Dear Twilight Sparkle and friends,
Depending on where you are, you may need to turn back. I’ve been informed that there is yet another Element of Harmony in the ruins of the Applewood Amusement Park. I apologize for the lateness of my timing, but my ponies only just got finished there. It took them a while to report back to me.
I am pulling what resources I can to encroach upon the wild Tartarus gateways in our country, but, if you should see any, please keep your distance. There is much to suggest that your “friend,” Vanilla Cream, is behind their opening. I know you trust him, but I urge you to be cautious with what information you choose to share.
My sister is returning, and will be present for the coming battle, not a minute too soon! Please focus on finding the remaining Elements and leave the protection of Canterlot to myself, Celestia, and your friends. I will apprise you of our situation again when time deems appropriate.
Again, sorry for the lateness of my letter. I hope you are not too far past the amusement park.
In love and friendship, Princess Luna

The airship was cruising over the empty husks of hotels and attractions that had once formed The Bright Road. The city, formerly pulsing with millions of bits worth of electricity and colorful magic, had had its luster forcibly taken only two weeks ago to reduce it to a waterlogged lattice of graying spires and sagging bridges. In some places, they could see where bridges had given way, either forced down from the weight of the river water or eroded off their struts. One hotel had collapsed, leaving a fish bone trail of tears and furrows in the flooded street below.

Just like the amusement park, there were no ponies to speak of. Vinyl assured them that most would have gone to higher ground, and The Bright Road would have suffered the worst.

“It’s actually completely deliberate,” Twilight said to Rarity and Big Mac, watching the unfolding scene of their failure from the back of the ship. “When ponies were first debating where to place The Bright Road, they had teams of pegasi chart the air currents above the city and in the deserts to the south and north. They found a strong current that runs all the way up from… oh, where does it start? I think it comes up from the south pole, wraps around in the desert some, and then more or less shoots straight up through Applewood to Manehattan, where it weakens and eventually joins with another current out over the ocean. Well, anyway, since this current is so strong, they figured any traveling airships would follow it, so they designed The Bright Road to run with it.”

“That’s so clever,” Rarity said. “And here we are, following it.”

“It didn’t change after The Crumbling?” Big Mac asked.

“I guess not. Either that, or we saw the city and unconsciously steered for where we knew The Bright Road would be,” Twilight said. “Afternoon, Vinyl.”

“Twilight. Enjoying your Element?” Vinyl asked, taking a seat.

“Yeah, thanks again for going in there. Oh, here, I got this.” She gave Vinyl the letter. “So something happened down there pretty recently.”

“It sounds like, based on what you said was down there, Luna had some of her, um, secret agent ponies do some clean-up work,” Rarity said.

“Where you gettin’ that term?” Big Mac asked softly.

“Guess they put up quite the fight,” Vinyl said.

“Looked like it.”

Applewood moved by slowly, and they looked at one another. Twilight could see the ridges of the city’s residential side far off, looking much better than The Bright Road.

“So this is Applewood now,” Vinyl said.

“Sure is,” Twilight said.

Vinyl shifted uncomfortably. “It’s horrible. Can’t imagine what all those poor ponies went through down there.”

Twilight looked at her. “It is, yes.”

“I’d love to be able to help them.” She looked over the edge, balancing as she did so against the rail. “How many souls hidden in the rubble?” No one replied, and Vinyl looked at each of them in turn. “Tragic,” she said at last.

“We could drop you off.”

“Huh?”

“I said we could drop you off. You’d like that, right?”

Vinyl frowned. “It’d be nice to help them, but don’t we have somewhere to be?”

“We do, Vinyl.”

“So…”

“Do you want us to let you off here?”

“Twilight…” Rarity started.

“I’m just asking in case Vinyl here wants to stop. Vinyl, do you want to stop?”

“Do we have time?” Vinyl asked after a moment.

“Do you?”

“If you don’t, I don’t, Twilight.”

“So you are a part of the crew, then.”

“What? Yes, of course. What are you driving at?”

Twilight flicked her tail as she turned back to look out over the city. “Nothing specific.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Believe what you will.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Shall we leave you two to it, then?” Rarity asked sweetly. “I’m sure Applejack could use some company at the wheel.”

“Go ahead,” Vinyl said, horn glowing softly. When they were gone, she leaned next to Twilight, keeping her distance. “Have I done something to offend you?”

“Yeah, well, Vinyl, I just don’t seem to recall anypony really asking you to come with us.”

Vinyl’s light dimmed. “Oh. I see.”

“Sorry to be blunt about it, but I figured you’d appreciate that.”

“You mean instead of the word games.”

Twilight smiled. “Yep.”

“Well, I don’t know what to say, Twilight. I already apologized. What more do you want?”

“I don’t know.”

“Now I don’t believe that either.”

Twilight faced her.

“Do you want me gone?”

“…I wouldn’t say that.”

“What would you say?”

Twilight sighed and faced back the other way.

“You do want me gone.”

Twilight kept up her vigil of the city, silent, a small part of her taking pleasure in Vinyl’s dawning sadness.

“No answer?”

Twilight twitched an ear.

“I know you can hear me out here. You can at least look at me.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why’s that?”

“If I look at you, I’ll be roped into talking with you, and I’m trying to think. Talking doesn’t help that.”

“What’s there to think about? You don’t like me.”

“Vinyl, if you keep pushing at it, you’re going to hear some things you really don’t want to hear.”

“What kind of things?”

Twilight forced a sigh.

“I’m an adult mare, I can take it.”

“I don’t care if you can take it!” Twilight cried. “Vinyl, I’m not doing this for your sake. I’m trying to think. Do you know what that means?”

Vinyl’s horn glowed lavender. “You could have just asked for space.”

“I thought I was making myself quite clear.”

“You said—”

“Vinyl, get out of my space. How’s that? Clear enough?” She wanted to turn and give the other unicorn a parting look of disgust, but didn’t. “Waste of time,” she thought, feeling bad all the same as Vinyl’s hoofsteps moved away.

The angel, a day ahead of the others, soared above the fractured fields between the desert south and forested north. Its course perfectly straight and level, Octavia had only needed to command it a few times since their departure, once to double back on Roan for supplies, which all of them had neglected, so used to Twilight or Rarity seeing to them on the other ship.

In one of the unfurnished rooms deep in the angel’s midsection, Octavia sat on a wire cot and tried to tune her cello. Its wood had warped from too much dry, desert air in Roan, and some of its pieces were loose from too much jostling inside its case. It couldn’t be helped, but Octavia tried anyway.

When Whooves stepped in, she gave him a curt nod and nothing else, knowing he would not be fazed by her coldness. He carried a canteen with him which released the smell of wine when he pulled from it.

“Afternoon, Octavia! And what an afternoon it is.”

“It is hot out.”

He laughed and pranced before her. “That indeed! Far too hot to be frisking about on the deck, I wot. Pinkie and I were gamboling all around—this angel does rock and yaw a bit, doesn’t it?—but I told her I must retreat belowdecks for a spell. Simply too hot, as you said.”

“I am glad that you two can still have fun.”

He sat down and took another drink from his canteen. “Now now, don’t be like that, you can have fun too. Look at this! Your cello, the source of your well-deserved fame. You’d not be playing with it if you were not, too, in the mood for a bit of frivolity.”

“I am trying to repair it.”

He looked at the instrument balanced beside her as if for the first time, one eyebrow quirked. “Oh dear, dear. Well, I’m sorry to hear that it’s suffered.”

Octavia thought for a second. “Better it than any of us.” It was melodramatic, but she was not in the mood to care.

“My, someone’s feeling blue on this, another beautiful day.” His voice suddenly lost its sparkle. “Is something the matter?”

“I would rather not, thank you.”

“Now, Octavia, you know that, ordinarily, I would honor such a request, but I’m afraid I must insist here. There are only the three of us on this, er, ship. We can’t do with one of us shutting herself off, especially considering our momentous destination.”

Octavia knew he was right, hated it. She set her cello back on the wall and fixed Whooves with her sleep-deprived eyes. “I have simply been reflecting on what has brought me here.”

“Ah, yes, the agony of reminiscence.”

“A year ago, I was performing for crowds of thousands, I was traveling, I was making a living, modest though it may have been. I had no conception of magic, or angels, or great wars.”

“You were just a musician,” Whooves finished.

“I would ask that you not share this with my sister; she has enough to occupy her, I am sure.”

“Of course.”

“I wonder, sometimes, whether I was ever meant to perform. This feels so correct to me, so rightful, that the thought of any other occupation pales in comparison. At the same time, I wonder if I might not be deluding myself, and I should never have left Canterlot.”

“Well… what makes you happy? This, or your music?”

Octavia closed her eyes, and almost fell into sleep there. “Neither. This has brought me happiness, as performing has in the past, but I cannot say that I enjoy either with much consistency.” Sighing, she continued. “Recognizing this, I wonder if there is any pleasure for me in this world. I might, simply, be a miserable mare.”

“It certainly is possible you have a chemical imbalance, or something along those lines.”

“I do not mean mental illness. I am sure I have none. I simply mean that it might be my lot in life to be unhappy. To make myself unhappy.”

“Like right now? Like how you like to do whenever you go off on your own?”

She smiled thinly.

“Come on, Miss Melody, there’s no need to overdress this. It’s quite natural to feel unhappy from time to time, especially here, on this ghastly angel, but it’s no reason to get so totally down in the mouth. Hey, I’ve a notion! Let’s get back outside, yes? Some sun will do you good. Some sun and a beautiful view. We can watch the mountains of Trottingham come closer.”

“I am comfortable here.”

“No you aren’t. Come on, up, up.” He grabbed her hoof and dragged her up. “Fresh air and sunshine, Octavia. Doctor’s orders.”

She smiled, not without humor. “You are no doctor.”

“Come now, no need for accusations, my dear. Up, up the stairs, out into the light. Ah, there, don’t we feel better already?”

He raised the canteen to his lips, but she pulled it away with her magic and took a swig. “It is still too hot out here.”

He only laughed and took his wine back.

“Where is Pinkie?”

“I suspect the poor dear ran below, much as I. This desert air is no place for the likes of us, let me tell you.”

“Are you used to pampering, doctor?”

“Primping, pampering, pats on the back, everything, Miss Octavia! Why, a stallion like me craves the finer things in life.” He nodded appreciatively as she took another drink. “And after this battle, when the bards sing of my—our—names, I shall have them. My fill of the sweetest fruits and softest hooves at my tired shoulders.”

“Or,” Octavia said, almost grinning, “we both die in the air, like petals in the wind.”

“No, no, I wouldn’t hear of it,” Whooves said, drinking. They sat down, the canteen between them. “Not I, and certainly not you.”

“Where did you get this?”

“Lovely little vintner in Roan, family-run, seven generations. A local wine.”

“I used to drink this brand a lot when I was in Hoofington. It sold for twenty bits a bottle there.”

“Er, yes, well, I suppose there’s no accounting for taste, hm? Me, I paid thirty. Rather, the beautiful, young stallion paid thirty at my behest.”

She took a long drink. “Then he was robbed.”

“Perhaps, but a face like his will make that money back soon enough.”

“What did you mean, certainly not me?”

“Beg pardon?”

She sighed and reclined a little. “You said you would not hear of it, our deaths. Not yours, and certainly not mine. What did you mean by that?”

“Oh, pish posh, the ramblings of a tired mind. Pay them no regard.”

“No, no, you meant something. Tell me. I will not hold it against you.”

Whooves hesitated, took a drink. “Well, truth be told, I suppose I’ve come to hold you in very high regard, Miss Octavia. When you speak of mortality, I often find I don’t like the idea of it as much as I do in other circumstances.”

“Why would you like it at all?”

“There’s a certain romance to death. The finality, the tragedy, the coming together of friends and loved ones to share in singular sorrow, there truly is nothing like it. Poets and artists have found their muse in the eternal sleep for centuries.”

She took a drink.

“Anyway, but with you, I get none of that. I only imagine the emptiness that you would leave behind, and none of the strange, fantastical, storybook stuff.”

“You care about me, that is what you mean.” She smiled, the wine loosening her tongue. “You simply mean to say that would feel bad if I were to die.”

“I suppose, minus the burlesque verbiage, you’ve rather hit the nail on the head.”

“Doctor, do you have another bottle of this?”

“Are we empty?”

She raised the canteen to her lips and took several swallows. “Yes.”

“Ah, allow me, my dear. I’ll nip down to the room and grab us another.” He rose and went for the hatch at the back of the angel.

“You were right. I am feeling better,” Octavia said, lying back and letting the angel’s rocking soothe her. She didn’t mind the sun’s heat so much, but knew she would regret her decision in the morning, if she were not careful.

“Your wine, my lady,” Whooves said, cantering back out. “Only the best vintage for us today! This one cost thirty-five bits.”

She laughed and let him have the first drink.

“You have a musical laugh, you know.”

“I have heard that. I do not like my laugh, personally.”

“I wish I could say I was surprised, Miss Octavia.”

“Is my sister below still?”

“Oh, yes, she’s in her room. Busy writing away at something, or maybe drawing a picture. I didn’t intrude to see.”

Octavia nodded, her mane rubbing the angel’s dark metal, still cool in the afternoon sun. Much better than the Astra’s crow, she thought.

“Strange that she should join us, no?”

“It is not like her.”

“Mmm, yes, I sort of got that impression.”

“Pinkie is not one to join the minority on something like this. I have considered speaking to her about it, but I do not want to pry.”

“No?”

Octavia sighed. “I do not feel it is my place.”

“But you’re—”

“Yes, I know, which is why I feel so bad to say it, but it is true.”

He thrust the canteen her way. “Shall we brush away that rain cloud from your tongue?”

“We shall, yes.” She drank, hardly tasting it. Her head was spinning, and she was paying no attention to her words. “It has not stopped me from wondering, of course. I do love her, even if we are distant, and I want to understand her, as she me.”

“Sisters do as sisters do.”

“She has been quite averse to danger of this sort from the beginning, or at least from when I joined the Elements. It feels like the beginning.”

“Well, it was only a few weeks after The Crumbling, was it not?”

“A few days.”

Whooves whistled.

“Why this? Why now? If I did not know her better, I would say that she is trying to prove something.”

“What has she to prove, though?”

“That she can? It is as worthy a goal as any, I suppose, though misguided.”

“Perhaps she’s repenting for something?”

“She has done no wrong. She is cowardly, but no more so than some of the others.”

“Well…”

“You are right.” She drank. “It is possible she might judge herself more harshly than I. But I doubt that.”

“I don’t know, Miss Octavia.”

“If my sister is repenting for something by coming with us on this errand, I would imagine it is something large. A simple mistake does not merit this kind of decision.”

“Big contrition for a big mistake, Miss Octavia.” He nodded. “Big mistake.”

Octavia looked at him, appearing to contemplate his words. Smiling, she reached out a hoof and pushed him, and he fell over, laughing. After a second, she joined in, and the two made such a noise that Pinkie, below, hearing nothing before, grinned to herself.

“Goodbye?” Limestone Pie echoed. She occupied a shaded circle beneath an oak tree in the park with Flitter and Cloudchaser.

Flitter hung her head. “I’m afraid so. I’ve been… well, it’s complicated.”

“A promotion of sorts,” Cloudchaser said.

“Yeah, a promotion. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

Limestone did not frown, but they could both hear the hurt in her tone. “I understand.”

“It’s out of my control,” Flitter continued. “I’m gonna miss a lot of ponies here.”

“You will write, though?”

“If I can…”

“It’s complicated,” Cloudchaser said.

“Are you being promoted too?” Limestone asked.

“No,” she sighed.

“I’ll write if I can, I promise,” Flitter said. “But I don’t know how frequently that’ll be.”

Limestone’s eyes, half-lidded, dropped to the ground, fixing the grass with a look of mingled anger and shame.

“I’ll still be here, Lime,” Cloudchaser said.

“Won’t be the same, two instead of three.”

“Aw, it won’t be that bad. Think of it as a chance to make new friends.” She tugged Flitter’s wing gently. “That’s what I’m trying to do.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Flitter repeated. She couldn’t think of anything more; explanation was out of the question.

Limestone nodded dimly.

“C’mon, Lime, cheer up. It won’t be that bad.”

“We’ll all be fine,” Cloudchaser added.

“I would appreciate it if you would please leave me,” Limestone said.

“Sure, okay. We’ll… be around, if you need us.”

The sisters took flight, leaving the gray earth pony behind to mourn, and alighted on a personal rain cloud over a patch of flowers, a luxury for no one else that only Ponyville’s proximity to Cloudsdale afforded. Flitter, taking her friends’ advice, was attempting to publish an article about it in the Social Climatology Monthly, a Canterlot-based magazine of significant renown.

“Well, that takes care of that,” Cloudchaser said.

“I feel awful,” Flitter said.

“She’ll get over it.”

“Will she?”

“She’ll make more friends soon enough, and then everything will be peaches, I’m sure of it. It’ll be good for her to have friends that aren’t… our kind, anyway.”

“Yeah.” Flitter’s promotion was inside the Datura, forcing her to uproot her life in Ponyville and take part in the caravan she and Cloudchaser had worked so hard to construct. Hers was a relatively small position, but she would be riding inside a siege machine with ponies innumerably more experienced than she. If she survived—no one had yet said those words out loud—she would be given a spot on a more important team in Canterlot.

“I’m happy for you, at least,” Cloudchaser said. “You know that.”

“Course. Yeah, I know.” The sisters exchanged smiles. “You’re too good to me, Cloud.”

“Nonsense. You earned this, Flitter, and you know it.”

“At least you I can actually stay in contact with. I don’t know how I’m gonna keep in contact with Lime.”

“You can have me relay your messages.”

“Eh, you know how she is. She’ll feel bad if she doesn’t get something on paper.”

Cloudchaser smiled. “She’s a funny one.”

Flitter looked at the sun, using her hoof against the horizon to measure its position. “I think I need to get going.”

“Already?”

“Yup.” She looked at Cloudchaser, who looked back with a coy little smile, and laughed. “Stop that!”

“Hey, there she is! Chin up, sis, you’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me, and don’t worry about Limestone. She’ll be fine.”

“Right, right, I won’t.” She flexed her wings. “We still on for cards tonight?”

“I think so. Go on, get outta here, slacker.”

Flitter slapped her sister on the back playfully and took off, heading for the Everfree Forest. The sun threw her shadow onto the fruit and flower stands below, hers mingled with several others, pegasi preparing for a rain storm. It was nearly time to begin making initial arrangements for winter, and Flitter didn’t envy them the task. Even in the Datura, moving machine parts and hauling supplies, her muscles hadn’t ached as much as when pulling troughs of distilled water for rapid snow production.

She lowered her altitude and looked all around, as she had been trained, before getting close to the town’s edge, where a windmill had once stood. The wreckage had been cleared, in its place a small memorial, both for the structure and for Spike, who had perished nearby. His engraved face watched Flitter pass, she sure to not look back at it.

She gave one final look around, and, alone and unwatched, thrice touched a cluster of baby’s breath on the windmill memorial before entering the small enclosure. An arrangement of pictures filled the wall, including a yellowed newspaper cutting from the day the windmill was first activated. Flitter ignored everything, placing her hoof in the sigil that she had activated by touching the flowers. As soon as her hoof grazed the glowing insignia, she was whisked away into a clearing in the vast forest. She hardly noted the sensation as she teleported, she was so used to it.

A jet-black pegasus with a cobalt mane and aviator’s goggles on his wide forehead greeted her with a firm hoof-shake. “There you are, honey. I wasn’t expecting you for another few minutes.” He grinned and lowered his goggles, and she could see the treetops in their reflection. “Flitter?”

“That’s me.”

“Windy Weathervane, at your service. Here, she’s on through these trees a bit.” He led Flitter through a narrow copse of trees, across a stone bridge over a laughing stream, and to an overhanging cliff at a gap in the ground. Moss and ferns had grown like a beard over the edge, softening the sharp cliff face into a rolling cascade of flora.

“Is there anyone else here?” Flitter asked.

“Not for another half hour; last-minute adjustments back at the spa. There, see that?” She saw a white band between the trees. “She still needs to be painted. I’ve got a couple sketches, but I just don’t know. I don’t want it to be too loud, but it definitely needs some purple somewhere.”

Thoughts of Limestone slid away as Flitter put her eyes on the complete siege machine for the first time. Twenty feet in diameter, it was a smooth, jaggedly lined torus of white and light gray wood with no visible propulsion system or windows, nothing adhering to its smooth, sanded surface. In the forest, surrounded by life and color, it reminded Flitter of something that had fallen off of a massive airship. Before she could ask anything, Windy depressed a small panel on the machine, causing it to bloom in a single, silent movement, hinges and openings appearing and snapping their surfaces into place with serene efficiency. She could make out a hollow space, large enough for one pony comfortably, amid the jumble of slender supports and arms holding flaps of wood in place.

“This is the lotus flower. Don’t let her delicate form throw you, Flitter, this lady packs a punch,” Windy continued, beginning a proud march around the machine. “Think of her like a flying blender. Take the blades out of the blender you’ve got at home, smooth ‘em off a little, and here we go. She’s sleek and quick, and, most importantly, already ready for action. She just needs a pilot—that’s me—and some spotters—that’s you.”

Flitter wanted to say something intelligent, but could only think, “It’s a great big inner tube with secret compartments.”

“Now, I know what you’re thinking, you’re thinking ‘how can I see out of this with no windows?’ Observe.” He flourished his hoof as he twirled, indicating a blank patch of wood. “She’s transparent from the inside.”

Flitter approached the lotus flower as Windy waved her over, pointing inside. She could already see the gradients of transparency on the inside edge, but stuck her head in the cavity obligingly anyway. From within, as promised, the wood had turned transparent; she could see blades of grass underneath them.

“Go ahead, hop in, hop in,” Windy said. “I’m told you actually have never done something like this before, is that it?”

“Nothing like this, no,” Flitter said, unsure.

“Well, climb on in there, there’s a seat for you already, and let’s get underway. I can talk and fly.”

Flitter stepped over the lip of thin, white wood, too thin, she thought, to hold their weight, let alone protect them from whatever waited on the empty, beautiful plains of outlying Canterlot. The lotus flower settled slightly, its bottom sagging under her hooves, but holding solid, and she took her seat while Windy stepped into position.

Without warning, the device folded back inwards. She saw a slit of mild color rising up and then, narrowing to nothing, becoming a transparent outline of itself as it fastened with an unseen convalescence of hinges and bolts. Quiet sounds of moving parts slithered over her head.

“You play air hockey, Flitter?”

“Sometimes. My sister’s better at it.”

“Think of this as a great, big air hockey puck. Hold on a sec, let me get us up there.” They lifted gently off the ground, the bent grass seeming to breathe out once more as the weight that held it down abated. Trees slid down and then away as they floated, first parallel to the chasm, and then toward it. Flitter was looking down when they crossed the rim, her natural comfort with heights and open air not preparing her for the shock of seeing, for the first time in a long time, the stunning, open-air fall back down to the planet so many of her friends and colleagues had learned to forget was not with them.

Into the shadows they descended, sliding without sound or turbulence underneath a mossy overhang and down into the clear air between their world and faceless, ocean-flooded crust.

“You like the view, I take it?” Windy asked. “We’re practicing underneath the ground here, much safer than above the trees. No one is going to see us, especially so far out into the forest.”

“How far are we, anyway?”

“Oh, thirty miles or so. Look.” He turned them and pointed to a large spot of shade behind a shaft of light. “Ponyville’s back there. We’re completely alone.”

Flitter did not respond. She had not seen the underside before—Cloudchaser had, but Flitter hadn’t the courage to fly down on her own—and was startled at the faceless waste of her country’s foundation. For her, there was nothing interesting in the strata of bedrock and packed soil, untold amounts of which she was certain had fallen to the world below. Still fell, most likely. A shattered plate of land, crumbling from below.

“You need to keep your eyes peeled for any nasties,” Windy said. “Anything that can knock us around, set us off course, anything. The lotus flower is hard to pierce, but easy to fling about—air hockey, remember? We’ll be using that property to move about quite a lot, but it can come back and bite us if we’re not careful.”

“So what do I actually need to do? Will I just call out when I see something?”

“Yeah, you know, directionality, speed if you can guess it, that sort of thing. Whether it’s a projectile or a ship.”

She looked all around, awkwardly turning in her seat as she tried to cover the half behind her, sectioned as it was by overlapping edges of transparency.

“No, no, dear, you only have to watch your quadrant. There are two others—we’ve already met, they’re great, you’ll get along fine, I’m sure. Here, look out over there. See that underhanging tree limb?”

“I see it.”

“So the way we’ll move a lot of the time is like this. Hold on.” They floated over to a gnarled tree branch, long enough to reach down into the open space, and, with a deft movement of Windy’s hoof, careened off, one flap of their machine flinging out to strike the branch and send them spinning rapidly away. Flitter noticed the other flaps rising up as air brakes, terminating their spin after only half a rotation, several yards away and bathed in a dappled stream of sun through the high treetops.

“Fun, right? In a crowded space, it can get kind of disorienting; that’s why I need you spotters. You tell me which side the target’s coming from, I move us toward it or bounce us off, depending. Here, watch this; my lady’s not simply a glorified bouncy ball.”

They floated back to the branch and slowed. Windy, slowly so Flitter could prepare to see what he had to show, pulled a small crank. Upwards, a different, thinner flap sliced at an oblique angle, and the branch was no more. Specks of bark turned lazily in a dusty whorl, caught in the sunshine, too peaceful an indication of the spark of power just displayed.

“This must be incredible to drive,” Flitter said.

“Absolutely wonderful. I’ve never handled anything like it before. I’m an airship specialist, but this is the first time I’ve gotten to control something so reactive, so agile.”

“I can also see this spotting job becoming difficult fast.”

Windy Weathervane laughed a full-voiced laugh. “Remember, there’s three of you, so it won’t be that bad. Well, not as bad. I don’t want you thinking it’ll be a cake walk, because, my dear, it won’t be.” He smiled to himself. “However, you’ll have plenty of time to enjoy the ride, once you get used to things. Okay, Flitter, how you feeling so far?”

“Good,” she said, not feeling good at all. His confidence felt too automatic, and she could only wonder what she had done to already deserve it.

“We’re heading back up for a moment to pick up something, and then we’ll get you practicing your spotting.”

They made for the jagged outside edge of a slab of ground, its opposite edge flush with a chartreuse marble wall of water, inexplicably held. One more minor mystery to be solved by magical scholars and theorists, but later.

“So where are you from?” Flitter asked.

“Snowdrift, actually. You know it?”

“I’ve never been, but I’m familiar with it, yes.”

“Oh my days, Snowdrift is my favorite city in Equestria. Love it, love it, love it. I’ve been everywhere ponies live here, and Snowdrift will always be my favorite.”

“Really? I’ve heard, you know—”

“Darkness, despair, danger? Well, for the casual visitor, I can understand those things, but Snowdrift is actually quite close and cozy. The ponies there all know each other, the food is excellent, the architecture very old. We have Equestria’s only college of magical architecture there, Orange. Go Poppies.”

“I heard there’s a Tartarus gate right on your doorstep.”

“Well, yes, there is that, but it’s well regulated. We have the highest concentration of Datura there, which I’m sure is no surprise, and they all take care of that gateway.” He smiled at her as they landed on the grass. “It does get quite cold, though. You know, we’re right next to the glacier, so we get plenty of wind and snow. At least we’re under the timberline.”

“And we share that glacier with the griffons, right?”

“Which is why we have such wonderful cuisine. Lots of griffon influences in our meals, lots of far western spices and flavors that us Equestrians just don’t see very often. You can even try meat there, if you want.”

“Meat?” They climbed out of the ship.

“I haven’t had any, don’t intend to.”

“It sounds nice, though. I’d like to go there sometime.”

“Save up, take a vacation. Or distinguish yourself in the Datura and get moved out there for free. Have you ever seen a Tartarus gateway?”

“Once, yeah.”

“Ooh, right, that’s right, in your report, it said you helped close one off. You’re pretty young for that kind of activity.”

“There are younger Daturas than me.”

Windy winked. “You might be surprised.”

Across from a cheerful brick fireplace, lounging on a thin sofa, sipping hot apple cider with a spike of bourbon, Aloe turned a page in her book. Outside, the first true snowstorm of the season was beginning.

“Seventeen small gateways, and twelve large ones, of course,” Lotus said from the other room. The gentle glow of a communication sigil spilled out from the open door, where she conducted her business. “The most recent one opened twenty-six hours ago five point four miles outside Roan, in Lemongrass Vale.”

Aloe looked up at the waver in her sister’s voice. She sipped her cider again and hoped that Lotus’ conversation would not last much longer.

“Who’s in charge of the Roan gateway?” the disembodied voice asked. Someone Aloe did not immediately recognize, but Lotus would.

“Sunny Smiles is organizing an ad hoc while Applewood is working on sending Candy Flakes. She’s been helping with the relief effort, so they need to find someone to replace her.”

“And anything on the dam?”

“You mean who’s stopping it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We’re hoping the Elements run into it and do something, but Trottingham has a skeleton crew they’re willing to contribute if need be. I hope they don’t need to; I’m sure a gateway would just happen to open nearby if they did.”

“How is Trottingham doing right now, anyway?”

Lotus paused, and Aloe withheld a sigh. Open-ended questions were a pet peeve of Lotus’. “Most recent count has them at one-thousand four hundred-twenty ponies, eighty-five percent displaced businessponies or laborers, the rest displaced farmers and a couple original homeless or minors. The Water Loop is operating still sub-optimally; last count had it at approximately three-thousand gallons of water per day. That’s an eight percent increase from two weeks ago, and a two percent population decrease from three weeks ago. Most of those ponies are leaving and dying on the walk out to Appleloosa.”

“Good gracious. Are there any plans to help them?”

“I want to organize a trail for them, a railway if resources allow, which I don’t think they will. I still need Luna’s approval, but, if I get it, I’ll pull laborers down from Manehattan; that city still has plenty of ponies, and a lot of them want to get out.”

“You’ll probably want to set up a temporary town out in the plains, so they don’t have to commute all the way from Trottingham when you relocate them.”

Lotus sighed, and Aloe furrowed her brows. “I’m aware of that. I’ve already got a cartographer, a city planner, and a geomorphologist seventy miles east by northeast to Trottingham. They’re getting my numbers for me.”

Aloe sipped her cider with a mixture of pride and, even after her many years with Lotus, astonishment at the speed and perfection of her recall. The blue pony in the other room had no books, no charts, no scrolls, and no parchment from which to refer. Still, Aloe recognized the discomfort in Lotus’ voice. She watched the snow that was not quite yet covering their window pane with mounting trepidation.

“What about the gates outside Applewood?”

“What do you need to know about them?”

“Who’s handling them?”

“I’ve got an Applewood team sweeping northwards, Dusty Tome’s team. They’re going to have them closed off by the end of next week.”

“What sizes are they?”

Lotus paused again. “Seven point six feet diameter, six point one feet diameter, ten point two feet diameter, south to north.”

“Not too bad, all things considered.”

“Anything else?”

“Mmmmm, nope, I think that covers it.”

“Remember to re-educate your ponies on handling trans-magical materials; I didn’t like the most recent report that came in from you. Also, tell Midnight Sky happy birthday from me. Do it on her birthday this time.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The glow dimmed, and Aloe set her book aside. She knew her attention would be required shortly.

“Simpleton,” Lotus sighed, walking into the living room. “You can tell he was just testing me at the end there.”

Aloe nodded.

“What’s the diameter of each gateway? Give me a break, no one where he is needs to know that. What a load of hooey. I could hear the smile on his stupid face the whole time, smug bastard.”

Aloe followed her sister’s pace with her eyes, wearing a faint path in the carpet. Still, she said nothing; it was best to let her sister grumble uninhibited, but heard.

“Probably thought I was being short with him. Well, what’s wrong with that? My time is valuable.”

“I’m sure he understands.”

Lotus shot her a dark look.

“That you have a lot on your plate right now, I mean,” Aloe amended.

“Oh, yes, probably. Psh, but that makes it even worse, bothering me with trivialities. You know, I wouldn’t mind if he was in Applewood, even Trottingham, but he’s up in Hoofington, he has so little to worry about.”

“What about the Astras?”

“What about them? They haven’t done anything out of the ordinary.”

“The—”

“The pinhole gateway is nothing. Any dumbo can monitor that, even him.”

Aloe wanted to ask who he had on the gateway, knowing Lotus would be able to answer immediately, but held her tongue.

“A bunch of hooey,” Lotus repeated, finally settling down on the couch. Aloe shifted over and grabbed a blanket to cover her sister.

“Do you have any more meetings today?”

“One at seven, going over the Canterlot battle again. I get why Luna insists on having these meetings so frequently, but there’s been hardly any variation in the precogs’ stories.”

“At least it should be easy.”

“At least she doesn’t test me,” Lotus said. She sighed, and Aloe resisted the urge to put an affectionate hoof on her sister’s back: a gesture Lotus frequently took as patronizing.

“What sort of job should this new Mr. Quizzical get?”

“He’s so interested in facts and figures, I wish we still needed ponies to clean up Luna’s library.” She grinned. “I wonder if they’re done yet. If not, they will be soon.”

“Where was it again?”

Lotus’ smile thinned.

“I’m really asking, I don’t remember.”

“It was in the Southern Smile. She dropped it on Discord and his friends.”

“Ah, right. What a mess.”

“Or maybe I should relocate him to Manehattan and let him stew.”

“Oooh, yeah, put him up to watch Strawberry. Now there’s an interesting job.”

Lotus laughed. “Dumb old fogey.”

“Dumb stooge.”

“Dumb dullard.”

“Dumb subequine.”

“Dumb addelpate.”

“Dumb… dumbass.”

They looked at each other and laughed, and, so quickly, Aloe rose, knowing that Lotus’ mood had passed, at least mostly.

“Want a cider?” Aloe asked.

“I can do some cider today,” Lotus said, glancing down at herself as if to judge her size. It was an empty gesture; both of them knew Lotus paid meticulous attention to her weight.

Aloe went to the kitchen and prepared a second cup of apple cider. The first she had prepared when Lotus began her meeting with the pony in Hoofington, and had kept the ingredients out just in case she would need to play comforter. It was her role; Lotus was the intellect, and Aloe was Lotus’ soft place to land when knowledge overwhelmed.

“Thanks,” Lotus said, Aloe nodding, knowing she need not say anything. The two of them shared the couch, Aloe keeping a respectful few inches away, and watched the first of several Snowdrift storms build outside.

The Royal Accountant was a bespectacled unicorn whose fiery orange mane had dimmed, with age and countless salon visits, into an anemic salmon. Freckles covered her muzzle and too-big ears, and her lips were thin and chapped. She often spoke too quietly, a constant source of irritation for Luna.

As Luna signed the final document, she glanced out the window. Time for sundown. “I want you to begin as soon as you possibly can. I can have an airship ready to take you to Roan or Applewood whenever you need.”

“Hmmm.” The accountant tapped her chin with a pen. “Well, I’ve still got the armory funds to balance, and I’d really like to get a jump on this month’s precog funding, get as much of that prepared as I can.”

“Those can wait, or be done in your stead.”

“Well…”

“What’s wrong?” Luna scrutinized the pony, patience thinning, already weak from a day of dull routine.

“I’d probably need to explain my filing system to whoever took over. I’m very particular about my papers.”

Luna blinked slowly and leveled her gaze. “How vital is that?”

“Well, if they’re gonna be going over the war budget, I’d say pretty vital. I’d need to start with—well, I’ll save it for them, I guess.”

“Can you leave tomorrow?”

The accountant fidgeted in her seat, and Luna watched. “There’s a reason this pony is in my inner court. There’s a reason she’s here.” Her mood softened a little—just a little.

“I need you en route to Applewood or Roan tomorrow, the day after at the very latest. You and whoever you need.”

“Whoever?”

“Pull whoever you think will serve you best out there. I’m sure we can replace them for the time.”

“Well, okay, ma’am.”

“Once you arrive, I need daily updates, even if there’s nothing new to report. You remember the communication sigil’s design?”

“I’ve got it on a scroll in my desk.”

“Good. I’m going to put Sunlit Leaves in charge of your budget for now.”

“Sunlit Leaves?”

“Is that a problem?” Luna knew that the two ponies didn’t much like each other; office drama. She didn’t care.

“No, ma’am,” she said sulkily. “What if the Mansels find out?”

“Let them, but don’t say anything about the dam. Tell them it’s a routine audit.”

“They won’t believe that.”

“They won't, but I doubt they’ll try to pry any serious information out of you. They won’t touch a royal representative.”

“Still…”

“You’ll be fine. If things get out of control, I can always put some pressure on them from here. Considerable pressure.”

“If you need to.”

“That’s right.” She looked at her best accountant, her second most trusted financial advisor—the first being her Datura Information Handler—and then down at the papers. “Anything else?”

“No, I think that covers it. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

Luna smiled. “You’ll do what I tell you.”

The accountant hesitated. “Yes, ma’am.”

In Trottingham, in a modern, richly furnished office room sitting incongruously atop an adobe building, in a private back room, a communication sigil pulsed softly. The overweight earth pony rose and slouched to answer it, first dismissing his doorpony.

“May I ask who is speaking, please?” The sigil was private, used only to communicate with his associates in Roan.

“Is Icy Stream available, please?”

“No Streams here. I think you have wrong pony.”

“I need to speak with him. It’s important.”

They both waited a second. The introduction was always the same, a code to establish that both speakers were alone in their rooms. The overweight pony cleared his throat. “Mrs. Mansel.”

“Gold Ribbon.”

“What do you require?” She never called socially.

“I have bad news. Our client, Pure Waterfall; I’m afraid he suffered a fatal accident inside his dam.”

Gold Ribbon gasped, pretending shock, pretending that the information had not reached him days ago, and at the same time appreciating the calmness with which Mrs. Mansel delivered the news. All business, she: something he respected. “You are sure of this?”

“Quite sure. As you know, he was one of our highest-level clients, and his death came with poor timing. We now must restructure the business several quarters in advance, and it would be helpful if we knew more concerning his demise, which is why I need you. The Elements of Harmony were present at the time of Pure Waterfall’s death, and are currently flying toward Trottingham.”

“Hmmm, Mrs. Mansel, this is difficult thing you are preparing to ask of me.” He thought for a moment, forming his words. “Regular ponies, I could do what you seem to ask, but not them. They have royal protection.”

Her tone became impatient. “I’m sure there’s something in that city of yours you can use as leverage, Gold. There’s no need to involve the princesses; all I require is a little information.”

“What did they have to do with the incident?”

“Precisely.”

He considered. “I need more ponies to run the Loop. Control is relaxing here.”

“I’m afraid I cannot help you. All of my ponies are required in Roan.”

“You cannot spare a few contractors? I would only need three or four.”

“If you get my information first, then I think I can send someone to help you.”

Gold Ribbon knew she was bluffing. “I really need those workers. The time I will spend gathering your information will keep me from running the Loop; I cannot guarantee you anything without ponies to help me with my business while I do you this favor.”

She sighed audibly. “Very well. I will have three ponies on an airship tomorrow.”

“I thank you.”

“Goodbye, Gold Ribbon.”

He stepped off the sigil, deactivating it, and sat back at his desk.

Gold Ribbon was a friend of the Mansel family, on their payroll as an intercity consultant. He had been placed in Trottingham years ago to keep tabs on the Astra family, but, when they left, he suddenly found himself with nothing to do. The Mansels were quick to step in, supplying him with workers, money, and resources to construct his own business.

With the aqueducts ruined, those who did not fade into the wilderness clustered around the mountains to try to access what little water remained. By the time Celestia’s cloud convoy, starting at the tremendous saltwater processing station over the piece of ocean that had come up with them, had reached Trottingham, a small town had been grafted onto the mountainsides, suckling on the trickle of groundwater. The water that the convoy brought was a relief, but not enough on its own, and it was there that Gold Ribbon and his business flourished.

The cloud convoy was a highly regulated government project, and its regulations concerning volume of rainfall by city size and population density meant that those who in Trottingham remained received only seventy percent of the total rain, while the rest landed on the arid and abandoned farmland. Gold Ribbon’s business, The Water Loop, collected that rain and transported it to the town on the mountainside.

A completely legitimate business, backed by Mansel and Company, The Water Loop was the only water transportation company in a thousand square miles, the nearest being a fledgling corporation in Applewood that would be set back terribly after Pure Waterfall’s dam woke up and walked away. Gold Ribbon was able to set prices and rates how he or the Mansels wanted, and he was fast finding such freedom to be intoxicating.

He called his doorpony back in. Gold Ribbon knew that Pure Waterfall’s death was much more than what Mrs. Mansel made it to be. He was their primary source of clean money, his business the artery through which almost all of their Applewood funding flowed. Cut off from that, they were in a unique position relative to his, and the thought of it was enough to get his mind racing.

Out in the middle of one of Trottingham’s fallow fields, sitting in an office underneath a heavy, hoof-shaped trough, Lacey Kisses tried to make sense of the pages of numbers and dates before her. Traveling north from Applewood—and not a moment too soon—she had stopped in Trottingham for a rest, intending to make her way up to Canterlot to set down roots and gather strength to use against Strawberry, from whom she had heard little lately.

Once she reached Trottingham and discovered its burgeoning water industry, though, it was difficult to resist. Canterlot was for the strong and the savvy, a city for ponies who were already well off, while Trottingham was only just pulling itself back together.

It had been easy for Lacey to beguile her way into the confidence of a local middle management type and secure a position for herself at a rain collection facility, but, she thought, it would be difficult to hold onto it. She supposed that was fair, considering the string of half-truths she had told to get herself hired.

She set down the papers and looked out the window at the machines that sucked water out of the topsoil, a system of narrow pipes that spread over the farm like a net.

Colgate lay in the grass and stared up at the trees above her, the stars behind, spinning as if the entire night sky had been balanced on a gyroscope. She couldn’t think straight, and her breathing was slow and hard. She sweated, she shivered, she wanted to vomit. She had spent the last hour trying to turn over, each time finishing an attempt with the sorrowful realization that she had only imagined the movement; in reality, she was as motionless as the forest in which she was lost.

Lights grew on one side of her tableau, and she turned her head, the minor movement exhausting her and forcing from her starved, dehydrated chest a stuttering sequence of coughs. Pain crackled inside, and she wanted more than ever to throw up. Grass spun underneath her face as the stars had above.

Something slammed, and hoofsteps swished over to her. A presence stopped over her head and said something.

“Come again?” Colgate whispered. Rouge come back to help her, it had to be.

“I said you look like you just crawled out of Tartarus, Colgate. Hold still.” A light pink magic bathed her, and she closed her eyes against the light. The pony sighed.

“What’s going on?”

The pony gave no answer, and Colgate heard a tiny, metallic click. Then, she was asleep.

White walls, a closed window to a cloudy day over the trees, a fan rotating softly over her bed. Colgate was not surprised to see the IV needle in her foreleg.

“Back in the hospital,” she said, then looked up to see someone at the foot of her bed. “You’re not Rouge.”

“You’ve been saying that a lot. Do you remember anything?” She gave Colgate a cup of water.

Colgate studied the tall, slender, white unicorn before her. “I recall everything.”

“Is that so?” she asked with a smile.

“Absolutely. I have a photographic memory.”

“Mm-hm. Who am I? I introduced myself last night, Colgate.”

“I don’t need to tell you anything.” She glanced down, saw the empty phone jack behind her bedside table. “Bring me a phone. I need to call my lawyer.”

“My name is Fleur dis Lee, Fancy Pants’ wife. You remember him?”

“Of course I do. I told you, I have—”

“I’m sure you do.” She came closer, closing the door with her telekinesis. “I’ve taken care of the police for you. No one wants to arrest you anymore.”

“That doesn’t seem likely to me.” She closed her eyes as a wave of dizziness hit her.

“You think this is an elaborate ploy to entrap you.”

“Not that elaborate.”

“Well, think about it this way,” Fleur said patiently. “You know I found you last night in the forest just off the freeway, clinging to life. Right? You remember that?”

“I remember,” Colgate said after a moment. She remembered the stars and the shape of the headlights, feathered and broken by trees. She remembered a strange energy inside the dark cage of a quiet car.

“I had you at my mercy then, all night. If I wanted to do anything, it would have already been done.”

“You could be tormenting me, or at least trying.”

“I feel like you’ve already done a good enough job of that yourself.”

Colgate studied the needle in her leg. The fluid it delivered burned under her skin. A potassium drip. “Makes sense, I suppose. What about your lover, though? He tried to have me killed, do you know that?”

Fleur smiled sympathetically. “Yes, and we’ll talk about that, but later. Right now, we need to focus on getting you well.”

“I am well. I’m perfect. I feel like a million bits.”

“We nearly lost you last night. You came in here severely dehydrated, malnourished, and—how could we forget?—out of your head on some kind of drug. Ibuprofen, the doctor thinks. It’s three o’ clock in the afternoon, by the way. You slept for fifteen hours.”

“Good for me.”

A nurse entered with a soft knock and shared a few quiet words with Fleur. “Get well, Colgate,” Fleur said. “I’ll be in touch.”

Colgate said nothing and allowed the nurse to take her vitals, answering the questions and pretending to feel better than she did. She could see straight and think clearly, and her breathing was back to normal, but she still felt sick. She rejected the food offered her, and then the extra blanket when the nurse noticed her shivering.

Colgate watched the moon reflect off the tile floor. She had opted to keep the blinds open, saying the ambient light helped to relax her. While the hospital wound down for the lonely night shift, Colgate sat up by the window and tried to figure out where she was. The skyline offered nothing but the great, impersonal glow of Canterlot Mountain, its freeways gilt roots to the city hidden behind the facility’s trees.

She thought of Rouge for the first time that day. Though she had thought her name countless times, she had failed to attach the pony to the concept, using the words instead as a mantra, something to say to keep her grounded as reality slowly trickled back.

“She’s out there, right now, probably drinking and living it up.” Colgate watched an airship disappear behind the mountain. “Traitor,” she murmured. She had thought Rouge was her friend, even imagining, for a time, that she was Rouge’s friend as well. “But she likes drinking more than she likes me. Idiot. It’s probably for the best.”

Colgate closed her eyes and leaned back, feeling herself suddenly suspended, as if in water, or a dream. Her addled mind clouded again as a small wave of nausea hit, but she endured it.

She was not curious where Rouge had gone or what she was doing, but wondered what had caused her betrayal, whether it was something planned days or weeks in advance or whether it was an impulse, a reaction to an unfavorable set of circumstances.

“I really can’t trust anyone. This proves it.” She went back to her bed, turned over, got up again, went to the bathroom. Watching water pour down the sink, she reflected on her hopelessness. As the water going down that black hole, she too was powerless to stop what had been made for her. Since Ponyville, she had seen signs, but simply refused to accept them: the entire world, or at least the entire Datura, was against her. She lowered her head to the sink, for the first time in months feeling what ponies called loneliness. She imagined that it felt less painful for others, if it compared at all.

Obeying her first thought, Colgate pulled up the stopper with her teeth. Betrayed, abandoned, manipulated, and lied to, she let the sink fill up, shut off the water, and let her muzzle rub the porcelain. Cold water seeped into her fur as she closed her eyes.