loose detail, any piece of memory that didn’t make sense or didn’t fit with the given narrative could unravel the false memory, or else lead to permanent psychological damage. Ink and Chilly spent the next few hours going over everyone April and Flitter had known, how they had known each other, what April best remembered doing with them, how she felt, and what memories of them she had carried. For all of these, Ink and Chilly had to choose whether to change them, whether they could possibly lead to a rediscovery of April’s true past. As a consequence of her recent body change, and the covert nature of her former assignment, she concluded the interview with only two friends: Lacey Kisses and Reverend Green, of the abuse victim shelter.

By eight o’ clock, Ink said the words she had been aching to say all day. “April Showers, you have been at my house on a social call. We met at the shelter, and I offered to have you over for lunch. You accepted, and we stayed here, chatting. The encounter was pleasant, but you do not have any interest in pursuing a friendship. Chilly Clouds is my friend, who I have over occasionally, and you have no interest in her either. I am offering to drive you back home tonight. Do you accept?”

April looked at her and Chilly, eyes glazed, and nodded.

“This concludes the interview.” Ink nodded at Chilly, who gave April another potion. After drinking, April got in Ink’s car, and her fugue had cleared before they were out of the neighborhood.

April looked out the window with a grin, pleasantly amazed with the time she had spent with Ink Pearl. She had only met her that day, yet the two had hit it off like old friends.

“Thanks for driving me back, Ink,” she said.

“It’s no problem, no problem at all.”

The two made small talk all the way back to April’s apartment, and then Ink shook her hoof and drove away. April walked to the couch and flopped down, nodding along to a song stuck in her head. “What to do now?” she asked herself. She would need to get to bed early because she was volunteering at the shelter the next day, and she needed to work on finding a new job. Still, it was only nine o’ clock.

April Showers popped in a movie and relaxed.