Celestia gave a flowery speech before what looked like the whole city, thanking each individual Element for their service, enumerating some of the more family-friendly trials they had gone through, and publicly bestowing them with their gifts. She, dressed in damask finery and draped with golden peacock feathers that shone with enchanted light, closed the speech and parade by bowing to the Elements of Harmony, and as every soul in the audience did the same, it was easy to feel strong.

Not so easy the morning after. Pinkie woke at eight and went about her routine, window open and a song on her lips but not in her heart. She had fallen asleep so assured, the phrase Vanilla had given her brilliant to her eyes. Life goes on, and we go with it. Under fireworks and the endless stars, surrounded by the cheers and jubilation, she had effortlessly slipped into the joy of satori; now she had to actually do the thing that had seemed so obvious the night before.

They met for croquet in a garden on the palace’s east side, the hedges trimmed low to afford a view of the expansive plains between the city and the country’s border. A storm was rolling nearby, but Celestia assured them that Canterlot’s pegasi would not allow it to dampen the mountain, that they had enough weather planned for the coming weeks. It was winter, after all, she explained as though they did not realize it, and Hearth’s Warming was not far away.

“Don’t worry, I’ll see to it that you’re all home in time. Personally, if I have to.” Most of them thanked her, and those who had no one to return to kept silent. Play was stiff and inexperienced, and when Luna alighted on the lawn and almost tripped over Big Mac’s ball, Celestia went to her immediately. Hushed words, a sharp apology, and then Celestia was gone. The day carried on.

Brunch with a pair of politicians, tea with the exchequer, and the afternoon free to explore the grounds and relax indoors. Twilight went to Applejack’s room, where she drew out a sigil for Applejack to contact Versus, and the two of them were still talking three hours later when Twilight came back to check on her.

Rarity spent most of her afternoon going over specifics on her new boutique with one of the princess’ architects, who would be traveling down to Ponyville specifically for the job. Once, she saw Rainbow go by through the arched window and sighed to herself, hoping the others were having more fun than she. Pinkie, meanwhile, went in search for Princess Celestia, fruitless for several hours; in the end, Celestia found her nervously exploring the gardens, floating leaves on the tiny brooks that ran through them and skipping stones across the grand, central fountain. The princess looked tired and bedraggled, her traveling cloak scuffed and her fur rough where it was exposed.

“You gonna be okay, princess?”

Celestia sighed and indicated a balcony overlooking Pinkie’s spot. “Fine as rain, dear. I had to be somewhere rather urgently. My sister tells me you wish to speak with me?” They wound up through the palace, passing through the art gallery where Pinkie pretended not to notice Octavia glowering at her, and out onto the overlook. Pinkie pawed the black marble floor, embossed with gold swirls of olive branches and segmented by rays of a rising sun from the balustrade; it had not been cleaned recently, the muddy residue of recent rainfall scuffing where she pulled out her chair. Celestia mumbled an order with horn aglow, and not ten minutes later, a servant whisked a tray of biscuits and a carafe of sangria out to them. Pinkie, not in the mood to drink, took some to be polite.

“I didn’t mean for this to be a formal meeting,” Pinkie began.

“Formal? This is a snack between friends, dear.”

“Er… No, you’re right, I’m being silly.” She forced a giggle. “I’m still not used to this yet.”

“All things in due course.”

Pinkie looked at her, not sure how to begin. The princess sat apart from the table, nursing her sangria and occasionally nibbling a twist of grapefruit peel floating in her glass. When she saw that Pinkie was regarding her, Celestia fixed her hawk eyes back on her, a smile toying with her lips for a second when Pinkie shrunk.

With a laugh, Celestia asked what it was that Pinkie wished to talk about.

Hours before, as she had run around the palace, Pinkie had nearly convinced herself that she should bear all to the princess. If anyone would have council for a problem such as hers, it would be the princess; she had heard Twilight say on multiple occasions that Celestia and Luna undoubtedly had blood on their hooves, that you didn’t get to be the unquestioned rulers of a country without it. “Oh Celestia, my lord and goddess, what have you to say to this poor pony about her first atrocity?” The phrase “first atrocity” had come up unexpectedly in Pinkie’s long-running stream of consciousness, and it would not be purged.

Celestia did not break eye contact as Pinkie debated how to begin, and under that dignified glare, she decided that Luna would be the better one to speak with about her problem. Getting directly to the point instead, she averted her gaze and took an additional biscuit, giving her hooves something to do. “Your highness—”

“Celestia, please.”

“Can you just let me speak?” She frowned at her plate. “Celestia, I was wondering if there was anything I could do to help out around the country.”

“Help?”

“Yeah.” She looked around, her gesture evincing nothing from where they sat at the top of the world. “There’s a lot of trouble out there still, and I wouldn’t feel right if I just went home without doing something about it.”

“Hmmm.”

“The flood in Applewood, for instance, and I bet Fillydelphia could use some work still, not to mention all those poor ponies still displaced by The Crumbling. Plus, the cloud convoy, has that reached everyone yet? Snowdrift was making do with wild weather when we were there. Plus Roan, they’ve got that underground portion too, remember? Plus Moondrop—” She cut her practiced patter, remembering too late that bringing up Moondrop to Celestia was not wise. A shadow passed over the princess’ face, which both of them pretended did not show in her voice when she replied.

“You are too kind, Pinkamena.”

“Just trying to do my part.”

“Let me ask you this, my dear, and forgive me if I am out of line. Did any of your friends put you up to this?”

“Put me up to it? No, never. They…” “They hate me. Do I say it? Imagine her face!” “Have their own affairs, but I’m sure they’ll help where they can, in their own ways. When Rarity gets her business back, I’m sure she can donate to charity, and Twilight’ll probably—” She stopped herself; she had no idea what her friends would do.

“What will she do?” Celestia asked gravely.

“No, never mind. I don’t want to put them in a weird position, your highness. I’m sure they’ll help somehow. Er, anyway, but me, I want to help now. More than just giving money to places—it’s not even my money, you know, it’s the palace’s funds.” She giggled, this time not forced. “I don’t think I have more than fifty bits to my name! I don’t think I own anything myself.” She paused, realizing that it was true, not just of her but of all of them.

Celestia considered her words for some time, and Pinkie grew nervous. She had wanted a casual conversation, but between the princess’ lengthy, piercing gazes and the iron tone she used for even simple replies, it felt more like an interrogation. “‘Hey princess, anything I can do to help out around here?’ ‘Sure, Pinkie, you can trim the hedges, scrub the grout in the kitchen, tweeze Caramel’s eyebrows, and shine my crown.’ ‘Can you erase my sins and turn back time?’ ‘I’m a goddess, Pinkie, of course I can!’” She supposed she had been foolish to expect more than what she got from the princess.

“There is much work to be done still, though I confess some reluctance to letting you help so soon after returning. Do you not wish to relax with your friends and family? I would think yes.”

“Yyyyyyeah, well, about that.” “One more chance, Pinkie. Tell her?” “I just wouldn’t feel right,” she repeated. Better to appear noble than repentant.

“These are hard times, my friend. You mention Applewood. I have already placed that city in the capable hooves of my assistant.” She winked. “I believe you met in Snowdrift? You may know her from the spa in Ponyville.”

“Lotus is in charge of Applewood too?”

“She is brilliant, isn’t she?”

Pinkie was quiet for a second, imagining Lotus’ reaction to the task. She had complained of being overworked in Snowdrift; what additional weight did an entire ruined city bring to the shoulders of one such as she?

“If I can help her out, I’d be more than willing to,” Pinkie said.

“I don’t see the need.” Celestia lifted an ice cube out of her glass, examined it, and replaced it. “Lotus can call on whomever she needs as a resource. Her position on my sister’s team gives her that authority.”

“All righty, so not Applewood. How about the cloud convoy?”

“You don’t fly.”

“I…” That was true, but Pinkie had expected at least an opening. As complex as the convoy was, surely there was something an earth pony could do to help, but Celestia looked at her as though she had, in haste, suggested something completely and obviously impossible.

“How about Manehattan? They’re not doing so hot.”

“If you’ll permit me, I have an idea.”

“Please, go ahead.” “Since none of mine are landing, you go ahead and give me yours, princess.”

“Affairs at home are serious, but I have the utmost faith in my ponies, and the Equestrian spirit, to restore what we have lost. Cities will rebuild, lives will return, all in their appropriate time.” She smiled grimly to herself, but Pinkie recognized the sentences, recited verbatim from her speech the night before. “Outside our borders, however, things are more difficult.”

“What’s wrong?” A note of worry touched Pinkie’s voice. She had not given any thought to the international effects of what had happened to their country. Twilight had mentioned it a few times, but always, as soon as she was done, those considerations were out of Pinkie’s head.

“Discord has been returned to oblivion, and now pressure mounts to bring Equestria back down to the world. Our neighbors have been patient and understanding, but I fear they will stop once news reaches the planet that we have been victorious.”

“How are we gonna get reattached, anyway?”

“My sister and I are working tirelessly on that very problem. In the meantime, we must maintain communication and good faith with our neighbors, particularly the changelings to the north. They have been most directly affected.”

“‘Cause the oceans drained out when we lifted off.”

“That is so.”

“…And? Is there something I can do to help with that?”

“Our relationship with the changelings has been my least favorite for quite some time. Anything to lighten the mood would be most welcome.”

Pinkie could not believe what she was about to say. “Like a party?”

Celestia laughed, bright and genuine, and for that second, Pinkie saw through the aloof formality to a matronly ruler who had not, after all the centuries, lost her spirit and goodwill, who had not let atrophy the empathy for those she led. “Not exactly a party, but something like it. Let’s say, friendlier relations. If we’re to work together to restore our continent and their oceans, we should be friends, is it not so?”

“Sure, princess. Am I gonna talk to the changelings? Is that where this is going?”

Celestia winked again, as though it were some secret between them.

“Do I need to talk to them for you?”

With a mischievous smile, Celestia said, “You say it as though I am a filly who’s afraid of her teacher.”

“I wouldn’t mind, your highness.”

“The griffons and I have been exchanging missives as well. Their country is protected somewhat by an atoll; they still have a lagoon for their needs. It’s actually quite beautiful, Pinkie.”

“You’ve been?”

“I had the pleasure of raising the sun while sailing with some of the griffon diplomats.”

“That sounds very nice, your highness.”

“Even better was watching the moon rise from atop their royal aerie. Pinkie, I flew to the roof of the highest tower and saw the moon come up over the oceans. I don’t fly as much as I would like, you know. I’ve always loved high places.”

“So do I need to go talk to the griffons too?”

Celestia blinked and let shine the hawk eyes for a moment. “No, I apologize. The changelings are the… problem children, we’ll say. I have a team of diplomats ready to coordinate our restoration efforts with them. But,” she nodded to herself, agreeing with her own insight, “someone like you, to ease off the tension in our meetings, that would be just the ticket.”

“Are you sure?”

“The Element of Laughter herself! Who could do it better, my dear? You know it would be more than just talk, though. My diplomats are currently in the stages of preparing a voyage out. Out and down.”

“Down. Like to the planet?”

“And across the seas, to meet the changelings in their own territory.”

“Huh.” Visions sprang to mind of her sitting at a long table and shaking hooves with the chitinous, alien changelings, looking into their acid-green eyes and returning sparkling blue laughter from her own. The other diplomats would not know her, and the changelings neither, and somewhere else would persist her friends, their own lives going on in their ways.

“It’s an opportunity, that’s all,” Celestia said. “Think about it.”

“I don’t have any diplomatic experience, your—Celestia.”

“No, you have something better. All the laughter in the world is inside you, Pinkie. Their world has been swept away; I recognize the need to restore order as much as any head of state, if not more, but we need fun too.”

“So I’m the freaking comic relief in your diplomacy mission.” It took much of her restraint to not show her distaste for the idea, more so as Celestia picked up a biscuit and gingerly bit into it, her eyes full on Pinkie’s; whether they were innocent to the bad idea or just trying to appear that way, Pinkie could not tell.

“I’m just in a bad mood. Besides, what am I leaving behind?” Pinkie shook her head, leaning forward before doubt could cloud her. “No need, your highness. I’d be happy to do it.” She forced a smile. “Just point me in the right direction, and I’ll give ‘em more good vibes than they can shake a stick at!”

The days saw them settling into a routine of a different sort, and some began traveling outside the palace, but only for important matters. Only Twilight, forever prescient, avoided the crowds by magically disguising herself and taking a circuitous route to her destinations, often stopping near them and walking the rest of the distance. She did this to visit her parents first, and a few days later, some old classmates who had reached out after years of silence.

Hearth’s Warming crept closer, and Caramel cleared their schedules for a few days so they could go back to Ponyville. In a stroke of generosity, he was able to produce vouchers for the train between cities, that they may travel for free whenever they needed to—which, he made clear, would be frequently.

It was a snowy Friday afternoon, and they were scheduled to return to town on Monday or Sunday night, depending on how late their press conference ran. They would be busy all day Saturday, and not all of their number would be present that night; it was their last opportunity to dine as a group, all ten of them, free of professional obligations. Rather than put the palace’s kitchen to the trouble, and also to avoid potential intrusions from the princesses, they ate lunch in the city. Vinyl had called two days ahead to reserve the entire restaurant, Twilight disguised them all and their royal carriage, and Rarity worked with the princess’ tailor to dress them up for the occasion. As a final meal of sorts, fancy dress was assumed even by those less accustomed to it. They met their long carriage just outside one of the palace’s inner porticoes, where Twilight could apply an illusion to it away from prying eyes, and it conveyed them with all speed to the northern rim of Greater Canterlot where they found their restaurant, White Pepper, faintly lit from within and professing to be closed until Twilight dropped their disguises.

The central table set with crystal and porcelain, the gold-trimmed boudoir grand piano on the pedestal, the cut glass carafes of water, the ice bucket and the city’s very best wine frosted within, velvet curtains in candlelit embrasures, soft lilac light haloed around shaded lanterns, metallic silver lines in an ogee carpet, the hostess bowing and welcoming them in by name, the snow hurrying past the windows: all of it was for them. They sat in a ring, their waiter poured the wine and brought the bread, and for a silent minute everyone was possessed of the same sense of peace: quiet, urbane, gentle. Ten good friends out to dinner.

Vinyl lifted her goggles, found the soft light to be still too much for her eyes, and replaced them.

“Two more days,” Rarity said bracingly.

Twilight poked her silverware. “We can make it. I assume everypony’s doing okay?”

“Fine as paint,” Pinkie mumbled, and though they looked at her, no one said anything. The points had already been made and the emotions had already been vented.

Vinyl lit her horn and put them in a short pool of yellow light. “Thank you for having me, Twilight.”

Twilight nodded. “Welcome.”

“I feel better about not making it as an Element. Maybe a little lighter.”

“You get to walk away from everything,” Pinkie said.

“No point in denying it, I guess. You’re right, Pinkie. I do get to leave this… mess… behind. Thank you.” She gave her celebrity smile to the bartender who personally brought her cocktail, a burgundy and gold-swirled thing in a hurricane glass, a tiny magical replica of a constellation floating above its straw. Everyone watched as she stirred it, the stars blinking and rearranging with excitement. “I feel bad, though, in a selfish way.”

“What is it?” Applejack asked.

“I thought me missing my Element was a really big deal, and when the… other thing was revealed, we lost sight of me.” Preemptively holding up defensive hooves, she continued. “I understand why, but just… Like I said, selfish.”

“That’s a very equine reaction,” Big Mac said, Applejack nodding along. “Can’t fault ya fer it.”

“I feel that way sometimes,” Twilight said. “Every now and then, I get moments where I see myself objectively, and I see through all the crap that’s happened.” She drank of her wine, unable to stifle the shudder that accompanied it. “I think of the princesses, or, heck, even you, Rarity. You’ve gone through much worse than me, and yet here I am escalating, making trouble for everyone, bullying the world into doing things my way. What’s so great about my problems that I have to do that?”

“Yeah, it’s almost like you should stop doing those things,” Rainbow said.

“I have said this before,” Octavia said, “but I am willing to overlook much of your questionable actions, Twilight, for the context in which you did them. Fighting one such as Discord, and with our resources and time so limited, it makes sense to me that one of us would turn out that way. If we are confessing selfish feelings, I confess that I am happy I was not the one to take up your mantle.”

“Ah’ll confess somethin’,” Big Mac said, and waited for everyone to look at him. It was not the first time he was relieved that his coat color hid his blush. “Ah’d about lost faith when we were in Snowdrift, those last days. Ah didn’t wanna say it.”

“Faith is a tricky thing,” Applejack murmured, and did not elucidate.

When the food came, they mostly ate in silence, trying without success to recapture the jewel of peace they found on their entrance. Eye contact was truncated and uncomfortable, comments on the food stilted, smiles subdued. One of the wait staff came out to play the piano, and they listened respectfully and laughed politely when someone offered for Octavia to take a turn on it.

“I have one,” Fluttershy said when the plates were clearing. She had ordered a drink as well, her first to Vinyl’s fifth. “A confession, I mean. It’s not pretty.”

“Do tell,” Pinkie said.

She took a breath, steadying her nerves. “I can’t wait to go home and not see any of you for a long time.”

After a long pause, Rainbow spoke. “Me too, actually.”

“I have to agree,” Twilight said. “No offense to anyone—and Pinkie, I’ve felt this way before I knew what happened with you—but I want to… I’ve been so bitter lately, I just want to be alone. Not hear your voices, not have to explain anything to anyone, not have to share the stupid airship bathroom, not have to share a bed.”

“Ah’m sick of drivin’ y’all around,” Applejack said. “Ah’m sick an’ tired of havin’ to be responsible fer that damn airship.”

“I’m sick of seeing the same four or five outfits,” Rarity said. “Oh, and I don’t know who got blood on my shawl and tried to wash it off, but that cost me sixty-five bits. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“That was one of the ones we pulled into Tartarus, I think,” Colgate said. “Sorry. I’ll pay you back.”

Rarity just rolled her eyes.

“What are you gonna do while you’re waiting for your new boutique?” Rainbow asked.

“I’m sure I can find occupation here.” She frowned at Pinkie, who averted her eyes in the same second. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” She pulled uncomfortably at her mane. “I’ll be here too, that’s all. I’ll stay out of your way.”

“You’re not staying in Ponyville?” Twilight asked.

Pinkie straightened in her seat. “Why, no, Twilight, I’m not! I decided…” She slouched and her voice lost its arch tone. “I’m coming back to help Celestia with the changelings up north. They’re gonna need help coordinating the oceans, or something like that, for getting us back down. They wanna take me down to the planet for it.”

“She thinks the Element of Laughter will ease diplomatic tension,” Vinyl strained to say clearly, starting on yet another cocktail. “That’s a really good idea, actually.”

“It’s fine,” Twilight said with a frown.

Not unkindly, Rainbow tapped her fork for attention. “On Twilight’s bed point, I can’t wait to sleep without someone snoring in my ear all night long.”

“Dash, you snore,” Applejack said.

“But I can’t hear me.”

“The stupid, endless banter,” Fluttershy said. “I know it’s in good fun most of the time, but I’m so tired of this back-and-forth.”

“You’re absolutely right on that,” Vinyl hiccuped.

“Frankly, Ah get a little tired of it too,” Applejack said. “Sometimes Ah just go through the motions with y’all.”

“I do that sometimes,” Rainbow said.

They paused while a second bottle of wine came out—no one noticed who had requested it, but it was easy to guess—and when their glasses were filled again, Twilight raised hers.

“It’s decided, then. A toast—to being sick of each other.” The unicorns raised their glasses and the others tapped them in time, repeating the toast without venom.

“Best friends, but let’s give it a couple weeks,” Rarity added.

Octavia wrestled with the cord for her iron, trying to plug it in before finally pulling the bed a foot off the wall with a frustrated impulse of magic. From her window, she could see teams of pegasi sweeping across the sky, dispersing at a great height she could not determine and not coming back; they did not hold her attention for long. She wanted to look good for her date with Colgate, and more importantly, she wanted to feel good. She had vowed to keep the gloom to a minimum, not for her own sake, she told herself, but for the pleasure of her friend.

Holding a coquettish smile that she thought looked ridiculous in the boudoir mirror, she tried on every garment in her closet and subjected herself to uncomfortable self-scrutiny, the like of which she had never tried on the airship. She supposed, if all else failed, she could borrow a tuxedo and rely on the intimidating handsomeness for which she had been praised in her halcyon celebrity days.

“Face it, Octavia,” she told herself, twenty minutes before she had to be ready. “You do not know how to make yourself beautiful. Interesting is as good as it gets.” The gloom settled on her mind as she tried on more outfits, and when Colgate came for her, she left in what she happened to be wearing, not wanting to hold them up. It was small comfort that Colgate was dressed worse than she; the unicorn had chosen a polka-dotted pencil skirt and the top half of a business suit, which she left partially unbuttoned. Octavia felt like a grandmother in her dress of periwinkle boucle, but at least she looked like something, so she thought.

They stood in the royal entryway for a time, looking around, unsure, when finally Octavia asked what was wrong.

“I thought we just grabbed a taxi when we got out here.”

“This is not a hotel, Colgate.” Remembering then to keep it light, she smiled and even forced a chuckle. “Perhaps we can ask for a ride inside? I do not know if it is too short of notice.”

For the Elements of Harmony, even the new ones, it was not. They were seated in a spare limousine, the royal sun symbol painted garishly on its hood, and slithering out into the city within half an hour. The driver obeyed Octavia’s every direction with a stiff “yes ma’am,” just as she liked it, and brought them to a stop within view of the forested mountainside just as the moon was waxing over the horizon. With instructions to pick them up in two hours, he left them.

“Whenever we performed in Canterlot, we would dine here,” Octavia said, taking the lead into a peach-colored structure that partially overhung the woods and the river running through them. Colgate hesitated behind, her eyes caught on the ornamentation to make their restaurant resemble a windmill, its blades turning lazily with little decorative gears showing in places through the patchwork walls. She caught up to Octavia in time to wait for the hostess, and, standing uncertainly behind her friend, put her eyes to the bar. Her fantasy of fresh employment and squandered money in Ponyville still rang true when she remembered it, which she had not done very much in the past days.

At their table, Octavia asked whether Colgate wanted wine, or whether she had had enough during lunch. Not thinking, she blurted out that she wanted some, that she was in a celebratory mood. “Oh, hell, what am I celebrating?” She had as long as it took for the waitress to bring a bottle to invent some reason for Octavia, who she was sure would ask. “Celebrate what, Colgate?” “Homecoming, I guess.” “Ah, yes, just like all of us. How unique of you.” When she noticed Octavia looking at her with an unfocused smile, she almost let out a little cry of worry.

“Your glass, madam.” Colgate gave the waitress her glass and watched the wine pour out with hungry eyes.

“So this is it,” Octavia sighed. “Home sweet home, no?” She tapped her glass, and Colgate followed suit.

“It’ll be weird not having the others around.”

“I look forward to it. I did not want to say much during lunch today, but I agree, they get on my nerves after a while. Anyone will.”

“Right.” Colgate didn’t know what to say to that, and Octavia had no continuation in mind, so they lapsed into silence until the waitress came back to take their orders. Octavia watched the other diners, denying eye contact when someone appeared to recognize her, and Colgate watched the workers in hopes of finding something clever to observe.

“What do you enjoy doing in your spare time?” Octavia asked after a time.

Colgate nodded, truly not sure. “Haven’t had spare time in a while.”

“You like the water, I know.”

“It’s not a hobby.”

“Well…”

They picked at their food and drank their wine. Colgate thought of all the untruths she could say, deciding that silence was better and hoping Octavia could hear her heart instead; and Octavia wondered what was wrong with her as she struggled to find a topic that would stick. Colgate could not hold still, and when she offered her own attempts at conversation, she would stop herself or shoot off into a stream of consciousness that Octavia had no interest in interrogating.

By dessert, it was clear to both that there was nothing worth pursuing. They exchanged smiles and complimented the food, and Colgate kept looking around for something clever to notice, a habit Octavia was beginning to grow weary of.

“Luna told me I could have a job with my ponies again if I wanted it.”

“I thought you were not interested?”

“It’s hard. I should be safe, that’s what she said anyway. Maybe counterintelligence or surveillance. No field-stuff, though, nothing crazy. I dunno.”

“It sounds like it could be stable employment.”

“I might do it just for that, really.”

Octavia leaned forward. “Is it okay for us to talk about this here?”

“We could be talking about anything, it’s fine. As long as there’s no names, we’re okay. Now that I think about it, I bet there’s code-talking to be learned for this sort of thing.” She perked up her ears, as if hearing some just then, but shook her head.

“What does it take to get a position with… your ponies?”

Colgate shrugged. “They have to approach you about it, I think. That’s how they did for me and Spike.”

Octavia hesitated. “Spike. Twilight’s Spike?”

“He didn’t make it.”

“I know, I was there.”

“I liked him okay. He liked to watch me operate on folks back in the day.”

“Wait, I am confused. How did he wind up as a part of you? Was he not just a child?”

“Dunno. Our team leader saw something in him, a use or something. See, that’s the problem, you can’t tell if you’re there because they need you or if you’re there so they can get to someone else. You don’t know how disposable you are until you’ve been disposed of.”

“I believe you have mentioned that.”

“It’s a big cloak-and-dagger thing. Luna said I got the recommendation because I figured them out before I got gotten.”

“Hence the counterintelligence offer.”

“You betcha.” She poked at her melting ice cream without taking a bite. “So I might take the offer, I dunno. Might just go be a surgeon again.”

Octavia scowled down at her Pumpkin Passion Cake. “Both of those options are open to you.”

“Surgery’s a backup, maybe less than that. Going back to it after so long would suck. I need to get re-certified and everything, and I dunno, I feel like I wouldn’t be cut out for it nowadays.”

“Pun intended?”

“Mm?”

“Never mind. Continue.”

“When I was actually doing it, I was on medication, which makes ponies flat. It was easy to stay focused then. I don’t know about now, I might get nervous during a procedure, and you can’t have a doctor getting weird like that. Yeah, maybe the Luna thing is my only option, now that you say it.”

“But you said you do not trust them.”

“If you’re smart, they won’t get you.”

“How… exactly do you know that they tried to harm you?”

“Lotus admitting it was a big indicator. Before that, I just noticed the signs.” She gestured with her fork. “The pumpkins in your dessert were grown in Roan.”

“How…”

“I’m messin’, I have no clue. Can I have a bite?”

Octavia pushed her plate across the table to Colgate, who did not object, and set to both desserts eagerly. For her part, Octavia disguised her newfound idea as more of the serious thoughtfulness that was her way.

Finding Princess Celestia in the evening was an affair of close to an hour for Twilight, chasing her through the palace, asking guards and attendants where she had been last, always finding she had moved on or mysteriously vanished before Twilight could reach the next waypoint. Forty minutes in, she saw how Celestia kept giving ponies the slip; sometimes she used the doors, but at others, she would simply fizzle through the walls or floors. There was always a heavy aura of magic in those rooms, and Twilight had a headache when she finally found Celestia in the alchemy tower, a little vestigial calcar off the palace’s west wall.

“What can I do for you, my pupil?” Celestia asked, staring into a flask of bright red coils that tinkled when she pushed it aside.

“I wanted to talk with you.”

“You always have my ear, my prize student.”

Pinkie had driven her to it, of that she was certain, and the rich well of spite that too many thoughts of Pinkie set to overflowing. Part of her knew, too, how immature she was being.

“I had no idea there was still so much work to be done in restoring the country,” Twilight said, keeping a polite demeanor. “I mean, I know there was still some, but not… I thought there were plans already in motion.”

Celestia smiled warmly, but offered no explanation, so Twilight kept on.

“Pinkie said she was staying behind to help with the changelings.”

“The country has an invaluable friend in Miss Pie, as I’m sure you know.”

“Sure, sure. I just thought, well I didn’t know you still needed help. If I did, I would have offered earlier.” That was the point she wanted to drive home, that she would have given herself to the cause of restoration had she simply known she was still required—which was completely false.

Celestia nodded and walked farther into the chamber, and Twilight followed, waiting for a sententious speech or at least an axiom about teamwork. Instead, Celestia said, “You are so tired, my dear. I can see it in your heart.” She tipped a clay bowl up to the light, revealing the slither of mercury in its bottom, and Twilight cursed her in her mind. Not only was she volunteering to do something she did not want to do, but now she had to fight for it—yet backing away was the weak option in her mind. Simply, she refused to let Pinkie get the last word on self-sacrifice.

“On the contrary, your highness, these past few days have energized me more than I expected.” She chuckled to show how good-natured her interest was. “As long as I don’t have to fight any criminals or monsters, I’d love to take part in… whatever you need me for, really.”

“Pinkie volunteered her services this morning, and now you tonight.” She winked. “It’s not a contest, Twilight Sparkle. You can go home if you truly want to.”

“I—”

“But if you mean it,” Celestia intoned, voice lowering a degree, “I would have great use for you.”

Twilight looked at her, willing herself not to blink.

“I don’t want you offering your services just because Pinkie did, that’s all.”

“I understand, your highness, but you needn’t worry. I want this.”

Monday morning, the day before Hearth’s Warming, they met at a train station and made their goodbyes. Octavia, Vinyl, and Colgate were to stay behind indefinitely, and Rarity with them while her new boutique was under construction. Expecting her parents and sister to meet her later that afternoon, she was in considerably higher spirits than her friends, who shuffled onto the train with heavy hearts and dour faces. There was no energetic waving from the windows, no half-gallop down the tracks after the train.

Their journey took them down through the frosty woods on the mountainside and across a sere plain of weeds and battle scars before following the river southeast to Ponyville. Each had her own thoughts as company, and no one was in the mood for talking.

Pinkie, alone in her cabin, repeated to herself that she didn’t need her former friends, that they had revealed their true natures and she would be better off severing ties. It was a sentiment that sounded good to her in the middle of the night, but when she was close enough to barge in on them and spill her guts, the self-assurances felt hollow and rote, no matter how well she had rehearsed them to herself. The gulf between knowledge and action made her want to curl up and sleep until everyone else was off the train, and she could face Ponyville on her own.

“Once I get back to Canterlot, it’ll be better. They won’t be there then.” The eternal hope: things will be better in the future. One more step, one more obstacle, one more trial, and then that golden bridge to paradise. She knew its folly as well as anyone; and like anyone else might, she clutched it as her surest chance.

Fluttershy, in the cabin opposite, could only think of the forest and the river, whether they would be too cold to go exploring when she had the time. Hers was the final trip, and she felt it with more strength than what mere knowledge could grant. The bile she had not even noticed in past months needed vent, and lacking it, she chose instead to withdraw. Emptied of her worst and her best both, to the point that she dreaded even the smallest of pleasantries from her friends, she debated not even showing up for the holiday celebrations. She had contacted her family already, but they had understood when she—as cagily as she could, without admitting much—suggested that they celebrate Hearth’s Warming a little later than the rest of the world. Their celebrations were quiet and personal affairs anyway, and no one else had to know. Love had threatened to overtake her to tears when they acceded so easily to her wishes. No questions, no arguments, no accursed logic. “Well, Fluttershy, it would make the most sense if we celebrated Hearth’s Warming on the twenty-fifth, like everypony else, because…” Invariably in Twilight’s voice, such thoughts had become easy and indulgent targets of late, all to the purpose of righteous debate, heart triumphing over head.

Applejack, beside her, had eyes only for the grass. Not content but pretending to be, she was steeling herself for the reunion. Her extended family had not time enough to travel from Appleloosa to meet them for Hearth’s Warming, but in the week following, they would trickle in, and she needed to be ready to receive them. Being up-front about her changes, and the catalyst for them, was not part of that plan, though she knew someone would ask her about it sooner or later. She was no good at pretending to be who she wasn’t, and the family would fast learn that she was not the same mare who had hugged them goodbye that warm spring day.

But that was obvious. None of them were the same, and to point it out to herself felt like dodging the real issue, if there even was an issue to be dodged. There might not be, she thought; she might simply expect something difficult because her time adventuring had conditioned her to, and if that were the case, then she needed as much time home as she could get. She wondered whether she would get along with everyone still.

“What if they’re not all there?” she asked herself suddenly. Some of her relatives were much older, and not in the best health. The thought stalled her, brought her around to mortality and the processes of death, and in that comfort zone she remained for the rest of the trip.

In the third cabin with Twilight and Rainbow, Big Mac slept. Twilight radiated restlessness in a way that no one could ignore, and Big Mac’s only way to handle it was to turn away. He dreamt, not of home, but of the Snowdrift hotel, of standing outside and studying its magically twisted contours, Versus beside him and intermittently trading places with Vinyl. He was glad that Applejack kept in touch with the Snowdrift mare, and though he had not yet spoken to her directly, he wanted to. It was just a matter of getting up his nerve and finding a chance at her without Applejack breaking in with religion and philosophy—which he pretended didn’t exhaust him, and which he suspected she knew anyway.

He rolled and nuzzled against the seam in his seat, eyes flickering behind their lids, as the hotel faded in the thick Snowdrift fog and left him wandering a rainy pine forest. Heart rate climbing, lips twitching, eyes speeding, and he was dancing with Peaceful Meadows’ car in the woods. He would trip over roots and slip on ice, and the car would slide between black trees to always narrowly miss him, its driver a disembodied voice that said nothing coherent but that always threatened in his dream world.

Twilight poked him awake and asked whether he was okay, and instead of answering, he wiped the sweat off his face and sighed.

She nodded. “I get them too.”

“Still?” Rainbow asked.

“Every now and again.”

Deciding it was sufficient, Twilight turned back to her newspaper, one from the pile that occupied the seat next to her. Like Fluttershy, she had deferred a proper Hearth’s Warming celebration with family. They had already visited and caught up to Twilight’s satisfaction, which, it alarmed her to find, was shallow. She had been away from her parents for a long time before, she told herself, and her friends were more relevant to her immediate life. That was why she had decided to go with them to Ponyville, though she had nothing to do there. Her library had passed to someone else and Spike was no more. Still, it felt wrong to not go, to stay in Canterlot and avoid her parents there instead. At least, in Ponyville, there was a pretense.

Of primary concern was how she would tell her friends that she was not staying. Everyone had assumed she would, that their homecoming was hers as well, and she had assumed the same for a while. That was before she had volunteered her services for the throne, pushed by spite and nothing more; galled, but at the same time, comforted. After Hearth’s Warming, she knew what she had to do.

“I’m not just scared of going back to real life, am I?” She frowned at the thought, but decided that fear was not the leading impulse, that she was too intelligent to succumb to it. Unwillingness to see Pinkie favored over her, she could admit; that was a feeling she could potentially control, making the decision her own. It was a base feeling, but one she could get a handle on if she needed to, so she consoled herself in thinking. To her friends, she would simply cite the unimpeachable notion that duty called her yet.

Rainbow thought about her cloud house, and how long it would take to rebuild. She entertained no fantasies that it was still around somewhere, perhaps carried on an air current into the middle of the forest. With the princess’ reward, she could simply have a new house made for her, but the idea of it did not sit well. One of the things she missed most was uninhibited flying, being able to take an afternoon or an evening and live in the sky, resting on clouds whenever it was her pleasure to do. Molding clouds, stacking clouds, and finding the right ones for construction and decoration was a process she had initially shied from with her first house, but had grown to relish. Positioning her rooms and windows, figuring what part of Ponyville she would want to tether it to, or whether she wanted to tie it down at all, was enough to blind her to the tension Twilight’s moody sighs brought to the cabin, so that when they stepped onto the platform and caught the eye of every single citizen, only she was ready with a genuine smile.

Hoofshakes and hugs and congratulations and all the usual things detained them for close to an hour, and then they were free to go into town, where it all happened again, those who had not rushed out to meet them at the platform abandoning their street-side stalls or flooding out of thatched houses. The mayor thanked them personally and invited them to make a speech, which they graciously declined.

Then came the photographs. Amateurs, reporters, magazine workers, tourists, cheap and expensive cameras, candid and posed, each of them had to smile beside what felt like every pony in town. Applejack got sick of being asked where her hat was, and Twilight got sick of telling them where the rest of their friends were. She gave out Caramel’s business cards and settled into generic answers for the common questions, and when the crowd had dispersed but not taken its eye off them, they were able to move at last, and just in time for the wind to pick up. Apple Bloom galloped up to them then from across town, Scootaloo just behind, and the six of them headed to the farm while Fluttershy receded into the distance and Pinkie made for Sugarcube Corner, neither of them with a goodbye.

Applejack laughed quietly to herself at the sight of the fillies. Neither had their cutie marks yet, something she had occasionally wondered in times of homesickness, but there was something different in their eyes.

“Ah know you two don’t got nowhere to stay tonight,” Applejack said. “The farm’s available if you like.”

Twilight clapped her on the back.

“I’m sleeping in the clouds tonight,” Rainbow said. “No offense, AJ, but I miss the sky.”

“None taken, Rainbow. You’ll stay fer dinner, at least?”

“You couldn’t pay me to miss it.”

“Are you gonna come tomorrow?” Apple Bloom squealed. “You are, right?”

“We’ll be there with bells on.”

“Bells?” Scootaloo made a face, and they laughed.

Granny Smith met them at the orchard’s main gate, gingham cloak flapping noisily in the wind, and told them to hurry inside, that they didn’t want to catch cold. Rainbow fluffed her wings and told them about the savage cold of Snowdrift, and when they were sitting down to yet another sumptuous dinner, she expanded upon every point that Twilight curtly made. Talking with the Apple family clearly energized her, and Twilight and Applejack were both glad for it, tired as they were of the telling. When the youngsters were in bed and Granny was pretending not to want to be, they repaired to the expansive living room, got a fire going, and talked more soberly.

Applejack, for her part, did not speak for some minutes. Granny had ceded her rocking chair to Applejack, a gesture the siblings noticed and did not argue, and there Applejack reclined before the fire and breathed in the scent of home. The floorboards creaked, a lightened wind soughed outside, the fire cracked cheerily, her friends and family shuffled around her, and with eyes closed, Applejack had her peace. It only lasted a minute, but it was all she needed. She looked around afresh, saw her home and her land, and nodded to herself. “Here it is. Here we go. This is what it was for.” She smiled contentedly, and no one asked her about it.

“Granny, how did you do while we were gone?”

“A bit shaky, if ya want the truth.” Granny Smith slowly moved back and forth in her straight-back chair, the motion of rocking in her bones, and held her hooves to the fire. “Yer sister had to take the lead on a lot of it. Bless her, she was our savior, Applejack.”

“She musta had a good teacher,” Big Mac said, grinning.

“Those other two young’ins helped out in their time, came to live here practically, even young Sweetie Belle.”

“I can’t imagine her pulling apple carts,” Rainbow said.

“She took on the business side of things,” Granny said slowly. “Like her sister, Ah reckon, that girl has a good head fer money. When the pegasi came out of Cloudsdale, Sweetie Belle helped me set up the payroll fer all of ‘em. Thank Celestia fer the young.” She sighed to herself.

“Ah was more askin’ how you got on while we were gone,” Applejack said.

“What, me?” She waved a hoof. “These old bones ain’t ready to quit yet. Ah knew what you had to do, both of ya. Everyone in Ponyville did. It was you everypony was pullin’ fer.”

Big Mac bowed his head solemnly.

“What else could we do? There were tough days, but nothin’ we couldn’t handle.” She cracked a wizened smile. “Ah’m happy yer all gonna be home fer Hearth’s Warmin’. Wasn’t sure, once December came an’ we hadn’t heard where you were.”

“We were just gettin’ started in Snowdrift,” Big Mac said.

Granny nodded. “Sounded mighty fine in the dinin’ room.”

Applejack looked at her friends before answering. “A lot happened out there. Ah’ll tell ya details if you really wanna know, but Ah’d rather say that we’ll all be okay, in time, an’ leave it there fer now.”

“Is that the truth, that yer all okay?”

“We will be.”

Granny nodded again and stood up, and Applejack stood as well to hug her. “Ah respect that. If y’ever need to talk, Ah can’t promise Ah’ll understand everythin’, but my ears are always open.”

She had her back to them, but they heard Applejack sniff, and they knew that it was the end of the night. Rainbow made her goodbyes and promises to be back the next day, and then vanished into the darkness, and Twilight went up to one of the guest rooms. She remembered the way.

Without a house to call their own, Rarity and family took a couple guest rooms in the palace, where they were treated with the same royal graces as the other Elements. To their credit, it was not long before they came to treat the largess with dignity, and stopped bringing it up in conversation. They caught up and heard Rarity’s story the night before, and on Hearth’s Warming day, they joined the princesses and a select few others of importance for the royal holiday feast. On Celestia’s side sat Rarity and her family, and on Luna’s sat Octavia, Colgate, and Vinyl, with the rest of the table seating a smattering of dignitaries, politicians, businessponies, and community leaders. Rarity had warned her family that it would probably be a formal affair, and she was not disappointed in that respect. Talk around the table was all business after the introductory toast—“To the health and harmony of Equestria.” A few of them thanked the Elements for their work against Discord, but most had already done so.

In the discussions of business and politics, the Elements had nearly nothing to say, and traded uncomfortable looks with one another over their delicious, but no longer novel, feast. Rarity’s parents and sister had even less reason to be there, a fact not lost on them; when Sweetie Belle became antsy, Rarity was not sure whether to chide her or go with her somewhere else. Apparently recognizing the awkward position she was making, Sweetie Belle eventually asked to go to the bathroom, and was not seen for a long time after.

“Really, Canterlot is the figurehead for restorative activities,” one stuffed suit said, “but it’s cities like Roan and Manehattan that are taking the first steps. Four teams of geomorphologists and magicians have been formed in Manehattan to start piecing their section of the country back together, working independently.”

“Under our supervision,” Celestia said tersely. “They’re using their own resources, but they still answer to Canterlot.”

“And it’s from our purse that they draw their funds,” Luna completed.

“The same command structure was used when Snowdrift and the Friesian Mountains were restored, if I recall,” another suit said.

“Those areas forget to credit the throne with their success, I’ve found,” a younger mare said. “Will Manehattan and Roan have the same lapse of memory?”

“Are you concerned about ponies overlooking Canterlot?” Luna asked, spooning cranberry sauce over her mashed potatoes instead of gravy—preference, not a mistake.

“Not at all, your highness! It’s just that, in these unprecedented times, if you’re not at the head of the solution, ponies might see you as part of the problem.”

“Why does there need to be a problem at all?” Rarity cut in. “Who cares who leads us, as long as the job gets done?” She sensed immediately that she had said something disagreeable, and when the princesses did not try to back her up, she looked sullenly into her stuffing.

“If Manehattan wants to pitch in, let it,” Celestia said. “They were hardest hit by the initial disaster, it’ll be great for morale if they’re seen overcoming their obstacles and helping restore the country. As for Roan, they’ve always taken charge in the south, I don’t see why that’s a problem now.”

“It’s just their name isn’t as clean as it once was,” one politician said to another.

“So this can be their redemption,” Luna said.

“They might chafe under the princesses’ authority if they choose to openly declare it, too,” a businesspony chimed in. “We don’t want Roan appearing to help only because the throne told them to, like as some sort of repentance for what the Mansels did.”

“The Mansels have made their apologies,” Celestia said. “They have withdrawn their complaints against the Elements of Harmony.”

“It would be in Roan’s best interest if they could lead their own restorative efforts locally,” a larger stallion said.

“To save face,” Luna said. “I suppose you have a point.” She looked at Celestia, who was smiling suddenly. “Sister, you have a look in your eyes.”

Celestia tapped her glass for their attention and stood, her huge wings spread under the heavy folds of a crimson cape that draped, rich and deep as blood, to the floor. “It appears that our worries are smaller than we may have conceived, my friends.” She gave Rarity a smile and wink, and Rarity blushed, not sure what she had to do with anything. “For we have been working tirelessly to form a committee for this very purpose. The public announcement is slated for sometime before January, or early January at the latest, but essentially what we’ll be doing is overseeing nationwide restoration, coordinating with city leaders and top researchers to bring our glorious country back home, under one unified lead. The difference is, Luna and I will not be at the head of this committee, but five experts that we have personally selected for the job.” She grinned proudly, obviously relishing the moment. “Among them will be the very Element of Magic herself.”

“Twilight?” Colgate blurted to some quiet laughter down the table.

“Is she aware of this?” Rarity wanted to ask. She could not imagine Twilight volunteering for such a thing, but, burned from her earlier question, she kept quiet while the room chattered. Many of them praised Twilight, saying that her genius was unmatched and her skill for organizing projects would get Equestria back to the planet in record time—“record time,” as though any time at all would not be a record.

“When she returns from Ponyville, young Miss Sparkle will personally oversee the groundwork of restoration, and working in concert with the Element of Laughter, who I recently appointed to travel to the changeling islands.”

“Does her goodness know no limits?” one suit asked another, and it went around the table, culminating in another toast to Twilight, to Pinkie, and to the infallible ruler who had put them in such power as befitted their abilities. Celestia glowed with pride at their words, drained her glass of black sambuca, and cheerily toasted a second time for the health and harmony of Equestria.

Through all, and to dinner’s concluding remarks about hope and honor and a brighter future for all, Rarity remained in a stupor. After the guests filed out, she was free to share her reaction with Octavia and Vinyl, cut short when a massive wing fell over her.

“Merry Hearth’s Warming, my dear,” Celestia hummed, and to her other side, she brought in the other three. Luna was holding quiet council with a stranger at the door.

“That sure was a… great party,” offered Sweetie Belle, who had returned during the second round of toasts.

“Darling,” Rarity asked, “would you like to see some more of the palace? You know, we have several beautiful gardens and courtyards that I think you would love.”

Celestia nodded her approval, and the two of them hastened from the room. Rarity’s father smiled at Celestia. “So young Twilight’s gonna be in charge, huh? Good for her. She always seemed like a good egg to me.”

“I was much taken aback when she offered her services,” Celestia said, “but her interest is genuine. Frankly, I was hoping for it.”

“Your surprise is ours as well,” Octavia said. “I suppose it will be good to have her around the palace, though.”

“Yeah, I don’t mind her,” Colgate said.

Rarity’s parents caught up with their children on the grounds where they were playing under a proud statue of Princess Celestia in battle armor, both of them laughing their heads off and pitching snowballs; Vinyl crept back to the bar, where Colgate found her shortly after and spent the rest of the afternoon; and Octavia went to her room, where waited a package. She recognized her sister’s writing on the tag.

The card read simply, “I’ve been planning this since August, exchanging letters with your old college until it was perfect. I still love you. Pinkie.”

She peeled back the pink wrapping paper, untied the box, and lifted her new cello into the thin winter light. Her hooves did not tremble and her face did not break into a smile, or a frown; the surprise did not register. It was amazing, it could have overwhelmed her or anyone, but it did not. She turned it gently and examined the neck, the body stained port red, the strings, the F holes. She smelled the maple and spruce of its wood, ran a hoof across the purfling, thumped it gently with her good ear to its surface. Standing and levitating the bow to her unpracticed hoof, Octavia tested a note, sour but quickly sweetened after she had properly tuned it. In the window’s light, it shone proud and perfectly austere against her body, the tension across the bridge seeming to call for experienced hooves, the strings golden and crisp. She played a short piece, faltering once, and then played it again, faltering not at all.

Then, she put it down and read the letter once more. They had first arrived in Hoofington in August. How, with all else that was going on, Pinkie had found the time to work out a custom-made instrument for her, Octavia had no interest in knowing. Elation was just opening its wings in her fluttering heart, up until the point where she stood to take up the instrument a second time. She played her final notes on it, not even finishing as pleasure faded and turned to the self-effacing thought that she should be feeling pleasure.

Pinkie did not have to do anything; she could have returned the cello or donated it to the school, or any number of things, and Octavia would have never known. Moreover, she would not have cared if she had received nothing for Hearth’s Warming; she had certainly given nothing. Surely Pinkie knew her sister would not have felt slighted if she were overlooked, for that was what she was, the pony who wanted nothing. Rather, the pony who said she wanted nothing. Pinkie had known, too, that she would not be forgiven her mistake in Applewood, and in their time at the palace, she could have cancelled the request. She knew Octavia too well to hope the gesture would earn her redemption in her sister’s eyes, so why then go through with the gift?

“Pathetic,” Octavia thought, looking at her cello, “that is what this is.” It was either a weak attempt at apologizing or a try for the moral high ground. Simple generosity, or blind filial love, Octavia was in too dark a temper to entertain. She looked the instrument up and down, the package it came in, finding it superficially beautiful and outside herself, like a flower or a comet: the most she would permit herself to feel. It did not seem that she had claim to it. It was an object that had crossed her path, and which she could do with what she chose. She replaced it in its box and took it upstairs to one of the studies, where she asked politely that she be left alone.

When the door was softly shut, she went to the fireplace and turned on the gas. First the empty box, then the card.

Then the bow. Its hairs curled into tight, black knots in the fire.

She turned the pegs back until the cello’s strings jangled loose and the bridge fell away from the body. The tiny image of her cutie mark had been carved into its top, that she may look down and see it as she played, and this she threw next. Into the fire and gone for good.

There was no feeling in the gesture, nor did any come when the bridge caught. She waggled the tailpiece until it snapped off, and with a little more force, pulled the strings from it until they spilled across her hooves, their tips hissing on the floor. Of ebony, the piece was lost in the firewood before it had burned away. She unscrewed the end pin and used it to poke at the coals before laying it behind the largest log.

She removed one curved side with a snap and fed it to the fire, the treated wood aglow with yellow and orange for a moment before the varnish bubbled and blackened and turned to ash across its face, and the same happened to the instrument’s back, which she had to break into pieces. The smoke was becoming sweet, its fuel of the highest quality. The sorts of wood that were commonly used in the instrument were not readily available in Hoofington; they would have had to ship it in from farther south. No matter; the cello’s other side went next, into the fire and gone for good. Next, she removed the metal screw mechanism for retracting the end pin, placing it beside her without a second look.

Elaborate spirals had been inked to either end of the F holes, with hard linear designs of leaves and branches spreading from them to cover the instrument’s face, cracks from a distance and a forest motif up close. On a thick branch midway up the neck, a tiny squirrel sat with a tinier acorn in its paws, each leaf around it drawn with painful precision; higher up, a bird’s nest with a flying silhouette returning, a single hash through its beak where it held a twig. Had Pinkie designed it herself, or had she left that to the artists at her old college?

Octavia tugged the strings out next, laying them to her side with the screw mechanism, and then removed the rosewood pegbox to hold in her hoof. The scroll was carved to resemble a blooming carnation, its edges tipped with white but not smelling of paint. The flower, she cast next into flames, and the white edges that must have been so hard to get correct darkened and were lost.

She grabbed a metal poker and stirred the fire, growing weak with too much material. She wanted to cry for how fitting it would be to do so, but her mind turned instead to her death. Momentarily disengaged, it went immediately to the morbid topic, a fact which no longer surprised or frightened her.

“If there is an appropriate time for me to die, this is it. I can reach the observatory and cast myself out of a window, and that will be that. I would not mind being found face-down among the flowers and grass.” As matter-of-fact as anything else, she thought of the various high places in the palace that she could see for a last time. They all seemed equally attractive—that was, not attractive at all. As she had earlier felt that she should feel pleasure from her gift, she now felt that she should feel sad for it, but there was no true sadness there either.

“Pathetic,” she thought, this time of herself. “It is a stupid gift, and it has me thinking of suicide.” That her sister should have that power over her, and not even know it, brought a silent snarl to her lips.

They were both pathetic, she and Pinkie. Her sister was weak and craven, but Octavia was no better for her reckless displays of courage. She poked a glowing fist of embers off the main log and shuffled them about the bricks. Where her sister failed and denied accountability, Octavia would push herself too far and then admit the same weakness every time to appease anyone who asked. Admission, after all, was the first step toward recovery; she had been on that step for months.

“Pathetic,” she mumbled. “I should not be like her.” She began splitting the cello’s front into manageable pieces, cleaving the forest. Only that and the neck remained.

Finally, anger. With the first piece, a gentle curve of F hole eating into its side, hissing in the fire, Octavia thought again of her sister. She had not expressed how she felt save for the initial outburst on the deck, thinking cold silence was the most profound reaction she could give, but in the study and possibly too late, she found she wished she had said something more.

“You left us, you made something of yourself, and you came back. For what?” she asked the empty air. “To parade across the country, pretending valor? You shrink at everything, deny responsibility at every possible turn, and everyone tells you that it is okay, that it is in your nature.” Her face was contracted, rage mounting without her notice. “And then you kill us. You chose death, not just for yourself, but for us all.” She split the front with her hooves and shoved a piece into the fire.

“And if I die, I am just like her. I have been like her this whole time. I have been dead.” She pushed more cinders with the cello’s neck before sliding it into a space between the log and a crumbling S, what had been the instrument’s side. All of it then, into the fire and gone for good. Pinkie too, out of her life and gone for good—she would be sure of it. All that was left was herself, and what was that worth?

She stared into the fire and thought of it, her self-hatred turned hot and uncomfortable in the clarity of dawning truth. Her friends were gone or leaving, and she would soon have only herself as audience for the cycle of self-imposed misery. Stripped of utility and even the pretense thereto, she could see her own self: an alluringly tragic figure, at one point perhaps, but rendered unremarkable through her own insistence on refusing change. She had indiscriminately soaked up pity and disdain and everything else ponies felt for her over the years, becoming her own idea of herself. Every setback was a triumph, a new opportunity to better become that sad image, and at long last, smelling the sweet cello smoke and breathing the hot air, she had her reward.

“For what.” She wandered the room in search of a mirror, finding it in the thin steel of a letter opener, and stared into her smeared reflection. The terrific stupidity of it all, the uselessness, the dishonesty, the blindness, all in smoke and ash were becoming clear, and what she had not felt for Discord as she stared him down, what she had only felt a shadow of when she confessed it to Colgate on the way back, found her there: hatred. Dispassionate loathing was familiar, but the hatred flaring inside her was new and frightening as she stabbed the letter opener into a book, as she then turned on herself, hooves to forehead, mane spread on the rug as she pressed her head down and bloodied her lips with a stifled scream.

“For what! For what!” She pounded her head against the soft rug, shouts diminishing until she whispered to herself. “For what. All this for what?” The humiliating answer was, simply, nothing, and she knew it. She had known it, it had come to her more times than she could count, and it had always gone ignored.

She closed her eyes, the feeling passing, leaving her trembling with the aftershock. She removed the letter opener and returned it to its desk, succor in the mundane, thinking inarticulately but no less surely what her choice was. As it felt to her, she could choose death, like Pinkie had, or she could choose life. Back to the fire she turned and examined the remnants of her cello, her conscience shouting at her to choose life, the petrified slab of habit making her hesitate until the clock struck seven and roused her.

The act of standing, of getting the blood back in her limbs, was the final piece of mundane activity needed to sift her thoughts into their proper places, and she quit the study and ascended the nearest staircase.

“I am not her. I have been, but I do not need to be anymore.” It was the same feeling, which she had felt in Tartarus, initiated then from magic without and forgotten just as easily. “I have been that mare in the past, but that is behind me.” She made her way to the observatory bridge, stood, and put her hooves on the balustrade.

In her mind’s eye, a skeleton of a pony leapt up and over and tumbled gracelessly to the earth, though her back hooves remained firmly planted on the stones. She replayed the scene once more and then closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and looked down again. Despite the season, the gardens were enchanted to bloom, the trees and topiary to flourish. Under snowfall, the palace grounds were as of the carnation on her cello, tipped with white, alive, beautiful, and stoic. She sat and rested her head against the cold stone banister.

“I am not her.” No simple recitation, the phrase rang out clear and honest as a bell through her body. She took in freezing air and repeated it, not until it was numb, but until it filled her.

Vinyl knew how to hold her liquor where Colgate only pretended to, but she was good company in the palace bar anyway. They stayed until evening, nursing cocktails and going over nothing new, occasionally falling into uncomfortable quietude when one asked something too personal of the other. When it was eight o’ clock and the snow was thick, they woozily made their exits and repaired to their rooms to freshen up. No one had seen Octavia, so the two, in loose sweaters and snow shoes and nothing else, inured from drink and their time in Snowdrift, left the main gate and marched unsteadily into the city, toward what they had no plan. It was Hearth’s Warming, there would be nothing open. When Vinyl reminded Colgate of the fact, Colgate nodded happily and moved with a spring in her step.

Scads of pegasi drifted and coordinated high above their heads, and when Vinyl turned to watch one group’s movement, she could just see the blinking radio towers on the mountain’s peak, where tiny dark shapes conglomerated. In their own reflective vests, the pegasus workers reminded her of fireflies, which she pointed out to Colgate.

“That’s so other pegasi can see ‘em at night,” Colgate said.

“Yeah. I know that.”

The same circuit they had run in their parade was the path Colgate and Vinyl took at first, past the dressmakers and accessory shops, the home furnishing stores and the specialty baker shop, where Pinkie had caught a bouquet of roses tossed from the wide-flung door. All were closed and dark for the holiday, picturesque big-city wintertime, sleeping carriages and jolly lights in thick strands across eaves, giving way to wreaths on doors and icicles rimming dormers as they reached the residences. Candlelight, song, chestnuts and holly in the air. Colgate threw a foreleg over Vinyl and the two stumbled, laughing, into a hedge, quickly running off when the house’s owner peeked out the window at them.

“Maybe you were right, V,” Colgate slurred. “No bars open nowhere on Hearth’s Warming. Aw, shoulda—what’s that?”

Vinyl smiled innocently and offered the silver flask to Colgate, who drank without a second thought.

“Licorice-y! Weird.”

“A lady never leaves her room without one,” Vinyl said, her quiet voice further insulated against Colgate’s ears from the fuzz of intoxication. Colgate nodded eagerly, “leaves” the only word she made out.

They crossed through an empty park, their hooves occasionally jigging where the slippery sidewalk permitted, and skirted a duck pond. Colgate stopped to look at it, recalling the fountain into which she had pushed one of her friends long ago, and before Vinyl could stop her, she was in full dash, her sweater and shoes kicked carelessly aside and her tail disappearing headlong into dark water. At the shore, Vinyl laughed and pulled from her flask before doffing her winter wear and joining. They guffawed and splashed each other, traded the flask, drank it dry, and then climbed out, shaking and smiling nervously at each other before falling in a heap and rolling across the lawn.

“What is it with you and water?” Vinyl asked.

Colgate, shivering, twirled a hoof in the air.

“C’mon, we’re gonna freeze, ya goombah.”

“You ain’t my doctor,” Colgate shivered, accepting a hoof to stand. They gathered up their clothes, which were quickly wet from the water in their fur, and resumed their aimless adventure, galvanized from the cold that was already gaining more than an edge.

“Lookee there,” Colgate said, pointing to a nearby hotel.

“I’ve had enough hotels for now, thanks.”

“The roof, dangit. Lights and stuff, see?”

Vinyl, struggling to stand up straight, took a minute to see the strings of Hearth’s Warming lights, the carousing shadows on a tarp’s underside, and the row of vehicles parked conspicuously at the hotel’s front.

“Come, noble squire! To war!” Colgate cheered, and they were off, across the street, bounding over the gently sloped selvedge, composing themselves hastily for the pony just inside.

“Can I help you ladies?”

“Sorry we’re late. DJ Pon-three, entertainment. We had to step out, got a little lost.”

Vinyl, vaguely following Colgate’s lead, flashed a smile and lowered her head just a fraction to let her goggles reflect the hotel’s dangling chandelier, an effect diminished by the wide puddle dripping off her.

“The entertainment has already arrived.”

“We’re the second act.”

“My equipment’s already up there, we just had to step out to move the car,” Vinyl said, and smirked. “Got a little wet too.”

“Did you get lost?” the pony asked.

“The construction on Cucumber Lane had traffic backed up all the way down to Eighteenth,” Colgate said, leaning around and raising a hoof. “We had to go around the far block, what’s it, up to Princess’ Loop?”

“Oh, the Loop has been awful lately.”

“Yeah, we noticed. Anyway—” She pricked up an ear. “Aw, geez, sounds like we barely got in, c’mon V.”

The two ran for the elevators before the guard could object, and on the ride up, Vinyl let out a long, relaxed sigh. “That was good, Cole.”

Colgate was frowning at the floor and shivering inside her sweater, and did not reply until they were at the roof, where she let out a solitary cry of excitement.

At least forty ponies, a hundred to their eyes, swirled and sashayed with one another, flowing gowns catching lights from every angle, manes and tails decorated with glittering butterflies and diamonds and snowflakes, eyelashes thick and lipstick gaudy, cocktails floating or balanced neatly on hooves, heavy music shoving back against their chests as they entered, dazed and unnoticed. Not looking at each other, the two went in different directions and would not meet up for near to an hour later. Colgate found a heat lamp and basked there, making her way through a dry martini and inventing stories for the pair of young stallions who tried to flirt with her. She told them of her time as a reporter in Fillydelphia, and how, disgraced through no fault of her own, she had to move down to Snowdrift, where she became a humble concierge. She described the corkscrew hotel, embellishing that those who stepped inside were subjected to the same warping magic, perception and all so they could not observe themselves stretched. Vinyl went straight for the bar and bought a pitcher of beer for the group who invited her over, recognizing her instantly. She gave them a halting light show, she too drunk to do much more than flash some colors and make a little dancing display of shapes, which nonetheless dazzled the revelers. By the time the party’s host noticed them, the two friends were integrated and welcome, and she cornered them both individually to tell them all about herself, what she was celebrating, why the party’s cost was no worry for her, who her parents were, and so on. Of the two, only Colgate’s feigned interest became more, and when they found each other again, Colgate emerged with the host at her hip, a feather boa over both their necks and a smear of aubergine lipstick like a bruise on her cheek.

Games clattered loudly, cards riffled at candlelit tables, and the band played fervently. Smartly-dressed servers cycled through the crowds with silver trays of snacks and drinks, and Colgate never saw Vinyl miss one. Every color of the rainbow passed through the white unicorn’s hooves, every type of glass, and she took them all with the same grinning gusto, pounding back glasses of water whenever she had a hoof free and disappearing for the bathrooms so frequently that her intermittence became background patter to Colgate, who was drawn further and further into the host’s voice, her wild tangerine eyes.

Once, by chance only, Colgate and Vinyl were in the bathroom concurrently, and Colgate, after washing her hooves, pushed open the ajar stall door to find a watered down cocktail abandoned on the toilet tank. She was nursing it when Vinyl came back out.

“Cole, you’re a, lemme tell you, you are sooo smart, with this party like this.”

“This drink is awful! Why am I doing this?”

“Are they still doing amaretto shots out there?”

“I can tell they are.”

“You can?” Vinyl’s eyebrows rose up past her goggles, affording a narrow sliver of eye white.

“College education,” Colgate lied, having no idea what Vinyl had asked her.

“You’re… you’re sober!” She laughed. “Clever mare!”

Colgate smiled and made to leave the bathroom, content with herself, for it was apparently without Vinyl’s notice that she had thrown up in the duck pond.

They went back to the party and went their separate ways again, Colgate to a quieter place with the host and Vinyl to the loudest group, dancing and dropping clothes left and right in front of the band. Shots flowed into the crowd without end, and Vinyl would recall later the indeterminate memory of racing one of the mares in a drinking contest of some sort, though what they were drinking and what spoils went to the victor were lost to time. She threw more lights off her horn, at one point rushing to the guardrail and treating Canterlot to what she thought then was a master performance of color and technique. Vodka burned her throat, beer cooled it, and the endless cycle of soft bathroom lights stabilized her for long enough to continuously throw herself back into the mess. She threw up at one point, effortless and cold from the lager she had finished just a minute before, and in so doing gave herself another hour of drinking stamina. That particular session in the bathroom, she came out with a flourish and a little dance, into which she incorporated drinking the shot someone pushed on her.

As the party quieted and guests made their ways downstairs, and the band packed up and said their goodbyes, Colgate stumbled up to Vinyl with a glazed look in her eyes, said “shhhhwhoaaa, Vinyl, huh,” and disappeared until morning. Dead tired and without a ride, Vinyl trailed after one of the guests who had demonstrated an interest in her, shared a room, and woke up the following morning still drunk and feeling like her insides had been desiccated. She inspected herself and the room, determined that nothing unexpected had taken place the night before, and shambled down to the hotel lobby, where she drank a pot of coffee and three carafes of water before Colgate finally showed up, not from upstairs but from the street, stumbling and grinning like an idiot.

“Over here, buddy,” Vinyl mumbled, and Colgate flopped down in the seat opposite. She wore entirely different clothes, and her mane was a mess, her eyes red and manic. “Where’ve you been?”

“I just got back from Lower Canterlot. I’m glad the taxis are running this early.”

“It’s eleven.”

“Right.”

“Speaking of cabs, do you…” Vinyl lowered her head to the table’s cold surface. “Please tell me we have money to get a ride back to the palace.”

“I got money.”

Vinyl grabbed another cup of coffee and another glass of water, and when the taxi was outside, she was squirming with a full bladder that she hadn’t time to relieve. Colgate hopped into the carriage and patted the seat beside her, and they jostled away.

“Me and the party host went back to her place.”

“How was that?”

Colgate blinked awkwardly and looked out at the passing city. She had helped herself to a sandwich bag of bits hidden in the back of her host’s closet as well as a sampling of her medicine cabinet before heading out, leaving a “thank you” note and a kiss on the still sleeping mare’s forehead. She deposited the pills in a trash can before flagging her taxi, vague guilt darkening her mood but gone by the time she was at the hotel. To Vinyl’s question, she said simply, “It was good. I think she was a dancer, had that kind of body.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.” She moaned as they stopped for a light. “Glad you had a good time, though.”

“Yourself?”

“Yeah, it was okay.”

Vinyl couldn’t wait. As soon as they stopped, still a fair piece from the palace’s entrance, she ran off into a row of bushes to pee while Colgate diligently stood guard.

“You drank a lot last night, huh?”

“Gee, how’d you guess?” Vinyl snorted.

“We’ll tell ‘em we found a nice corporate party, two drink maximum. They told everyone how bright they think the future is, and how their new partnership with Whatever, Incorporated is really going to open a lot of doors for the market.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Her voice was strained and tired, quieter than usual, and she had to repeat herself twice.

“Well we’re not gonna ‘fess up what really happened, with the booze and the pills and stuff.”

“There weren’t any pills, Colgate.”

“See? How easy was that?”

“I can tell when you’re bullshitting me, you know.”

“Uhh.”

“You’re not as sneaky as you think.” She nodded tersely to the guards outside, who looked at them with knowing smiles.

“I’m not sneakin’.”

“Cole, can you come back to me? I need you here, now, in the moment.” She led them to a side room off the main court, where Celestia was in her station on the throne, hearing out a citizen with a grievance. She did not spare the returning friends a look, which suited them fine.

“How drunk are you?” Vinyl asked.

“Not as drunk as you.”

“I’m not—okay, did you take those pills already?”

“Street.”

Vinyl put a hoof to her face. “I don’t know what ‘street’ is supposed to mean.”

“I tossed ‘em, I didn’t want ‘em after all. It didn’t feel right.”

Vinyl looked at her for a minute before shaking her head. “Yeah, okay, I’ll trust you. But! In the future, we need to… Look, Cole, nights like last night, those are rare. Say it with me.” She nodded slowly with Colgate. “Raaaaare. Yeah? We’re not gonna do that every night, or even every week. Couple times a year, that’s it for us.”

“I said I didn’t take ‘em.”

“No more parties for a while!” she cried, throwing her hoof in the air with a little spot of color wobbling on her horn. “No more booze—for a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“C’mon.”

They went up to Colgate’s room, where she lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling while Vinyl flagged down a servant for yet more coffee and water.

“I slept with one of them last night,” Vinyl said.

“That’s pretty cool.”

“No! No! It is not cool, Colgate.” She hopped up and, lacking something to actually do, sat back down moodily. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do it anymore. Long time ago.”

It took a second for the point to dawn on Colgate, who nodded against the pillow.

“He’s gonna be telling his friends that he got in bed with the famous Vinyl Scratch now for the rest of his life.”

“Well, you agreed to go with him, right?”

“I offered.”

“Well…”

Vinyl grunted and brought in her tray of liquids, and as Colgate fell asleep, she drank through both, slowly coming back to sobriety and all the shame that came therewith. It had been a long time since she had had a night like last, long enough that she thought they were behind her for good. Looking back, to see how easy it was to slip into old habits disquieted her further. She knew better than to seek to dull the pain of self-reproach, that was a hard-learned lesson from the deep past, so she left half the coffee for Colgate and crept to her own room to sleep off the worst of it.

That same night, with her sister enjoying her own company in the solitude of her bedroom and the drinkers out crashing a party, Pinkie took the midnight train back up to Canterlot. She and Celestia had discussed her schedule in very brief before leaving. With the hollow sympathies of a monarch, Celestia had told Pinkie how tight her schedule was, and that she would be needed the day after Hearth’s Warming—so sorry. Pinkie had thought she would mind, but her goodbyes were few and uncomfortable. Her former employers had hired a replacement, so there was no room for her at Sugarcube Corner anymore; and her more superficial friends in town, while eager to lend an ear and a hug, were not so quick to volunteer a home. She did not bother saying goodbye to the other Elements. They knew where to find her.

Next to no one was traveling between towns on Hearth’s Warming, least of all at the hour Pinkie had chosen. There had been earlier trains, but she had wanted the melancholy, and as she settled into her seat and listened to the station sounds as her train readied to pull away, she knew she had chosen correctly. The image was perfect. As Applejack had gotten her minute of pure peace in the rocking chair by the fire, so Pinkie was getting hers in the dim cabin as ponies thumped about with luggage and stoked the engines. The cool starlight on the snow, the glowing horn of Canterlot Mountain reduced to a familiar but yet indistinct destination, the weight of pending responsibility to keep her mind from wandering to more painful things, the one bag she had brought sitting by the door, and every other tiny detail that seemed to jump out at her with a significance all its own.

As Ponyville slid out of sight, she closed her eyes, not willing to see it go. She still saw them as her friends, had given up on telling herself to amend the title. So sweet and solemn was the night, her gentle departure, and the mute acceptance with which she shouldered it.

Let them be angry. They had every right to be.

She started awake when the train began its ascent to Greater Canterlot, and from her seat, had the pleasure of watching the palace’s lights grow and separate from the glow thrown forth from the city in main. The stars disappeared and the snow was dirty and disheveled once more. She debarked, thanked the porter, and marched alone up to the drawbridge, where a guard let her in with a tired “Happy Hearth’s Warming, Miss Pie.”

At the farmhouse the following morning, Twilight was preparing to head back as well. She still had to tell her friends what she was doing, and for that purpose, she had requested they all meet for breakfast. Rainbow was there already, trying to help in the kitchen, and Twilight heard Fluttershy’s arrival from upstairs, where she was teaching Applejack how to set up her own communication sigils with Versus.

When they went down, the pegasi were seated already while Big Mac set the table. From Fluttershy’s clipped greeting and brusque demeanor, it was clear to them that she had debated not coming at all. Her own bitterness fueled Twilight’s, and Twilight took the head of the table with a no-nonsense expression that her friends all recognized.

“What’s wrong, Twi?” Applejack asked.

“Yes. Thank you.” She accepted a mug of hot tea from Big Mac. “I figured I should let you all know, I’m heading back to Canterlot today. I’ll be there for a while, I’d guess.”

The stunned silence that met her was exactly what she had expected, and the first spoken response, the same.

“I’m sorry, you’re what?” Rainbow asked. Her tone was angry, but her voice was small. Twilight had hoped there would not be pain in the exchange.

“They need me way more up there than down here, so I’m going back. As you know, we’re still floating and still in pieces. Princess Celestia needs someone to take a leadership position with country restoration.”

“An’ that’s you?” Applejack asked. “Not one of her legions of scientists or magicians?”

“There’s them too, but I have the advantage of having traveled more. I’ve seen the country, I know what parts need more help than others, and so on.” Their expressions did not change, and weakly, Twilight added, “She could really use me.”

Fluttershy just shook her head and turned away, and Rainbow set aside her tea. “Coming home and being done with this was what you wanted most. Why… Why go back on that? Why not tell her you can’t help right now, that you need your own time? She’ll understand.”

“Actually, I’m the one who approached her about it.”

“Yer kiddin,” Big Mac mumbled.

Twilight flashed him a dark look. “I already told her I’d do it, my train is booked for this afternoon. Girls, I’m doing this, and that’s all there is to it.”

“Then I’m going with you,” Rainbow said.

“If you—” She faltered and covered it with a sip of tea. “I’m not asking anyone to come with me, I understand my decision.”

“And I’m not asking your permission, Twilight. I’m going too.”

Twilight shook her head. “You don’t—”

“No, it’s not up for debate. Today, you said? What time? I’ll make sure I’m packed and ready.”

“It’s… The train leaves at two.”

“Great. That’s plenty of time.”

“Don’t do it, Rainbow,” Fluttershy murmured.

Rainbow shrugged. “Not up for debate.”

Twilight sighed.

“Unless you specifically don’t want me to be with you, Twilight, I’m going. I can’t let you take this on alone.”

“No, no, I don’t… I don’t not want you. I just thought it would be better if I didn’t involve anyone else.”

“Ahh, so you could suffer alone, that it?” Applejack asked.

“What are you getting at? And don’t give me that pseudo-intellectual crap you’ve been boning up on. Give it to me straight, Applejack.”

Applejack laughed humorlessly. “Well, since y’asked. Tell me, did you volunteer fer this job before, or after, you found out Pinkie was stayin’ behind?”

“I don’t need this right now.”

“So that’s after, Ah presume.”

“What does it matter?”

“You want my honest opinion or not? Yer not gonna like it.”

“Save it, then. I’m sure it’s very well thought-out.”

“You are such a piece. One little question to get you all riled up. What do you think that says ‘bout you?”

“The same thing it said last time you girls brought it up, Applejack. But I’m sure you’d love to spell it out for me again. Or maybe you, Dash?”

“How about not taking your frustration out on me?” Rainbow asked. “Just a thought I had.”

Twilight stood from the table and fixed her eyes on Big Mac, who quailed. “Big Mac? Anything?”

“You leave him out of it,” Applejack said, and Twilight met her eyes before sitting back down.

“Right. You’re right. We can talk like adults.”

“Can we?” Rainbow sneered.

“Why I’m choosing to go back is my business,” Twilight continued, temper under control and face toward the tabletop, hooves up to guard her from eye contact. “I’m not looking for pity or congratulations or anything, I’m just telling you how it is. I have no idea how long I’ll be there.” She glanced up at Rainbow. “I won’t hold you to anything. You can leave anytime.”

“You know I won’t.”

“Right. Right.” She spread her hooves. “So, uh… Goodbye, I guess. I’ll visit when I can. If not, I’ll write.”

“Don’t put yourself out for our sake,” Fluttershy said.

“Nice, Fluttershy. I’ll be sure to write you last, then.”

“As I said.”

“Okay okay okay, let’s cut it off there,” Rainbow said, standing with Twilight. Fluttershy did the same, and her motion signaled the mutual agreement to say no more. Twilight shook Applejack’s hoof and thanked her for the food and housing, and Applejack told her she was welcome anytime. She turned upstairs to finish packing while Rainbow darted out to find the beginnings of her cloud house, so she could do the same.

Fluttershy caught Applejack’s eyes across the table while Big Mac cleared the dishes. “You have something to say?” Fluttershy asked.

“Let’s step outside.”

The crisp morning air did not soften either of their moods, and Applejack had to lead Fluttershy on three circles around the barn before she felt sufficiently level-headed to begin her point.

“Ah’ve been puttin’ this off an’ off, Fluttershy. Sit down, if ya please.”

Fluttershy looked at Applejack accusingly before sitting in the snow, as if Applejack had deliberately chosen a place where there was no convenient seating.

“This ain’t gonna be pleasant, just warnin’ ya.”

“Let’s do it fast, then,” Fluttershy sighed.

Applejack looked away from her, but it did not help. She bit her tongue, dreading, not sure what sort of reaction she would get. “Ah think yer in danger of losin’ yer Element, if ya haven’t lost it already.”

She did not look, but heard the sound of Fluttershy nodding, the long mane brushing against her coat. Finally, Fluttershy returned in a tiny voice, “explain.”

“With Pinkie, how you handled it. Ah get that it was justified, that she deserved some sorta punishment fer what she did. But the way you did it, with the letter an’ all, an’ in the middle of the deck like that. That was cruel, Fluttershy.”

“Cruel.”

“Premeditated, malicious, an’ excessive. Ah mean, you saw her, the mare was cryin’ harder’n anyone Ah ever seen.”

Fluttershy did not stop nodding, and Applejack chanced a look at her to see her face cut in a deep, thoughtful frown.

“Cruel to more than her, too. Dumpin’ that news on us all at once, well, Ah can’t speak fer the others, but fer me, it really took the wind out of the whole thing.”

“You’re saying I should have found a way to break the news more gently.”

“Ah am sayin’ that, yes. You didn’t have to do it in such a way that made us all freak out an’ start fightin’, an’ you also didn’t have to do it when we were still celebratin’ our victory.”

“How are your responses my fault?”

“You, knowin’ us, knowin’ how we react to things. That was an informed decision an’ you know it. An’ informed decision rashly made, Ah forward.”

Fluttershy heaved another sigh.

“Ah think anger made you weak, but Ah also think you relished it when it happened. Yer face when Pinkie was rollin’ on the deck, screamin’ her head off… It wasn’t the face of sympathy.”

“I should be sympathetic to the pony who practically killed us?”

“If yer claimin’ to be the Element of Kindness, yes, you should be.”

She closed her eyes for a long time, and Applejack faced her fully. At first, it appeared that Fluttershy shivered from the cold, but then the tears squeezed out between tight eyelids and the lips pulled back. Applejack debated quickly whether to offer comfort, and then did so. Her hoof stroking Fluttershy’s back earned a tiny flinch and then a gentler outflow of sorrow, and in time, Fluttershy managed a diminished “I don’t know what to do. I know it was wrong.”

“Did it seem like a good idea at the time?”

Fluttershy nodded.

“Yeah, they usually do. What Ah think should be done ain’t easy neither. Are ya listenin’? Do ya need a minute?”

“Please.”

Applejack stood with her, rubbing her back, looking at her land and wishing she could be back inside with another cup of tea, very barely loathing the fact that it was hers to help with the adventure’s emotional fallout. For Applejack’s part, Pinkie was a low and sad thing, but nothing she could do much about save forget. If the others made moving on difficult, she didn’t know what she would do, but to look down on Fluttershy’s broken form, she at least knew that she did not want to share her burden.

“Okay, go ahead, Applejack. What do you think I should do? I’m ready.”

“My opinion: you need to take a long, hard look at yerself. Not with one of us, but alone. Go home, think it through, figure out just what you got in yer heart. Ah don’t know how the Elements work exactly, but a meanness like that can’t be good fer it. If you think you still have it in you to be the Element of Kindness, then yer gonna have to change fer it, an’… if you think y’already lost it, then you need to know that a hundred percent, an’ then tell us. Not wishin’ to sound callous, but we need to know too so we can get on an’ find the next bearer.”

“I really hope not.”

“Believe me, Ah’ve been prayin’ fer the same.”

“You’ve been praying for me?”

“Or meditatin’, if you like.”

Fluttershy dried her face on a wing and stood up as if to go, but stayed still.

“Ah still believe in you, Fluttershy. Yer a good pony, you just need time to heal.”

“Maybe.” She let drop a couple new tears before walking to the orchard’s edge, where between them and the Everfree Forest stretched an expanse of rocky land, and Applejack followed her unsurely. When Fluttershy looked back and saw her there, she said, “I’ll do it. You’re right, as usual. I’ll have an answer for you next time we meet, Applejack.”

“Take as much time as you need; you don’t have to hurry on my account.”

“That’s not what I meant. I’ll be…” She sighed and gave a trembling smile. “Bye for now.”

Applejack watched her go and returned to the farmhouse, where Big Mac was still at the table, Apple Bloom moving around in the kitchen. Applejack sat down heavily and looked her brother in the eyes. Neither of them held to any pretense; he had read the tension in the room perfectly, and had prepared to hear his sister out when she got back.

“She just left. Ah told her what Ah thought ‘bout the Element.”

“‘Bout her losin’ it?” Big Mac asked.

“Yup.”

“Who’s losin’ what now?” Apple Bloom chirped, spinning into the dining room with a saucer balanced on her back. She almost dropped it, but managed to get it to the table and then ran off to grab the cups.

“Fluttershy’s been havin’ a tough time, that’s all,” Applejack said.

“Well yeah.” She drifted out with the cups and went back for the kettle. “Y’all were away all year. Yer probably tired of each other.”

“That’s part of it.”

“What did she do?” Big Mac asked.

“She heard me out, cried a little, an’ then walked off into the forest.”

“The forest?” Apple Bloom sat down finally and poured out her tea. “Ain’t she scared?”

“Nah, not anymore. She got a lot… braver when we were away.”

“She’s gonna reflect out there,” Big Mac said. “That’s a good idea. Her an’ the nature, no one else out there. Eeyup, a good idea.”

“Where did Twilight go?” Apple Bloom asked.

Applejack put her face down in her hooves, already spent for the day.

At the train station, Twilight stole a restive look at Rainbow Dash. “Last chance, Dash.”

“Twilight, I’m not leaving you.” She smiled. “That’s final.”

She hated to admit it, but having Rainbow by her side had already taken its effect. The moment of her departure back to Canterlot had weighed on her since before reaching Ponyville, for she had seen it in her mind’s eye as a scene of bitterness at best and, at worst, another notch of separation from her friends. She knew the gulf between her and them, as well as she did not know how to go about fixing it, and yet there was Rainbow, steadfastly linking them still. Her heart warmed in spite of her selfish will to embody what she thought she was becoming—no attraction to wickedness, but the desire to be right, and not only that, but right all along.

“Why are you subjecting yourself to this?” Twilight asked as the train whistle cut through the cold air, followed shortly after by a little feather of steam on the horizon.

“Because you’re my friend and I love you.”

Twilight hesitated.

“After all the other crap we’ve been through, you think I can just sit back now?”

“You’re leaving everyone else for me.”

“They’re home, they don’t need me. And Pinkie, she made her bed.” Rainbow was silent until they got on the train and were underway. “Remember when you freaked out in Appleloosa, like you had a flashback? We were… somewhere.”

“It was the hoedown. Pinkie was calling a square dance, and we were outside by the fire pit.”

“That’s it. I told you I was gonna stick with you then, and I meant it. I mean it still.”

Twilight shook her head. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She stretched in her seat, throwing her wings out. “I think you’re making a mistake to go back to Canterlot, but I know I can’t make you change your mind. So, you know what? I’ll be there to help you when it gets tough.”

“It will get tough, too, I can already see that.” She did not want to admit the truth she knew Rainbow already suspected, that she was going back to not let Pinkie be the only one to win Celestia’s favor. She was like a jealous sibling, but more than that, the notion of retreating to a little house in Ponyville had taken a sour tinge without her notice. Up to the point of their return, going back and doing nothing seemed the ideal reward, but on the precipice of actually doing it, the impression had become a disillusioned “is that all?” in her mind.

“So what do you actually need to do?”

“Princess Celestia hasn’t told me yet. I just know I’m going to be organizing restorative efforts. Probably helping ponies with magic and stuff.”

“Do you still remember that sigil we used in the beginning?”

“I’m literally unable to forget it. Princess Celestia imposed it into my mind, remember? I believe the term she used was ‘burn.’ She burned it into me.”

“That was probably the worst night of my life.”

“Mine too.” She didn’t continue, but they both knew the subject just below. “So Big Mac was having bad dreams.”

“That shit in Snowdrift, it’s no wonder,” Rainbow said. “How about you?”

“Yeah, I have them still. I haven’t had any flashbacks, but sometimes the nightmares are just as bad.”

“You should see a psychiatrist.”

“We all should. I’ll probably go looking for one once I’m settled in Canterlot.” She smiled to herself. “We’re going to have to get used to this train ride. I don’t suppose you brought any cards?”

“Nope.”

“Me neither. Uhh, maybe the guy with the trolley has some. I’ll be back.”

Big Mac was in his room gathering dirty laundry when he heard Applejack talking, and at first he thought she was pontificating aloud to herself, but then heard Versus’ voice join in. It gave him a start; she had not said that Twilight had installed a new communication sigil at the farmhouse. The sound of her voice drew him as though on a cable to Applejack’s room, where he knocked without his usual nervous hesitation.

“Yeah?”

“Is that Versus in there?”

“Big Mac!” Versus cried, and his heart leaped. He was smiling nervously when Applejack let him in. “Is that him? AJ, you gotta clue me in on this stuff, I can’t see you.”

“It’s him. Mac, say somethin’, don’t just stand there.”

He stuttered. “Uh, hi Versus.”

“Oh, you two are naturals,” Applejack laughed. “Verse, can you really not see us?”

“You kidding? I can’t do my own magic.”

“Ah shoulda asked Twilight to set up some sorta remote viewin’ thing fer us.”

“Like what she used to spy on the whole country?”

“Er, yeah.”

“Divination,” Big Mac said.

“I’ll pass on the spying, I think,” Versus said. “You two don’t need to see me here. I’m not doing anything.”

“Ah wouldn’t mind seein’ ya,” Big Mac thought, but he did not have the courage to say it.

“So how’s Snowdrift doin’?” Applejack asked. To Big Mac, she said, “We left it in a pretty state, apparently.”

Versus laughed again. “Well, a lot of ponies are getting worked up about the latest Contraction. Some of the brain ponies are predicting the Snowdrift Gateway Commission making a stink about it, you know, what with Twilight’s meddling. No one really knows anything yet, least I don’t think so, but if the precogs are saying it… You know how it goes.”

“She did what she had to,” Big Mac said. “They’re not gonna try to do anythin’ to her, are they?”

“‘Do anything?’ What, like whack her? Hell no. Well, and she’s got the princesses behind her now too, she’s untouchable. Canterlot politics, blah blah blah. But you get the precogs stirred up, they’ll make anything a big deal.”

Big Mac sat on the other side of the bed and tuned out the two mares’ conversation. They talked like old friends, laughing and completing each other’s sentences, sometimes imitating each other’s accents; Applejack shortening her drawl into the sharper Snowdrift form was an ugly thing that made him chuckle. Before long, he was paying attention to Versus’ voice only. When it was high and fast with happiness, it made him smile, and when it became even and warm as she joined Applejack in their usual spiritual cogitations, it made him yearn to be in his sister’s place. Seeing himself in her spot on the bed and speaking with Versus alone brought a faint ache to his heart, which he did not quite want to dispel. Applejack poured out her heart to her, exposed her innermost thoughts to the mare across the country, and Big Mac found himself losing the conversation’s thread and wishing more and more that he could do the same.

“Ah wish none of this had happened,” he wanted to say. It was not strictly true, but it would be an effective way to grab her attention, and she might say something like “Oh no! Big Mac, what’s wrong? You can tell me.” She would ask him to go into detail about his feelings, and he would be able to with the confidence he needed, knowing someone else wanted it and he was not imposing on her.

He got up and left without a word, retreating to his room and following the thread of his fantasy conversation, circling and meandering and full of encouragement from Versus until she was practically begging him to share his pain with her. He felt dirty doing it, but could not master himself, always returning to the warm sound of her voice and imagining it addressing him, telling him that whatever the problem was, it was okay. Whenever she got to actually asking him what the problem was, his thoughts unraveled. What did have him down? All he had witnessed and taken part in, sure, but that seemed like the obvious answer, and saying it to the hypothetical Versus made him feel like he was missing the mark in some way.

He collected his laundry and took it down to the washing machine, glad for the way his family saw him still. Apple Bloom gave him a look but didn’t ask what was on his mind, for to her, he was still the same, quiet, peaceful stallion.