For fifteen minutes, the rain stopped, just long enough for Rarity to poke her head out of their makeshift shelter. They had retreated into the pines, dragging their motorboat with them and letting it sit aslant in a shallow gully, and built a rough lean-to from branches and underbrush. All of their equipment was on the airship, unpacked and in their cabins. Among the seven of them, they had only a few scarves, a sweater, and Twilight’s goggles and face mask.

No one could reckon the hour of day. Through the heavy clouds, the last days’ evening appeared to have turned to full night, but they could not be certain. Lacking a timepiece or a plan, they eventually decided that the best course of action would be to stay where they were, establish communication with the others, and see what could be worked out. While everyone else chewed on the problem, Big Mac volunteered to go out and forage.

“Can you feel their Elements, at least?” Rarity asked Fluttershy, who sat with hunched wings and a bowed head.

“No,” Fluttershy said.

“You shouldn’t be able to,” Twilight said. “For my part, I like to think I’d know if the Elements were lost.”

“So they’re alive,” Vinyl said.

“Most likely.” She shivered as a gust of wind ran up her back. “We’re gonna need a fire.”

“All the wood’s wet,” Fluttershy said.

Twilight nodded and glanced in the direction of their boat, thinking she could use its gasoline if she had to.

“Why can’t we just open the gateway up again?” Rainbow asked. “Or find some way to summon Vanilla, and get him to do it?”

“I’m pretty sure only the princesses can do that,” Twilight said. “And before you ask, no, I can’t write the princess. I don’t have any paper, or ink.”

“Vanilla?”

“No sigil drawing supplies.”

“You can scrape something into the mud,” Rarity said. “Or does that not work?”

Twilight shook her head.

“Let’s start simpler,” Vinyl said. “Is there a way to just look in on them? To make sure they’re okay?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Well, crap,” Rainbow said.

Twilight looked at her.

“Great,” Rarity said as the sound of rain resumed, lashing the trees above. Thunder purred.

“Maybe there’s something in that shed you found,” Fluttershy said.

“I’m not going back there now, not in this, and not with the light so low.”

“No, I’m not suggesting you do.”

“Vinyl can provide the light,” Rarity said. “And I can keep the rain out while we walk.”

“We don’t know that place was uninhabited,” Vinyl said. “It was empty when we found it, that’s all.”

“For all we know, it’s a trap,” Twilight said.

“Isn’t that a little paranoid?” Pinkie asked.

“It’s cautious,” Fluttershy said. “I agree. Let’s stay here for now.”

“Who knows? Maybe the gateway’ll open again on its own,” Vinyl said. “Can they do that?”

“This one closed on its own, so sure, maybe,” Twilight said.

Big Mac appeared in the small entryway and awkwardly dumped a pile of mushrooms and withered wildflowers off his back. In Vinyl’s dim unicorn light, he looked like a grim specter, his angular muzzle and dark fur casting most of his face in shadow. Uttering the single word, “firewood,” he went back outside.

“Should someone go talk to him?” Fluttershy asked. “He just lost his sister. Again.”

“Let him have his privacy,” Vinyl said. “If we bother him before he’s ready, he’ll resent us.”

Without speaking, they picked at his findings. Occasionally, Fluttershy would stop one of them from eating a poisonous flower.

Big Mac returned briefly with a dull clatter of branches and twigs, but did not look in on them.

“We might be able to send them a simple message with a magical impulse,” Twilight said after a while. “It would have to be a lot of magic, and very concentrated, but I could theoretically do it.”

“What kind of message?” Rainbow asked.

“That’s the problem; it wouldn’t be anything very helpful. I wouldn’t be able to get words through or anything like that, just a series of pulses. I could send them through in some kind of pattern, just to let them know that we’re up here, that we’re trying to get through.”

“That’s assuming they recognize it,” Rarity said.

“Yes, always assuming.”

“That’s kind of a… I hate to say it, Twi,” Rainbow started.

“I know, it’s not very good. It’s all I’ve got right now.”

“Suppose we found something to write on that surgical mask you’ve got,” Rarity said. “Could you send them a crude note?”

Twilight chewed a mushroom thoughtfully. “Maybe.”

“Where would we get any ink?” Vinyl asked.

“Mud?” Pinkie offered.

“If nothing else, I can try that,” Twilight said. “Some mud, a twig, time to let it dry by the fire. Yeah, that can work.”

They ate in silence again, and Big Mac dropped off another pile of firewood.

“That kinda sucks too,” Rainbow said at last.

“I don’t hear any ideas coming out of you,” Rarity said.

“Yeah, well…” She looked down at her flower.

“Dried blood will work better than dried mud,” Fluttershy said.

Twilight sighed.

“I know that’s true, dear,” Rarity said, “and it’s a valid point, but please let’s not entertain that idea.”

“What if we mixed ash with water?” Pinkie asked. “Is that a thing?”

“I don’t think so,” Vinyl said.

For an instant, their faces were brightened with a flash of lightning, its thunder too distant to be heard.

“While we’re talking gloom and doom,” Twilight said, “I hope it’s not escaped anyone here that we’re camping in a whole forest of lightning rods.”

“Yeah, we know,” Rainbow said. “Thanks.”

“Just another factor to hold in mind.” She looked at Pinkie, her face scrunched up in a mixture of pain and concentration. For a moment, she thought they might be witnessing a resurgence of the Pinkie Sense, but Pinkie relaxed after a couple seconds more, a sliver of smoke curling off the top of her head.

“Pinkie?” Rainbow asked.

Pinkie shook her head. “Still not right.”

The smoke curled tighter, forming into a small fiddle head and then solidifying, until, after a minute of silent, slow spectacle, it fell to the floor, a light but very tangible thing. Pinkie’s hooves trembled in mingled cold and amazement as she unrolled the paper. In the moment, they missed the pen that fell out from inside.

“We are fine,” she read. “Gateway closed, not sure why. No way through. Girls, this is amazing, they’re okay!”

“It’s from them?” Rainbow asked.

“It is! Octy wrote it!” She flourished the letter, shaking it too fast to be read. “It says so right here!”

“Well, what else does it say?” Rarity asked.

“Oh, sorry. No way through. Safe for the time, crashed ship is good shelter. Await further instruction, Octavia.” She stared at them. “Girls! They’re okay! They’re okay!”

Big Mac rammed his head through the entrance in time to receive a wing to the face as Pinkie knocked Fluttershy over in a bear hug. For a moment, Pinkie repeated the words, and then Fluttershy joined in, and then Rarity and Rainbow. Twilight scooted closer to Vinyl as the four rolled, laughing and soaking wet. Vinyl nudged her and gave a small smile, which Twilight returned after a moment of calculation.

“Hoo wee,” Big Mac finally said as the laughter died down. “Bless my…” He shook his head. “Thank Celestia, is all. Just thank Celestia.”

“And look at this!” Pinkie said, plucking up the pen. “They even gave us something to write back with! Talk about nice!”

Twilight’s lingering smile became genuine.

“Write back, tell ‘em we’re okay too,” Rainbow said. “Tell ‘em we’ll get ‘em out of there.”

“And to send more paper,” Rarity said.

“Hang on,” Twilight said. “Let’s think this through. We don’t know how hard it was for them to send that from their side. For all we know, this little note drained their magic. We can’t be frivolous about it.”

“Make every letter count,” Vinyl said, nodding.

“Fine, fair enough,” Rainbow said. “Can we get that fire going, or what?”

“Not nearly enough wood fer the night,” Big Mac said. He pulled himself into their shelter and sat between Rainbow and Fluttershy, shivering. “But we could start a little fire now, Ah think.”

“I say so,” Rarity said, leaning to get a look outside. “There’s enough protection from the rain.”

“Fine,” Twilight said. “But we need to think of how to proceed from here. If the gateway is closed, then where does that leave us?”

They crawled outside, shivering and bundling together. It was cold inside the lean-to, but colder still outside; the wind surrounded them, gentle but sharp, and the forest dripping on them was a physical shock, tensing skin and forcing muscles into quivering spasms. Rarity got a shield around them on her second attempt, her first cut short by a burst of shivers.

“You said there’s no way we can open it back up again?” Pinkie asked.

“No way. I’d need about fifty or sixty ponies with my magical strength, all working in the same place at the same time, and even then I’ve got no idea what sort of magic to actually use, or how. No, girls, I’m afraid just opening the door for them is not going to work.”

“We’ve got paper now,” Big Mac said. “Send Luna a letter. See if she can do it fer us.”

“Let’s establish our presence to the others first,” Vinyl said. “We can get more paper.”

“What if the princess can’t do it?” Fluttershy asked.

“I don’t see why she couldn’t,” Twilight said, lighting a small fire in the heart of the wood pile. Smoke much like that which had come off of Pinkie’s head drifted through the humid, freezing air.

“Laws an' stuff, maybe,” Big Mac said.

Rainbow snorted.

“Ah just mean maybe.”

“If she brought Applejack back to life, she can do this.” Pinkie paused. “Did anyone ask her who that mare was, by the way?”

“The one in Roan?” Twilight asked.

“The one who had Applejack’s spirit inside.”

“I would never.”

“Hm. Maybe you’re right.”

“My worry is that she’ll say 'yes',” Rarity said.

“Uhh…”

“We’re down by the southern border; it would take her forever to get here, and that’s a lot of time for the country to be left unattended.”

Pinkie shuddered, but no one regarded her until she grabbed the next letter out of the air, flipping off her head like the first.

“Guess writing us letters from there isn’t that hard after all,” Vinyl said.

“We can meet you at the Snowdrift gateway, if we can find our way,” Pinkie read. “Await instructions. Octavia.” She placed the note on a dry branch far from the fire. “How far is Snowdrift?”

“Pretty far, right?” Fluttershy asked.

“It’s a ways north of here,” Twilight said. “Other side of the mountains.” She sighed. “That did occur to me, but I hate the idea.”

“Call the princess,” Rainbow said.

“She’d probably come,” Vinyl said.

Twilight looked at Rarity, who only shook her head.

“The worst that’ll happen is she says ‘no’,” Big Mac said.

“No, the worst that’ll happen is she takes the time to do it,” Rarity said. “Discord could very well be waiting for exactly this opportunity, to distract the remaining princess.” In a smaller voice, she added, “I’d jump at the chance if I were in his place.”

“We can’t send them marching through Tartarus,” Vinyl said.

“They volunteered,” Pinkie said. “So there’s that.”

“I can’t believe this,” Rainbow said. “How is this even a debate? They’re dead if they try that, you realize that?”

“They might be dead already,” Twilight said.

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” She yawned. “What I meant to say is, it might already be too late. I agree with Rarity—sorry, girls, but she makes a good point—and it’s clear we can’t do anything from out here.”

“There’s always something!”

“Yes, and we’re doing it,” Rarity said. “Remember who’s down there, also. Octavia and Applejack have been through worse than this; they’re not going to panic, or let themselves be beaten down by anything in there. Even Colgate seems like she can do okay; she’s smart.”

“They’ll have someone to take care of ‘em if they get hurt,” Big Mac said.

“Yes, that too.”

“We should at least let the princess know,” Pinkie said.

“She might be able to help in another way,” Vinyl said. “Not sure what, though.”

“She’ll just come,” Twilight said. “I’m quite sure of that. And like it or not, Rainbow, Rarity’s right. We can’t get her away from the throne, not for a minute. Not with that maniac out there.” She gestured up at the trees, as if the weather, too, were a product of his rampant magic.

When they woke, the rain had stopped and the night had not; they shivered around the guttered ashes of their meager fire, making their ways back to consciousness. It was Pinkie who had prompted the mass awakening, rolling over and crying out softly in her makeshift bedroll of leaves. She managed to get to her hooves before another letter came out.

“Does that hurt or something?” Rainbow asked, stifling a yawn.

Pinkie only rubbed her head in response, and Rarity grabbed the letter.

“Oh, wow, this one’s long.” She cleared her throat. “We can’t simply go north to the Snowdrift gateway ‘cause we don’t know if north is the same way for us. Sun might rise in the south and set in north, et cetera. But Octy can feel your letters coming in advance, so if you can make some kind of automatic letter-sending spell and place them on your way to Snowdrift, we can follow that way.”

“Like a trail of breadcrumbs,” Twilight said, rubbing her eyes.

“I guess.” She read on. “AJ says she can’t get the ship to fly anymore, so we’re on hoof. Go a distance from where you are and set down a letter spell, and we’ll write back if we can feel it right. And there’s her signature, I’m guessing it’s Colgate’s.”

“Pretty good idea,” Pinkie said.

“Twilight, you don’t look good,” Fluttershy said.

“Yeah, I barely slept,” Twilight said. “But I’m up now. Let me see that letter.” She yawned as she read it. “I can lay down a sigil or something, I think. I’m not exactly sure how it’ll look, but I can figure it out.” She grabbed a twig and started scribbling in the ashes. “If some of you could gather food and some more firewood, that would be great.”

“Is there a spell to tell you what time it is?” Rainbow asked.

“Not in a situation like this.”

“Really?”

“Rather, no spell I know. A time-telling spell would just refer to the nearest celestial body and give a result based on that, but since the whole sky’s out of whack, it wouldn’t help.”

“Pfft.”

“We’ll just find a clock somewhere,” Rarity said from behind a small bush.

“Let’s put that on the back burner,” Fluttershy said, brushing a twig out of Big Mac’s fur. “I’d like to find some food, though.”

Twilight nodded, mind waking up and eyes already blinded to everything outside her scrawls of sigil designs.

A light drizzle covered them as they moved up the river, the seven of them stuffed tightly into the motorboat. Side by side, their heads and backs were exposed to the cold rain, and they could only shiver unhappily as Vinyl piloted them slowly. The night before, following the river down to the lake had been easy, but going the opposite direction presented different problems, and she had to go easy.

By a mossy, sunken pier, Twilight got out and placed her sigil under a rock on the riverbank. It was small, drawn onto the back of one of their letters. On the back of another, she wrote to alert the others that it was in place, and Pinkie sent it.

“You’re sending those to Octavia?” Vinyl asked.

“Yup!” Pinkie said.

“That’s good. I guess it’s lucky she’s down there.”

“Siblings can often send each other letters like that,” Twilight said. “They’re born with it.”

“I didn’t even know I could until Octavia sent that one last night,” Pinkie said.

“I hope they’re okay,” Fluttershy said.

“They’ll be fine,” Rainbow said. She didn’t go on, and no one spoke. The rain turned the river into a green and brown furred band, a shaking carpet under the arcature of trees. Occasionally, wind would moan through their branches, but it was the forest’s only voice.

Eventually, Rarity put up a weak shield to keep the worst of the wind out, and the shivering paused. Still no one spoke, and when the letter came, Fluttershy grabbed it in her telekinesis—so rarely used, some had forgotten she had it—before it could flutter into the water.

“We got the letter. Full steam ahead, and we’ll meet in Snowdrift.” Fluttershy gave the letter to Twilight, who tucked it into her magical space.

“No ‘good luck’ or anything?” Pinkie asked.

“They’re the ones who need luck, not us,” Vinyl said, starting them up again.

“We’re stopping at that cabin again,” Twilight said. “We need supplies.”

“What if someone’s home?” Rainbow asked.

“We’ll tell them the truth, I’m sure they’ll understand,” Rarity said.

“If they don’t?” Big Mac asked. “Fer that matter, what if it’s a trap?”

Twilight, awkwardly perched toward the front and leaning half off the boat, as they all were, squinted her eyes against the misty wind. Her thoughts were not on what the others had to say, and though they spoke for some time, Twilight could only think of what she wanted to do to Discord. She imagined him powerless and cowering before their Elements—nine, not six, she reminded herself—and she delivering all manner of dramatic monologues, laying out his crimes and passing her judgement. She paced, she gesticulated, and the others cheered her or put in their own grievances; sometimes, he leapt up, and she had the privilege of swatting him down. Entertaining the fantasy, she almost missed the cabin she wanted to search.

They stopped again and everyone got out, some going into the woods and some coming with her to the front door. She knocked, waited, knocked, and let herself in. The cabin was clearly abandoned on the inside, so they picked through and took what they could. There was no blank paper, but Pinkie found a brush and inkwell that Twilight could use for more sigils. The closet was full of moth-eaten clothing, perforated sweaters and formerly waterproof jackets, all of which they took, putting on the best outfits they could. Rainbow found a bottle of grain alcohol in the cupboard, which they took for campfires, and Twilight folded a couple jars of mixed nuts into her space.

“I wonder whether that was just their summer home,” Fluttershy said when they were back on the river.

“Could be,” Rainbow said.

“Hope not,” Vinyl said, unheard by all but Rarity. Soon, their cabin had disappeared behind a bend in the river, and they were alone in the uncharted forest. Occasionally, birdsong would materialize and fade; the creatures of the forest did not know what to do with the sun missing. The boat would tilt as Fluttershy rose in her seat, trying to see them, but they were too high above, all huddled against the storm. No lightning or thunder broke the motor’s monotony, and no conversation colored the tired hours.

The forest was tightening around them, so gradually that they only noticed when they had to stop and get out for Twilight to lift the boat over a fallen log. The river had narrowed to a capillary, shallow and slow, freckled with leaves that seemed to blow from all directions, caught in a numb wind. There, with a cold view of the waxing moonlight through a gap in the trees, they took a lunch of wild mushrooms and stale nuts from the cabin. Little was said, and many of them spent their time studying the woods around them or the river just in sight. The sigh of wind, far outside them as though excluded by the walls of a room; the towering trees that led one’s eyes up to an even vaster canopy of storm clouds webbed with branches. The smell of pine was heavy and saccharine, and they could taste it in the river water they drank.

When they were again underway, an hour had passed, though they did not know it. The moon had become a frozen puff of misty light behind clouds.

In the woods and the static night, time was reduced to an idea. Perhaps that had been Discord’s plan all along, Fluttershy supposed, seated in the back with the motor’s cacophony unwelcome in her ears. He had limited precognition, either of his own or through Vanilla, so he could have seen the separation coming, the trek upriver through the wide, southern woods. Freezing everything as he had, perhaps it was an attempt to drive them mad.

The faceless lines of trees formed a singular, dark cell wall around them, circling and changing, but never breaking. The forest was so vast, the river so long, at times it seemed as if it truly were rotating around them, a nested sequence of zoetropes through which all she could see was the next larger one, slots of deep shadow and faint light to form no pattern. The rain on the river and on their cold bodies, cold despite how uncomfortably they were confined to the boat, was the sole chorus of their journey, and Fluttershy had as little notion of time passing as any of them. She tried to count the seconds before a particular tree went out of sight, but there were hundred of trees like it, and as soon as she blinked, she would lose the one she had been watching. A prison of uncountable acreage, with neither geographical variance nor passing of daylight to indicate their progress.

The longer they floated, the more she found herself staring into the waters. Sometimes she would see fish, their long, silver bodies like submerged ingots. Sometimes, the river would lose its bottom and become a more perfect reflection of the sky, its blank darkness only broken by the constant ripple and splash of falling rain in conjunction with their own intrusive presence.

Her comfort, which she knew the others had not, was that she had little to no thoughts of home. The nostalgia of purer times in Ponyville was a soothing balm to her taxed brain, but no intoxicant, and no painful reminder. What she had had there, she could also find in the forest, or most anywhere: conference with nature, manifold animal companions, time alone to pursue her interests or to give freely to others. In a sense, she thought, what she was currently doing was not so different from what she might anyway. The wanton charity—now obfuscated, and rightly so, if she silenced her sentimental side with practicality—was one of her favored ways of conduct anyway, and while the risks involved were great, at least she was aware of them.

It was that which most consistently surprised her when they encountered trials and kinks in the path: the shock; the insult; the dumbfounded awe; and, most importantly, the disillusionment. That some of her friends had still retained capacity enough to be disillusioned by the obstacles hurled their way amazed Fluttershy, as though some of them still expected him to one day sashay into their camp, stand with arms wide open, and allow them to sweep him back into the history books, his final act a benevolent snap of the fingers to set the rest of their land right. It shocked and, though she disdained to admit it to herself, occasionally appalled her that some of their number still expected anything less than what they got, had gotten since day one.

“Trees’re thinnin’,” Big Mac mumbled, and everyone looked around obligingly.

Fluttershy knew that it was she who was responsible for the Elements misfiring, and probably Twilight too. She had not forgiven Pinkie for refusing to act in Applewood. She had tried; in their long flights and long nights over the countryside, chasing the angel north and then doubling around to chase Big Mac’s suggestion, she had lost hours of sleep, replaying the scene in her mind, searching for reasons why her friend’s weakness might be justified. Vinyl had presented the most compelling argument, that Pinkie had simply frozen up; under the sudden pressure to perform, she had lost her ground and quietly panicked.

No matter how she turned it in her head, though, the argument did not hold water, for she had seen Pinkie refuse simpler tasks as well, outright lie about having the power she was said to have. Had Fluttershy not such vivid memories of earlier days, standing on rooftops and watching the world mend itself with Pinkie as a glowing focal point, she might choose to believe that Celestia was mistaken, that Pinkie had no more power than any of them; even, that in the strange and terrified moments under the palace, before things had gone wrong, she had somehow lent Pinkie the power to do what she had done that day and in days following. Perhaps the loan had simply expired without their noticing, the divine magic fading, leaving Pinkie as confused and hurt as Fluttershy had been.

That explanation did not satisfy her either, though. What she knew of magic did not allow such a loan of power, and what she knew of the princess precluded a tactic of that nature. It left her with the conclusion she knew, in her heart of hearts, was the truth: Pinkie had simply been weak. She had been frightened, which was itself forgivable, but she had let fear overtake her in her friends’ time of need, and instead of rising to that fear, she allowed herself to be buried. She had stood her ground and firmly asserted her inability, choosing, Fluttershy knew Pinkie had to have known even then, death over life. That Vanilla would save them seconds later was of no relevance, for Pinkie had no reason to expect it.

“Unless she did?” Fluttershy thought. “She does have that Pinkie Sense.” She trailed her hoof in the water, studying its path, doubting herself. They hadn’t seen Pinkie’s precognition in some months, and Pinkie had openly admitted to thinking she had lost it. Her reasons were unclear.

The consequence of this truth was as frightening as the truth itself, and the implications thereof. Thinking that her friend—that any of them—might be so repelled by the idea of their talents as to choose defeat and death instead, was to her too much to accept. The unreasoning impulse was so great, the thought of it swept away her anger, her disgust, and her pity. Like Discord himself, and the impediments he ceaselessly constructed for them, Fluttershy felt that she had no choice but to face Pinkie’s action, the reasons for its being, and shake her head. “Well, there it is,” she could only say. “Now what do we do about it?”

Forgiveness, it was clear to her, was not an option. She still considered Pinkie a friend, but at the same time, not. They had known each other for years, and there was an entire bank of good memories behind their relationship, but as Fluttershy thought of them—as she had for many nights, hoping some shining memory would offer itself as counterbalance to Pinkie’s inaction—she found them lacking, diminished with what she considered to be a truth of Pinkie’s character that she had simply never before seen. She did not doubt that, if they returned home, she would be comfortable, if not happy, to live out the rest of her life without seeing or hearing from Pinkie again.

This thought, as well familiar to her, never failed to chill her, to strike a disharmonious chord of self-reflection. She was the Element of Kindness, yet somehow had grown enough ice around her heart that dismissing someone from her friendship was not only possible but likely. Fluttershy wondered still whether it was her, whether Pinkie’s failure were, in fact, forgivable, and that she had simply lost some core component that the others shared. Perhaps, she thought, doubt still quiet under all, that she had lost her perspective, and everyone else would welcome Pinkie back with a hug if she were to confess her mistake.

It was, after all, a mistake. Just a mistake, borne neither of malice nor misguided ignorance. Somewhere in their time together, fear had found Pinkie, and she had buried it deep enough that it had become a part of her.

Fluttershy wondered whether not forgiving someone a character flaw was itself the bigger disgrace. Maybe her kindness had dried up, and she was too blind to acknowledge it, instead laying the blame for her bitterness at Pinkie’s hooves.

After all, she was not being forced to not forgive; that choice, as Pinkie’s, was hers alone.

Regardless, the conclusion was always the same. Irrespective of who was right and who was wrong, whether Fluttershy had become the poison in their friendship on her own or whether she had been prompted by another, they were Elements of Harmony, and they had a job to do. Finding more Elements had bought her time, but would not solve the problem on its own, and since Pinkie could not go back and correct her mistake, or make up for it with a different act of heroism, Fluttershy could see only one thing she could change: herself.

She had browsed Twilight’s books briefly, too frightened to do any serious research, on the topic of memory wiping. If she could forget what Pinkie had done, then they would return to their old friendship. The notion made Fluttershy’s skin crawl.

They had had their memories blocked temporarily in the first battle for Canterlot. After defending themselves on the balcony, managing to take life in the chaos, they had all of them been too stunned and revolted by themselves to be of any use. Finding them so, Princess Celestia had removed the memory from their minds, just long enough for them to do their task, and then gave it back afterwards.

It was in that moment, receiving the vile memory, that Fluttershy had first thought to question the princess, to wonder how pure her intentions were. It was a pragmatic decision, one she would make in a second in her current state, but at the time, it had frightened her that such deception was even possible. How many others had had their memories wiped, she sometimes wondered; at darker times, she wondered whether any of them had had memories taken, whether there was any lost time in their lives.

On its face, returning the offending memory, no matter how bad, seemed to her to be an easy decision. Of course the memory should be returned, for the accumulation of memories and experiences made the pony. If, however, the memory of Applewood and Pinkie could be removed, and the knowledge of the removal itself also expunged, then what would she actually be missing? She would be none the wiser; she would not mourn its loss, or notice its absence in her character makeup. A cancerous black spot on her heart would be burned away, and she could return to normal, or at least a hardened version of normal that she knew was inescapable. There was no harm in it, not that she could see.

Still, the thought did not sit well with her. She knew now, and, so knowing, could not imagine not knowing. Like robbing someone without their knowledge, it still seemed wrong to her. Like stealing the motorboat from its unattended shed.

Yet she did not see other options. Natural forgiveness was closed off, probably forever, and she could not seek counsel from the others. Vinyl and Big Mac knew, and it did not escape her that perhaps they would need to have their memories altered as well, but in the meantime, she did not see either of them helping her reach some point of absolution that she had yet to reach in her own rumination.

She looked at Twilight, shivering at the front, and envied her. The unicorn was beset with demons of her own, but at least those demons did not doom the entire group to failure. A selfish thought, and one she did not follow.

“Let’s stop here and put down a sigil,” Twilight said. “I can see a clearing up ahead.”

The river broadened as they floated through a final, patchy grove of trees, leading to a wide and windswept plain. Smaller pines swayed amid soaked willows, their leaves dark and depressed in the storm. The clouds were without end, miles and miles of gray callous over the night, turning the flatland into a marsh and blurring the line between river and ground. Grass grew right up to the edge, leaning out with the wind to meet cat tails and overshadowing patches of wildflowers, and they slowed to navigate the calmer, but less certain waters. The Friesian mountains stood not ten miles northwest, their tops lost in the clouds, their steely faces marbled with gray snow that occasionally turned white with distant lightning.

“I see a spot for us,” Rarity said, and Vinyl took them to a relatively clear shoulder of mud. Everyone got out to stretch their legs while Twilight worked on her next sigil, only Pinkie staying with her to confer about the others, wondering about their progress.

Fluttershy walked a distance into the plain, seeing that Rarity and Big Mac were doing the same in their own directions. She wanted to gesture Big Mac and Vinyl over so that they might speak of Pinkie’s mistake, but stopped herself, knowing the time was wrong. Likely, they were thinking of their own affairs. Big Mac had a sister in Tartarus, which was not much better than being dead, Fluttershy thought. He would not be open to much discussion of anything. Vinyl, too, had her own thoughts; it was clear on her face, even covered with the goggles. She was probably getting a second dose of the reality of their adventure, bereft of its grandiosity. Yes, ponies would sing their praises, and yes, books would be written to herald their journey, but there were no plaudits coming for a wet, freezing boat ride to Snowdrift. For the daily frustration of rationing food and water, for the countless tiny conflicts that seemed impossible to avoid when they were a week out from anywhere and cooped up on an airship.

“I sure am cheerless today,” Fluttershy thought suddenly. “I suppose I have the right to be.”

“Hey Shy,” Rainbow said, appearing at her side. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Fine.”

“There’s a town over there.” She pointed, and Fluttershy saw it, a small line of shapes before a continuing curve of forest.

“That’s good.”

“It is, actually,” Rainbow said.

Fluttershy looked again, hearing in Rainbow’s tone that she was missing something. She shook her head.

“You see those train tracks? That means we can catch a train north. No more of this dang boat.”

“How do we know the trains are running out here?”

Rainbow only shrugged, and Fluttershy chose not to press the question.

“Let’s go!” Twilight shouted.

They crowded back into the boat and fishtailed into the middle of the river, sliding up the waters, covered in a gentle drizzle. Muted echoes of thunder spread from the north with occasional flashes to precede them, but the going was no less miserable, for what cold had abated with the weakening of the rain was replaced with icy wind that furrowed the grass and seemed to cut through flesh. Pinkie buried her head in her hooves, mumbling about her freezing eyes.

Rainbow did not need to point out the town, for the river took them straight to it, bending on a wide angle into a cleft between two forested hills, one swelling and lifting into a broad curve that stretched out to meet the low clouds, the other flattened to more stubbled field. Just under the hill’s brow was nestled their next town, a sulking collection of wood and brick cabins arranged like pieces spattered from a fallen collective, at the epicenter a solitary church, its tower belled out with dark shingles that made it’s edges indistinguishable from the darkness around, as if the building were the source from which the endless night had flown, up through the belfry and into the virgin sky.

Vinyl guided them to a sagging wooden pier where they climbed out, limbs stiff and ears and noses raw, while she struggled to tie the boat in. A lone stallion stood at the pier’s end and gave them a wave, which they returned without enthusiasm.

They crossed the slippery riverbank and headed toward the church, soon crossing onto a firmer layer of flagstones that afforded them little better traction. White smoke rose from some of the chimneys, dampened in the rain, which was beginning to fall harder once more. They passed an inn, a darkened grocery store, and several anonymous houses, each seeming partially sunken into the earth under the weight of the rain. All around them, streams of water gurgled down spouts or ran onto the street, collecting in the sulci between stones, creating the effect of a town sinking into the swamp without. From inside their homes, ponies did not disguise their wonder and distrust as they watched. For them, the sight of the Elements of Harmony, plus some and minus some others, bedraggled and beaten, was no joyous occasion.

Under the church’s spire, they looked up at the silver glass of the clock face, its hands declaiming eight-thirty at night. They didn’t need to speak; it was too early for how they felt, too drained to contemplate another hour on the river. Big Mac suggested they go inside, to get out of the rain, and they did.

Many of the pews were empty, and very few parishioners turned their heads at the doors swinging open. The reverend paused with the faintest look up from the altar, where she was bowed, deep into a sermon. They took seats in the back, went through the motions as best they could follow along, and waited until the service was over before approaching the mare.

“We’re really sorry,” Twilight said. “We just got into town. Is there somewhere we can stay?”

“We need to get a train up to Snowdrift,” Big Mac said. “But somewhere to stay ‘til the next one rolls through would be… we’d be grateful.”

The reverend regarded them with pastel pink eyes, set deep and too far apart in an almond colored face. She shrugged off a woolly robe and, snatching a long match from a holder under the altar, lit a candle that had gone out. She was much younger than her habit had made her look, and she idly pulled a thin lock of silky mane away from the candle she lit. “The Drop has rooms upstairs, if you don’t mind a little noise.”

“Is that the pub we passed?” Rainbow asked.

“You saw it. Yes, that’s the place.”

“A little noise is fine,” Fluttershy said. “As long as it’s dry.”

“Dry it is, and you can get a hot meal for a few bits extra if you need.” She looked at them again, her eyes serious but not yet absent a certain youthful wildness, like she might crack a smile at any second. “If it’s not too forward, it looks like you do.”

“We’ve been traveling for a long time,” Rarity said.

“Thanks for the recommendation,” Twilight said. “Er… it was a lovely sermon.”

The reverend gave them a smile, offered to listen if any of them wished to talk, and they went back into the storm. Rarity conjured a shield that was too weak to keep out all the wind as they walked to the pub, still lit and already beginning to fill. The smell of potatoes and onions pooled at the door, and Pinkie took a moment to savor it.

They were met with the same vague, deferential looks as they had received in the church, passing by the early patrons without comment or acknowledgement, and to the bartender, who watched them approach from behind a pair of smudged half moon glasses. He nodded to each, and if he was surprised to see them in his bar, he didn’t show it.

“Can we get a room?” Twilight asked.

“Fifteen bits a night.” His tone was guarded.

“Sure.” Twilight made to reach into her pocket space, but froze. Everything was back on the airship, including Celestia’s treasury note.

“Uhh, Twi?” Rainbow asked.

“I’ve got it,” Pinkie said, approaching and dropping a small sack of bits onto the counter. The bartender hefted it, glanced inside, and nodded. “We’d like some dinner too, please,” she said.

“Sit anywhere you like,” the bartender said. “I’ll send Wild Celery over to you in a minute.”

They selected a wide C-shaped both in the corner by a rain-smeared window, and after a second, Twilight lit the tallow candle in the middle, planting a tiny globule of light to cast their faces in shifting shadow.

“Spare bits, Pinkie?” Rarity asked.

Pinkie only shrugged.

“We ‘ppreciate it,” Big Mac said, and Fluttershy got up from their booth.

A young, quiet stallion shuffled to their table with a bare serving tray on his back, took their orders, and left them.

“I’m going to put a sigil in our room,” Twilight said. “Pinkie? If I write a note for a status update, can you send it?”

“Sure,” Pinkie said.

Sliding back in next to Rainbow, Fluttershy said, “I asked the bartender, and a train runs through here fairly regularly. He said the next one is scheduled for tomorrow, around ten.”

“That’s in the morning?” Twilight asked.

“That’s right.”

“We should be there by nine,” Vinyl said.

“I can set us an alarm spell,” Twilight said. Her horn glowed for a second. “There. I’ll wake up at eight tomorrow.” She leaned, trying to see out the window. “I can’t see the church clock from here.”

“‘Bout ten hours,” Big Mac said.

Their food arrived just as the bar was getting crowded, and the rain hammered on their window obtrusively, punctuated sometimes with a flash of nearby lightning. For the most part, they had stopped noticing it, but some of the other patrons seemed agitated. It did not stop ponies from entering, soaked and shivering, adding to a pile of umbrellas overflowing in the corner. They ate and spoke of plans, though there was not much to go over; for the most part, they were quieted by the relief of being able to sleep indoors, of having food that was prepared instead of foraged. After an hour, and when the bar was at peak activity, many of them were preparing to head up to their room.

“I’m not really tired,” Rainbow said. “I know it sounds crazy, but I dunno.” She slid to one side to admit Rarity.

“I can stay up with you, Dashie,” Pinkie said.

“You two go ahead,” Twilight said. “Just remember we have to be up early tomorrow to catch that train.”

“Eight o’ clock, I know,” Rainbow said.

“We won’t be up crazy late,” Pinkie said.

“Well, have fun,” Twilight said. “We’re in room nineteen. Here.” She dropped a key on the table, and that was that. Rainbow and Pinkie looked at each other, then got up and went to the bar.

“I can take tonight,” Pinkie said, producing anther bag of bits. She waved the bartender over and ordered for herself and Rainbow, who did not object. She kept their tabs open.

“You’re not just staying up for my sake, are you?” Rainbow asked.

“Maybe a little,” Pinkie said. “But I’m okay. I know what you mean; we traveled so much today, but I’m hardly tired at all.”

“I guess a lot of it was just sitting in the boat.” She took a quarter of her beer off in one draft. “What the heck is this?”

“Tap.”

“Tastes like sweat socks.”

Pinkie giggled and had a sip herself, making a show of licking at her foam mustache. After a second, she said, “I’m sure they’re fine.”

“Yeah. Me too.” She fiddled with a peanut, trying to crack it with her hoof.

“Really.”

Rainbow frowned at the peanut.

“Applejack is smart, and so’s Colgate, and Octy’s… well, she’s Octy. They’ll be okay.”

“I’m not the only one who noticed how bad she was looking before the crash, right?”

“Octy? Colgate?”

“What? Octavia. Colgate looks fine.”

Pinkie raised a corner of her lip.

“Eh, she probably just got that in a scrap.”

“Could be.”

Rainbow had a smaller drink of her beer. “Did I ever tell you what she asked me once? We were flying to the mines, everyone was still sulking after that big fight we had. It was just me and her.”

“Doesn’t sound familiar, no,” Pinkie said.

“She asked me to make sure that we didn’t take her back to Canterlot or Ponyville. It was weird, she was really insistent.”

“Why?”

“I tried to get it out of her, but all she’d say was that there were ponies there who didn’t like her, who might hurt her if she came back. She also said she didn’t think they’d follow her out of the cities, though; she was pretty sure of that. She thought we were safe where we were.”

“That is weird,” Pinkie said. “Maybe not that weird, though. I guess we all have our problems. Maybe hers are all back there.”

“You could tell she was scared.”

“She’s scared now.”

“Well, yeah.” She sipped her beer again. “Ugh. Let’s not get this again.”

“I mean before Tartarus, Dashie. Before that, she was scared then too.”

“How d’ya figure?”

“Just a feeling. She was way different in Ponyville.”

“That’s true.”

“There’s something she’s not sharing about her time apart from us. Probably a lot, something that changed her like this.” She pointed to the corner of her mouth again. “Maybe the same thing that did this.”

“I hope it’s not that bad.”

Pinkie finished her beer.

“Maybe it’s debt. Doctors have a lot of that, I know. Maybe her finances weren’t as good as they should have been, and she lost a bunch of stuff.”

“My sister worries about that all the time. I told her once she could just get a blank check from the princess after all this, but she didn’t seem to think that was a valid answer.”

“Octy? Not accepting charity? You must be pulling my leg.”

Pinkie laughed, and the bartender asked to top them off. Pinkie got another of the tap, and Rainbow took a red ale.

“Well, cheers, I guess,” Pinkie said, tapping her glass. “Yours is really pretty.”

Rainbow sipped, nodding. “It’s a lot better, yeah.”

“In a weird way, I think this might be a good thing for Octy,” Pinkie said.

“You’re drunk, Pinks.”

“No, really!” Pinkie said, giggling. She sobered. “Really. You said she hasn’t been looking herself, and that’s true. She’s depressed, the most depressed I’ve ever seen her, or anyone. Even Twilight didn’t get that bad after her thing.” She mimed slashing her throat, and Rainbow nodded.

“Yeah, I know what thing you mean.”

“She’d stopped eating when we crashed, did you notice?”

“Really?”

Pinkie lowered her lips to the glass. “Sure looked like it, unless she was sneaking food when we were all asleep.”

“Huh.” She drank. “Why didn’t you say anything to her? Or did you?”

Pinkie drank again, and Rainbow watched, but she didn’t answer. After a while, Rainbow returned to her own drink. She had trodden on something delicate, and while part of her wanted to intrude, she knew it was difficult. Wrestling with the decision, she took several more small sips. She could feel the beer getting to her head.

“C’mon, did you bring it up to her?” Rainbow asked. “I won’t be, you know, freaked if you say ‘no’.”

“I didn’t, but you’re gonna ask why, and I want to have an answer ready for you.”

“You don’t have to.” She didn’t mean it, but the impulse to put her friend at ease got to her tongue first.

“I’m not really sure.”

For a while, they sat in silence, stealing looks at each other over their beers. The bartender asked if they were okay, and Rainbow said they were.

“The timing never seemed right,” Pinkie said at last. “I knew I should say something, but it never felt like the right context. She was just laying out there on the deck, and I didn’t know what to say. Right? Like, I couldn’t very well bring it up when everyone else was there. You know how that would go.”

“‘Hey, sis of mine, I noticed you seem to be shedding pounds like bad habits, what’s up with that?’ Yeah, I don’t see that going over well,” Rainbow said.

“And every time it was night, well, I was sleeping. I have to sleep just like anypony else!” she added, heat in her voice. “I don’t know what she’s trying to prove! She has to know she’s killing herself! I don’t see how someone couldn’t.” She retreated back to her beer.

“She might be too wrapped up in whatever it is to notice.”

“She knows,” Pinkie said. “She might play dumb, but she notices things. One thing, for sure, Octavia knows when she’s in trouble. She might not say anything, but she knows.”

“I guess if she’s been in so much…”

“Exactly. She has a nose for it.”

Rainbow nodded and hid a smile. “Her nose knows.”

Pinkie snorted into her beer, and Rainbow regretted her joke. She was supposed to be serious, but her mind was elsewhere. After a moment, she said as much.

“It’s okay, Dashie. I’m sorry, I don’t want to be a little rain cloud tonight. We’ve got enough of that already.” She looked around the bar. “Metaphorically and for realsies.”

“Cheers to that,” Rainbow said, tapping her glass again and finishing it. “I could go for another one of those. How you doing?”

“Let’s keep on,” Pinkie said. “I like this.”

They ordered another round, same as the last, and Pinkie put down more bits.

“So where are you getting those?” Rainbow asked. “Random Pinkie magic?”

Pinkie widened her eyes in an exaggerated display of thought. “If you wanna put a word to it, sure.”

“We can talk about something else, if you’d like.”

Pinkie shook her head tightly. “Never mind, we’re talking. Yeah, it’s magic. I thought… I didn’t know what I was thinking. But here it is!” She giggled, but Rainbow recognized the forced tone she used.

“I don’t want to press.”

Pinkie smiled. “So you learned some tact, hm?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She stopped herself, took a deep breath, remembered that they had both been drinking. “Yes, I have, as a matter of fact. Twilight taught me.”

Pinkie slashed her throat again.

“Can you stop that? It creeps me out. And yes, that’s what did it. If you must know, she and I talked about it. Quite a lot, actually.”

“I’m glad.”

“Hm.”

“No, I mean it,” Pinkie said, leaning and putting a hoof to Rainbow’s back. “Sorry, Dashie. I didn’t mean to sound mean. I didn’t mean to be a meanie Pinkie.” Quietly, to herself, she mumbled, “didn’t meanie to be a meanie Pinkie.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.” She sipped her beer. “Tell me something.”

“Shoot.”

“You think we got any hope at all?”

“Course.”

“Think about it.”

“I am thinking.”

Rainbow thought. “I’m starting to think it doesn’t matter,” she said at last. “Not whether we have hope or not, I mean if we… You know, if we make it.”

“Hm?”

“I mean… I don’t know.”

“If we survive?” Pinkie asked. “Sure, it matters.”

“Does it really? I mean, really, in terms of the whole country, in terms of the princesses, the whole thing. I’m starting to think maybe enough damage has been done, like it kinda doesn’t even matter anymore.”

“You know,” Pinkie said, sipping, “it’s funny in a really dark way, ‘cause what you’re saying, Rarity once confided those feelings in me too.”

“Really?”

“She’s real fatalistic. Is that the word? She’s not convinced that our work here is gonna affect the outcome, is what I mean.”

“I mean, I don’t think it definitely won’t, but—”

“You’re also not sure,” Pinkie finished. “I get that.”

“I try not to think about it, honestly.”

“Here’s to that.” They tapped their glasses. “Don’t be like my sister, Dashie. If you start thinking things won’t get better, then they won’t. It’s like a self-fulfilling prophecy, you know?” She pointed at the bottom of her chest. “Goodness is like a flower, okay? You take a little hope, that’s the seed, and you plant it in a nice fresh soil of good thoughts, right down here.” She indicated her diaphragm and took another long drink. “And you water those good thoughts with good deeds, and expose it to good friends—that’s the sunshine. That’s all of you!”

Rainbow smiled in spite of herself.

“And before you know it, you’ve got yourself a bona-fide sunflower, or foxglove, or orchid, or whatever kind of flower you want! I’m a poppy!”

“What kind of flower do you think I am, Pinks?”

“I dunno.” She sipped and giggled at some private thought.

“What?”

“Just thinking.”

“Yeah… And?”

Pinkie leaned in and whispered. “The mare next to me just said something funny, is all.”

“Mm.”

They sat and drank for a time, got another round, and observed the bar. It had grown quieter, but was still active with night life. A group of young ponies had taken their booth and were laughing loudly and talking over one another. A pair of older ponies flirted on one side of the bar, and on the other, a solitary guest was chatting with the bartender. The sound of pressurized water hissed in the kitchen behind the bar, and an acoustic guitar twanged from the jukebox. For them both, the scenery had blurred into a uniformly warm, dim bubble of disorganized details: the uneaten olives in someone’s martini glass, the bar stool that a patron pushed back into place on her way past, the flash of lightning that made the tap into a menacing club sticking up from the bar.

Pinkie looked at Rainbow. She could tell her friend was distracted, and didn’t blame her.

“Now let me ask you something,” Pinkie said.

“Go for it.”

“Do you have a thing for Colgate?”

Rainbow brought herself up from the beer glass. “Pinkie, no offense, but what in Celestia’s name would make you think that?”

Pinkie shrugged. “Looks a little like Trixie. Same colors, kinda.”

“Pinkie.” She waited for Pinkie to finish her sip and look back up. “I would never, ever, ever be interested in her. That you would compare her to Trixie in the first place is so ridiculous, I don’t even know what to say.”

“Just asking.”

Rainbow sighed. “Why do you ask? Do you have a thing for her?”

“Too serious for me. No, I was just wondering.”

“Hm.” She drank again. “But no, Colgate and me, no. I wouldn’t, and I hope she doesn’t try either.”

“Yeesh.”

“Yeesh is right. She’s weird.”

“So did you and Trixie go all the way?”

Rainbow paused, not prepared for the question, or its candor. “I’m not really sure. If we didn’t, we at least got close. I think.”

“Yeah? You think?”

“It was the Manehattan after-party. Her show, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right! That was fun. You got pretty drunkie, Dashie.”

“Yes, I know that.”

“Not that I’m judging,” Pinkie added.

“Yeah, I don’t think we did anything too serious. We made out, and I think that was it. Maybe some, you know, petting.”

“She was pretty into you.”

“Eh.”

“I saw it in her eyes. You can tell, you know? If you look into a pony’s eyes.” Pinkie sat up quickly. “Dashie, I’m so sorry!”

“What?”

“If you wanna stop talking about it, we can. I didn’t think… I mean, I didn’t realize… Well, I—”

“You’re fine, Pinks. I’m over it.”

“You sure?” Pinkie asked quietly.

Rainbow drank more of her beer; it was losing its flavor. “As Rarity might say, I cried my tears. We move on.”

“We move on,” Pinkie said. “I’ll drink to that!”

They both drank.

“Trixie would have been my first,” Rainbow said.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Huh. First mare, or first, like, in general?”

“In general.”

Pinkie nodded happily. “I remember my first. She was the cutest thing, you’d have never guessed she was older than me. We were dating for a month before anything too wild happened, but when it did… pow.” She gestured loosely with her hoof. “We didn’t last long after that. She said it was her, but honestly, sometimes I wonder if it was me. You know, maybe I wasn’t experienced enough?”

“No one can blame you for that, though. This was in Ponyville?”

“Yuppers. Good ol’ Ponyville.” She thought for a moment. “I dropped the L bomb on her after our second time.”

“Uhhh… Yeah, I heard that’s not great.”

“I was young and stupid. I really hope that wasn’t it. You know, that wasn’t the thing that drove her away.”

“The heart wants what the heart wants,” Rainbow said, not sure what to say. She hardly had a well of experience from which to draw.

Pinkie giggled. “Thanks, Dashie. It’s fine, it is. Sometimes I get sentimental when I drink. Past is past, I just gotta remember that is all.”

“True enough, there.” She finished her beer. “So, uh, you got your eyes on anyone nowadays?”

“Not in this group. Most of you are like sisters to me. One of you is a sister to me."

“But somepony outside the group?”

“Remember that pony we found in Trottingham? Her name was Vintage, or Vintner, or something.”

“The wine pony.”

“Yeah, her!” Pinkie looked up for a second. “Yeah, her. What a mare!”

“Good luck with that.”

Pinkie giggled. “I know, right? Like I’m ever gonna see her again. Hey, a pony can dream!”

“To dreaming,” Rainbow said, tapping her glass.

“To keeping the dream alive,” Pinkie said.

Twilight woke at precisely eight o’ clock, her horn pulsing in her head and scattering her dream, and she roused the others. The clouds over town had blown away sometime in the night, but to the north, they remained, heavy and cold as ever. As they walked through the town, itself already awake with ponies sweeping the streets and tending to minor damage, Rainbow flew above and reported that the train would take them straight through the new storm, straight to the mountains. They stopped briefly in a general store, and Pinkie again summoned the money to buy them food and water for the trip.

The train station was positioned diagonal to the church, across a series of narrow, one-way roads that led to and from huddled clumps of houses, scores down the gentle hillside that began the larger rises of trees through which their river cut. They were the only ones at the station, and Rarity consulted the notice by the tracks, confirming that their train was truly scheduled for ten. The tracks were gray, soggy stripes across the grassland, their ties dark with water, the interstices like tide pools of gravel and sedge. No sun shone, but the moon was up, and it lent enough light by which to see larger details. None of the unicorns needed to light their horns.

“So I’m noticing that this doesn’t look like it’s going to be a passenger train,” Twilight said. “There’s the platform, and I can see pallets and dollies by that shed there.” She sighed.

“What’s the problem?” Rainbow asked. “We can just ask, I’m sure they’ll let us on.”

“That’s not how it works,” Vinyl said. “Trains like this don’t have room for ponies, really. It’s all cargo.”

“We’ll have to sneak aboard,” Twilight said. “Add transiency to our list of crimes, I guess.”

“You’re not criminals.”

Twilight nodded.

“There, let’s go there,” Fluttershy said, pointing at the rim of woods on the other side of the tracks. “We’ll hide there and board when the train stops to unload, or load, or whatever it does.”

“Good thought,” Twilight said, crossing. She splashed in a puddle, and Rarity made a small noise in the back of her throat.

“Any word from the others?” Big Mac asked.

“Pinkie? Anything?” Twilight asked.

Pinkie shook her head, and they found a spot behind the trees. Dew dripped onto their backs, and Rarity put up a thin shield. She was still tired from so much shield use the day before.

“Dash, we’re going to need your eyes,” Twilight said. “I just realized, not all the cars are going to be able to hold us. We need an open one, with space.”

“You want me to scout ahead?” Rainbow asked, stifling a yawn.

“Yes. It’ll be slowing down to approach us, so hopefully you can get back here and tell us where we need to be in time.”

Rainbow flapped her wings twice. “Sure, I can handle that. What time is it?”

No one spoke.

“Right. I don’t suppose we have time to go shopping for a watch?”

“We don’t know,” Big Mac said.

“Yeah, cool.” She nodded. “Just awesome.”

“We’ll pick one up in Snowdrift,” Rarity said.

“You might want to get in the air now,” Fluttershy mumbled. “Um… ‘cause if we wait to hear the train in the distance, it might be too late to react.”

“Yeah, sure,” Rainbow said.

“I can come with you if you’d like.”

“Nah.” She stepped out of Rarity’s shield, gave them a look of disinterest, and took off.

“Someone spit in her coffee?” Rarity asked.

“We were up late,” Pinkie said.

“How late did you stay—oh, right,” Twilight said. “Forget it.”

“We stayed up for five or six drinks.”

“Forgive me my jealousy, but I’m actually rather unhappy that I didn’t stay with you last night,” Rarity said. “I thought about it, but I was tired.”

“Nothing like alcohol to keep you awake,” Twilight said, rolling her eyes.

“You might be surprised,” Vinyl said, horn popping a small, pink light.

“We’d have loved to have you,” Pinkie said. “Dashie and I talked about all sorts of stuff.”

“I can imagine.”

“That’s one thing I miss,” Twilight said. “Sitting down at a table, having a coffee or something, and just talking. Not about what we have to do next, or how to get out of trouble, or how to save someone, but just chatting.”

“I miss laughter,” Pinkie said.

“You laugh plenty,” Vinyl said.

“Not the same.”

Rarity cleared her throat. “Let’s discuss something else, shall we? It’s too early—or late, or… confound all this. It’s too…”

“Sleepy,” Fluttershy said.

“Yes, thank you. Too sleepy to depress ourselves like this.” She flipped her mane back, a tangle of curls and strays that the rain and wind had eroded away from her usual coif. She had tried to return it to a semblance of its former self before they left the inn, but hadn’t the time or product to do more than flatten it into a weak, wide curl. “Think of it like this. Here we are, freezing our flanks off, in the middle of what I would say is some of the most beautiful, if not unfriendly, wilderness we’ve seen, getting ready to take a train straight through that.” She gestured in the direction of the Friesian Mountains. “Through the worst obstacles to face without an airship, straight to Snowdrift, straight to our friends.”

“And after that, we just swing by the mines,” Pinkie said, nodding along.

“They’re not in the mines anymore, remember?” Fluttershy asked.

“Oh. Yeah.”

“We’ll hear from Vanilla, I’m sure of it,” Twilight said. “He’s probably waiting for us to sort this out. But then, once we have, he’ll show us the Elements, and then that’s it.”

“Discord’s castle,” Big Mac said, shivering. Pinkie wordlessly put a foreleg around him.

“We’ll get him this time,” Vinyl said. “No doubt about it.”

“And that’ll be that,” Pinkie said a little louder. “We’re looking at a month?”

“Considering how quickly we can get around the country now,” Twilight said, “I’d like to shoot for a little less. A month would still be…” She sighed. “I’m so sick of this, girls.”

“We know,” Rarity said.

Twilight shrugged. “That’s it. That’s all. Just… I’m sick of this.” She looked up at the rumble of thunder. “It’s only going to get colder.”

“What’s today?” Vinyl asked.

“The…” Fluttershy did some quick calculation. “Sixth. Of November. Or at least in that area.”

“So say we get to Snowdrift on the fifteenth.” She looked up, her goggles reflecting black, jagged saw teeth from the pine boughs. “We’re gonna be getting there right as the weather’s getting serious.”

“Serious how?” Big Mac asked.

“They don’t call it ‘Snowdrift’ for nothing.”

“We’re going to need some heavy-duty clothing, you’re saying,” Rarity said.

“Jackets, parkas are even better,” Vinyl said. “Hats, mufflers, boots, all of it. We can pick all that up when we get there.”

“You said that the ponies there are pretty nice, though?” Fluttershy asked.

“They remind me a lot of Ponyville, when I was there.” She looked at Rarity. “Never expected to be gallivanting around with your lot after that show. If you can call it that.”

“You were in Ponyville?” Big Mac asked.

“Remember my… er, fashion show?” Rarity asked. “I was under a bit of a time crunch, so I had to call in a favor with the spa twins.”

“Friends of mine,” Vinyl said. “I was in Canterlot at the time, so it wasn’t much trouble to swing down and throw something together.”

“How do you know them?” Twilight asked.

“Met ‘em in Snowdrift when I was a pup.”

“Really?” Pinkie asked.

“Hold it,” Rarity said, ears up. They all listened, but only the wind moved. “Never mind. I thought I heard the train.”

“I think we’ve got some time still,” Twilight said. “Anyway, Snowdrift? I would never have guessed.”

“They lived there,” Vinyl said. “I roomed with ‘em for a little while, until I was on my hooves. Me and Ursa—another old friend. Musician.”

“Suppose that’s where they are now?” Pinkie asked.

“I do recall, in Ponyville, them acting rather jumpy,” Rarity said. “Talk of ‘going home’.”

“Snowdrift was home before Ponyville, I know that,” Vinyl said. “Born there, I think.”

“They never said anything about that.”

Vinyl shrugged.

“I hope they’re there,” Fluttershy said.

“I’d give just about anything for one of their massages,” Rarity said.

“I can massage you!” Pinkie said.

“Ah, well, thank you, Pinkie, but I’m okay for now.”

“Dash is coming back,” Twilight said. She stepped out of the shield and met Rainbow ahead, leaning back to regard her from her perch at the top of a tree. The others moved to join.

“We’ll have time,” Rainbow said. “That train’s rolling to a stop already.”

“That’s good news,” Pinkie said, and Fluttershy shushed her.

“It’s a bunch of tankards up front, and a couple in the back, but around the, like, the two-thirds point, I guess, there’s some boxcars we can climb in.”

“So where does that leave us?” Rarity asked.

“Where’s it gonna stop?” Vinyl asked.

“Let’s move back some,” Twilight said.

“You stay up there, darling,” Rarity called. “In case we need to adjust, it’ll be better to have you up there to tell us.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rainbow said. “Hey! It’s freaking cold up here! Even for me!”

“Use your weather thing,” Pinkie said.

“Uh, duh, I’m trying. It’s not taking.”

“It’s because you keep flying out of your own air bubble,” Twilight said. “If you’d like, I can—”

“Don’t worry about it, Twilight,” Rainbow said. “Let’s just get this done.”

They pushed through the trees, pausing for a moment to watch as workers appeared from the town. They grabbed pallets, hauled barrels and crates, wheeled carts and dollies. A thin unicorn walked with an umbrella, though it was still clear, and they could see the tiny glow of a cigarette bobbing where she moved. The long, plangent train whistle approached, preceding the train by fifteen minutes of anticipation.

From where they stood, close enough to see shreds of nighttime backdrop from between the creaking cars, they felt invisible and vaguely nefarious, as though the darkness gave their plans a vile edge. When the machine came to a stop, the chatter of unhurried voices rose up from the station, soon followed by the jostling of chains and the sliding of doors.

“Let’s just grab this one,” Rarity said, looking around only briefly before approaching.

“Wait,” Twilight said. “We’re waiting until after the workers have finished. So they don’t discover us.”

“Oh, right.”

Rainbow landed beside them and entered Rarity’s shield. “Well?” she asked.

“It’s gonna roll along as they do their work, I think,” Twilight said. “We’ll follow it.”

For a time, the train did not move, and they stood by in the trees, close and impatient. When it finally inched forward, they shot ahead, Rainbow again taking to the air to watch the workers.

It took nearly an hour for their selected car to roll up to the station, and as soon as the workers had checked its cargo, they dashed out into the clearing by the track and helped one another aboard. They could hear the workers’ conversations muffled from within the car, joyless routine of checking, re-checking, loading, unloading. Sounds of work, occasional distant thunder, and their own worried breathing.

“It stinks in here,” Pinkie whispered.

“It’s the cargo,” Twilight said. “This is a chemical car.”

“Can we pick a different one?” Rarity asked.

“I’d rather not risk it,” Rainbow said.

They had to satisfy themselves with pushing all the crates to one side, then sitting on the other. The heady smell of formalin filled the car, and, though the others protested, Fluttershy closed and latched the door. Vinyl provided their light.

“We can open it a crack when we’re moving,” Twilight said.

“Maybe we can push this crap out then too,” Rainbow groused.

“Bad idea,” Vinyl said.

“If it bothers you that much, I can stick some of these in my magic storage,” Twilight said. “Not all, but some.”

“Nope,” Big Mac said. “They weigh these cars sometimes. If yer holdin’ their cargo when that happens, there’ll be trouble.”

“I thought that was only if they think something’s wrong in the first place,” Twilight said.

“Not fer goin’ between cities. Train robbers got all this space to do their dirty, they have weigh stations all over the place to discourage it.”

“That’s interesting” Vinyl said.

“Back in Appleloosa, Ah got earfuls of it from Braeburn. That was all he talked about, seemed like. He wanted to get a railroad between there an’ Snowdrift.”

“I’m amazed there isn’t one already,” Twilight said.

“The land between ain’t good for it, what Ah’m told.”

“Quiet,” Pinkie hissed, and they stopped talking to hear the sounds of hoofsteps crunching closer on the gravel outside. They paused at their door, and Fluttershy gasped when the door rattled. The latch jumped in its place, but after a second, the pony smacked the door and moved on. Everyone breathed out at once.

After what felt like hours, the train groaned to life once more, and they felt its wheels move under them, a curious weightless glide as they rolled forward, the sounds of the outside dying away to be replaced by a repetitive hum and grumble of metal on rail. Occasionally, the train whistled far ahead.

Rarity dropped her head to the floor to look under the door, and, satisfied by what she saw, unlatched it and let it slide back a few inches.

The shrouded land rose above them, its face furred with the distant aspect of another pine forest, a dark mantle that separated them from the vast desert miles beyond. They faced east, away from the mountains, but when Twilight peeked her head out, she could see the very top of the chain above the train’s roof, clouds around the snow caps.

“How are we gonna drop sigils now?” Pinkie asked.

“I was worried about that at first,” Twilight said. She grabbed a crate and prized its lid off. “I’ll draw them on these lids and toss them out every hour or so. Should be okay.”

“Heck, toss the whole things,” Rainbow said. “This stuff is rank.”

“We’ll get used to it,” Fluttershy said.

“You might. You probably already are.”

“Not really.”

“Me, personally, it reminds me of Roan,” Rarity said. “I needn’t elucidate.”

“No, you needn’t,” Twilight said.

“Let’s see if we can keep this open like this,” Fluttershy said. “Air circulation will help the smell.”

“I can just hold it,” Twilight said, grabbing the latch in her magic.

"You’re sure?” Rarity asked.

“It’s nothing.”

Where Twilight threw out her first sigil, a thick, circular design scratched onto the lid’s underside, they were cruising through a smaller, windswept wood. Trees whipped past, occasional branches scratching the car and filling their space with an edged, gritty sound that gave Vinyl shivers. The lid tumbled and bounced into a gully, and was gone.

“What happens if it breaks when you throw it out?” Rainbow asked.

“I’m being careful,” Twilight said.

They took their lunch as the wood ended and watched the scenery march past, changing gradually back to flatland. They were near the mountains, but could not tell how near. When they were finished, and, after a brief debate, the trash had been swept out the open door, rain began to tap softly on the roof. Dry and safe, though only partially from the wind, their spirits were lifted, and talk fell once more to home. They went around stating what they most looked forward to, what they would do first when they got back. In Vinyl’s case, they lingered and talked about where she could go, balking when the topic reached her music career.

Pinkie received a note as Twilight pushed out her next sigil. Octavia, Applejack, and Colgate were keeping up, but their conditions were not detailed; they were simply “doing fine.” Stowing the note with the others in her space, Twilight curled up and tried to find a comfortable spot on the rattling, bumpy floor.

Grassland thinned to become cold, black desert, an extending sliver of arid land that served as a way-point between the wide forests that filled southwestern Equestria. Their river had split, its greater part curving out of sight long ago, meandering east toward Applewood and eventually up to Trottingham, its lesser offshoot following the train tracks north. Soon, they would part; the river would run along the mountains’ eastern rim, broken apart into a sequence of waterfalls and ponds, while the train would thread its way underneath.

Sleep claimed the transients one by one, each lulled or kept awake in their ways by the endless click and hum of spinning wheels. The train slithered into a wall of rain and sleet shortly before midnight, stoic in its rudimentary purpose. The engineer dozed in her chair as rain drummed the roof and the desert around was turned to a swamp, the raised ridge of track a temporary causeway across the cold land.

Under bloated clouds they slept and dreamt fitfully, their train a metal slug, vaguely shiny and slick in the faded moonlight. Nearer Snowdrift, where the clouds hung low but had not yet broken, light reflected back onto the town, but in the middle of nowhere, a thousand miles from the nearest electrical outlet, the only light reflecting was that of the train’s headlamp, cutting through swathes of water to show nothing but more and more uncivilized, unattended wilderness. Eventually, rain turned to hail, and they passed into what would have been the southernmost mountain’s shadow. Train and river diverged at last at the foot of an upturned swale, the river finding its course between the frigid stone teeth of the mountainside, hailstones jumping off its banks like electric sparks.

The transients woke in their time the following day, and their car’s open door gave them only greater darkness and the sheer echo of booming metal sliding down the subterranean tunnel. In unicorn light, they could see the passing wall of solid rock, broken only by yellow mile markers, or the ceaseless shuffling track below. They had no way to know how far through the mountain chain they were, only that they were just beginning a leg of their journey more monotonous and uncomfortable than the river. Even when the absolute darkness broke in favor of overcast nighttime as they turned a perilous curve over a gap they did not know had existed, there was no sign of their progress. They saw mountains above, before, and behind, while below was only the dark, strange face of their orphaned planet. For ten minutes, rain lashed them before they had again bored back into the mountain.

They had no cards or books to read, no food to spare, no other supplies. They talked, and then they didn’t, and then they slept. Under snow-capped peaks and impassable slopes, they sped day and night, stopping once between mountains for their train to be weighed. The machine crept forward, car by car, for an hour, until all the weights and measures had been recorded and they were able to move again. More and more, they kept the door latched for fear of accidentally opening it in too narrow a passage.

In the days, talk grew rare and strange, and their crates were broken down for diversion. Lids used for sigils, splintered boards and nails for miniature art projects. A container of formalin was spilled, and Twilight had to push the entire mess out into the racing tunnel before making everyone hold their breath and expelling the car’s air afterwards, popping ears and bursting capillaries, not that there was light enough for them to notice the latter.

In the nights, sleep eluded many, and hushed conversations were held in the corners. It seemed that everything had already been said, that every dream and fear had been given audience—which was untrue for many, but to each it was her own secret. When they dreamt, the transients felt the familiar but long-forgotten pull of intangible fear. For some, the claustrophobic conditions manifested, and for others, isolation; they worried that they had stepped into some final, giant trap, that they had fallen into a magical fantasy with their princess.

Still they rattled north, through interminable darkness and sheer, breathtaking cold. It seemed the rocks themselves were sucking away all heat, absorbing winter’s overture from above and wicking away the warmth stored underground in one double-sided act of nature. They turned on their lights less and less, spoke more, their voices and conversations gradually losing their edge. Far above their heads, the clouds were again breaking apart to let the freezing air fall still over the barren land, spumes of snow seeming to crystallize in starlight and anneal to the boulders and crags. They had put the first set of forests behind them, and it would be a while still before the next set had come; in the interim, and in the spaces of the Freisian Mountains, once beautiful and serene to them as they traversed the clear, summertime peaks, there was but ice and stone.

To the vagaries of the weather they were blinded, and their sole companion was the eternal echo of their train. They stopped once more, closer to the northern end of the chain, five days after they had left from Creation Lake. No new notes came to them.

When the final mountain spat them out onto the freezing, dry landscape, they did not notice it for several hours, so numb to the sound of their travel that its subtle change did not register. When Pinkie slid the door open, she could only stare in awe. They sped on the skirt of a small lake, a veil of fog lifting off its surface to meet the weak glow of sunrise. A frayed edge of trees stood guard on the lake’s other side, tipping a barren hillside like moss on an arrowhead. Wind riffled the lake, its waters showing the wan sun like a pool of gold coins, bright counterparts to the lamellae of cloud that still threatened rain.

The transients sat side by side at the open door, letting their eyes adjust to the new scene, their nostrils to the smell of fresh air. The lake passed and was gone before their eyes, the trees shortly behind, and bounding folds of field replaced them. Light rain touched the roof, and no one objected.

Eventually, the tracks turned them northeast, and as the mountain peaks shrunk, they realized that they would need to get off. If they stayed, the train would curve them away from Snowdrift, through steadily warming desert until they reached Applewood. With no weighing station within view, they had to debark while the train was moving. The pegasi simply jumped out and flew away, but Twilight had to take the others, and herself, in telekinesis and float them out entirely. The train shot past with a nightmare noise of power and metal, and they settled on the hard, cold ground, ears ringing. Twilight’s magic for the day was spent; self-levitation was no easy feat, even less so with four others in the cloud of magic.

“Well,” Rarity said. “Thank you, darling. Will you be all right?”

“I’m dropping a sigil,” Twilight said. “Oh, fine, fine, thank you. I could do with a rest, but let’s not do it out here.”

“Where the heck are we?” Rainbow asked.

“Closer,” Vinyl said. She pointed at the mountains, then swiveled her body to point the other foreleg at a graceful, white mass in the distance. “That’s the glacier over there. Snowdrift is right at its foot.”

“Charming,” Rarity said. “Can we get a move on?”

“One second,” Twilight said, grabbing a stone and trapping the sigil’s paper underneath. “Let’s go.”

On hoof, they traversed the chilly countryside, enjoying the breeze, the occasional spats of rain, and the sunlight that did not quit the horizon. Fluttershy would occasionally flap her wings as she walked, studying her own shadow; she hadn’t seen it in so long. They talked little, each one simply relieved to be off the train, to be that much closer to the gateway.

It did not take long for the pleasure to wear off, however. After a couple hours of walking over nothing but wet stone and thin topsoil, navigating patches of dead trees and icy pools, and tilting their heads away from the wind that seemed always to come back a little stronger, the mood had darkened. They stopped for a short bite to eat in a clump of stunted pines, and Rainbow commented that it looked like the sun was on its way down again.

They laid down their next sigil at a pond only barely frozen over, dead blades of tall grass sticking out of the ice like antennae, and then waited for a round of rain to pass, as Rainbow assured them it would. The rain took the sun with it, and they walked away from the pond in darkness once more, marching with sore hooves and frozen eyes toward the next grove of black trees, where they would sleep.

The countryside was clear enough to afford a steady pace, but hazardous enough to keep their progression slower than they would have liked. Sharp stones appeared frequently from under tufts of grass, or else revealed themselves in the loose, windblown soil that seemed scattered throughout the spaces between woods. Rain turned to hail, and Rarity had to put up a shield, though she wanted to save as much of her magic as she could for their campsite. They reached the trees finally alongside a narrow creek, its waters clear enough to see the moonlight off the smooth stones on its bottom. In the crotch of a large tree, they rested, erecting a flimsy shelter from pine branches. Fluttershy’s experience with nature was invaluable, but ultimately incomplete, and without magic, they would have gone without fire.

In what they assumed was morning, they scattered cold ashes, had a breakfast of wildflowers and water so cold it hurt to drink, and moved on. They kept to the trees’ border when they could, not wanting to get lost in the darkness. The glacier was a gray marker, a lone tooth protruding out of the horizon. At times, they thought they could see the lights of Snowdrift reflecting off its face.

Pines gave way to spruces and firs, ice clinging to their needles and melting into frigid dribbles of water when brushed. The wood grew dense and unwelcoming to their northeast as they moved, going behind trees when they could to shield themselves from the wind that carried on it hints of moisture and flecks of dirt and pine needles. The air smelled cold and fresh, faintly earthen, but they hardly smelled it anymore.

The sound of falling water led them to a small monocline in the rough ground, the white of its waterfall speckled with yellowed leaves. Affixed to one side was a spindly, wooden cabin, its forward half supported by a ribbed tower of stairs that ran the length of the rise, and its back resting not feet from the stream, plants growing around it as though the structure had been carved from the earth. A single, slender tree grew out of a small skylight, spreading its branches in a sylvan umbrella.

For a time, they stared, some of them awed and others assessing whether anyone lived there or whether they were about to walk into a trap. Rainbow flew up to peer into the windows, and, seeing no one within, directed them up the shaft of stairs. On higher ground, they were able to follow the stream through a break in the trees and out to a smaller clearing, from which they could see the glacier on one side and a rim of outlying houses on another.

“I know what some us are thinking,” Twilight said. “Let’s just keep moving. We’re almost there.”

With regretful looks at the village, they put the last of the trees behind them and walked out into the cold, empty plains once more. Dead grass poked and splintered on their hooves, whispering against loose rocks in the wind that they knew would bring more rain.

Just cresting the first hill and more out of breath than she would have thought from it, Twilight paused and stared at a dim light, alone, two hills away.

“Something wrong?” Vinyl asked.

“Just looking.”

They descended, laid down a sigil, and started up the next hill, the stream gone and replaced by the steady outpouring of rain. They trudged uphill, cold but tired, heads bowed and manes lank, sometimes long enough to be tripped over. They were hungry, but no one suggested they stop.

“I feel like I’m never gonna be dry again,” Rainbow said.

“I feel like I won’t ever be comfortable again,” Rarity said.

“It’s just the rain,” Twilight said, knowing exactly what they meant but not wishing to encourage a poor mood. “Let’s see if we can stop at that thing up there, that light.”

“Shoulda gone to town,” Vinyl said. The wind carried her voice away, and only Fluttershy heard.

At the top of the next hill, Big Mac stepped to the front and looked with Twilight. “Looks like one of those telescope buildin’s.”

“An observatory?” Twilight asked.

“Eeyup.”

“You love those,” Fluttershy said.

“Let’s just see,” Twilight sighed.

The observatory was an unimpressive redoubt of painted wood set atop an ugly, square building, its windows smudged and smeared, its bricks chipped and, in some places, missing. A chest-high wire fence ran around its perimeter, and they stepped over without pausing, following Twilight’s quiet lead. Before they found the door, they heard a voice calling out. Rainbow answered, and the two parties met near a pile of rocks, where the caller set his lantern and regarded the travelers.

“Well I’ll be,” he whispered to himself, taking in the seven bedraggled ponies before him. He looked little better than they, an aged stallion with half-moon glasses perched on a balding muzzle, a lopsided mane of tight curls on his head already furrowed with frown lines. Shrugging inside a cardigan that was too large, he grabbed the lantern in his mouth and beckoned them to follow.

“Don’t get much visiting folk here, least of all you lot,” he said when they reached the warmly lit vestibule. He set the lantern on a table, pushing a stack of brochures off to make room. The room was of wood, its floor dirty and eroded from having hooves stamped and scraped on them, as the Elements did. A small fire threw cheer from the far wall, where it crackled before a wooden desk and under a wide, rain-streaked window. Above creaked a chandelier of shed antlers, tea candles glowing from the fossae like sprites in an ancient forest. Compared to the technological marvel Twilight knew was above, the living room was a gross incongruity, and as much as she felt compelled to rest, or at least sit down, she did not feel it proper.

“Excuse me,” Vinyl said. “But are we near Little Snowdrift?”

“Pardon, missy?”

Vinyl repeated herself closer to him, and he laughed. “Sure enough, Little Snowdrift it is! Have you been?”

“Have you?” Rarity asked.

“When I was younger, I stopped here for a day,” Vinyl said. “On my way to Snowdrift.”

“Most of our folk are right from there,” the stallion explained. “If ya like, you can go down and shake some hooves. We’re a friendly lot, us.”

“I’m afraid it’ll have to wait,” Fluttershy said. “We’re just passing through.”

“It is curious,” the stallion said. “What brings you lot here? Oh!” He lightly smacked himself on the head. “Where are my manners? Do sit down, make yourselves comfortable. I’ve got tea, if you like.”

“That would be heavenly,” Rarity said, walking to a tatty chair and sitting after a moment of discreet inspection.

“Flora! Can you put some tea on, honey? We’ve got visitors.” He cleared his throat. “My daughter. She’d love to meet you.”

“Awwww,” Fluttershy cooed. “How old?”

“Nine coming in a couple months.” He lowered his voice. “She still doesn’t have her cutie mark.”

“It’ll come,” Twilight said.

He nodded and took a seat on the floor near Rarity, and they arranged themselves similarly, filling the room and its surfaces.

“We’re on our way to Snowdrift,” Twilight said. “We’re meeting some friends there.”

“Quite the time of year to do it,” the stallion said. “Is one of you not well? You seem to missing Applejack.”

“She’s the one we’re meeting in Snowdrift,” Pinkie said. “And a couple others. They—”

“They ran ahead to take care of something for us,” Rarity said. “I’m afraid we can’t say much more than that.”

“Fair, fair.” He stood. “Flora, honey, look who came to call.” He led a small earth pony out into room. On her face, there was first shock, then disbelief, then elation, and then polite friendliness, all in the space of a confused second. She inclined her head, her smile not completely smothered, and greeted them shyly.

“Tea’s almost ready, daddy,” she said in a quiet voice.

“Just bring it on out when it is, dear,” he said, flicking her with his tail. She flicked back and, with another quick look at the Elements, disappeared into the next room.

“Oh, she already loves you,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Rainbow said. “Did we get your name, bud?”

“Didn’t you?” He slapped his head again. “Oh! You’ll have to pardon my memory sometimes. I’m Sparkling Spyglass. Most ponies just call me Spy.”

“Hmmm.”

“It’s good to meet you, Spy,” Rarity said. “I take it you know us, then.”

“Not to sound impolite,” Fluttershy added.

“Oh yes, you all I know. Most folks do.” He eyed Big Mac and Vinyl. “Not you two, though. Friends, I take it?”

“Big Mac and Vinyl Scratch,” Vinyl said, rising to shake his hoof. “Pleasure.”

“And you said you’ve been here before?”

“When I was young; I don’t remember much.”

“Well, I expect it hasn’t changed much since then,” he said with a chuckle.

An awkward interval of silence passed, in which they could hear Flora’s quiet ministrations with the tea.

“So, an observatory,” Twilight said. “Do you live here?”

“Of late we have,” Spy said. “I’ve got to go to town tomorrow to pick up a few things.” He smiled, his weary face lighting up and losing its years for a moment. “With the sky what it is…” He waved a hoof in the air, as if to say “I won’t ask you, I’m sure you get it all the time,” and continued. “It’s been rather hectic around town. But this… this place is a dream. My dream.”

“I never thought of that,” Rarity said. “It must be nice to have constant access to the night sky.”

“Weather permitting, of course,” he said, nodding. Flora entered the room with a tray of saucers and teacups on her back, and they each took one, thanking her politely. She repaired to the kitchen, and Spy didn’t stop her.

“She can sit with us,” Twilight said. “I don’t mind.”

“She’ll come,” Spy said.

“Hm. Have you discovered anything with the sky? Anything strange?” She paused, as if contemplating further discourse, but stopped where she had.

“Less than I expected.” He sipped his tea. “Sugar, anypony?”

“Five lumps for me, please!” Pinkie said.

“Ah’ll take one,” Big Mac said.

“But some things,” Twilight pressed. “Some things odd about the sky.”

“I can show you later, if you’d like,” Spy said. “I couldn’t really explain it to you. I’m not much of a… wordsmith, I suppose. Never was.”

Without asking permission from her father, and without him granting it, Flora reentered the room and sat at a distance from them, her eyes fixed on Vinyl.

“Flora, honey, you recognize these ponies, don’t you?” Spy asked.

“Yes, daddy,” she said, and listed their names off, even Vinyl’s and Big Mac’s.

“Smarter than a bee sting, my little Flora.” He sighed contentedly. “Do we have any mint leaves left, honey?”

Flora scampered up and raced to the kitchen, coming back with a reckless grin, and recited the amounts of their various ingredients. She placed emphasis on the mint leaves with a bright smile. Spy sat through the process as if it were common to him.

“It’s strange,” Twilight said. “And a lovely surprise, too—but strange—to find an observatory all the way out here.”

“Not so strange,” Spy said. “We’re quite far from… well, most anything.” He laughed. “There’s next to no light pollution, and except for the dreaded winter weather, the skies are usually clear. There’s hardly any dust out here.” He gestured loosely with his hoof. “They keep all the dust out there, in the big cities. Where it belongs, if you ask me.”

“Have you been to the big city, Elements of Harmony?” Flora asked, leaning forward on her knees, eyes wide.

“Why, yes, darling,” Rarity said. “We’ve been all over the country.”

The filly’s mouth morphed to an amazed O, and they could fairly see the jumble of questions just behind her eyes.

“Not long ago, we saw the mines south of here,” Big Mac said.

“Under the mountains?” Spy asked.

“Eeyup.”

“I didn’t know there were mines under the mountains, daddy,” Flora said.

“I’d plum forgotten,” Spy sad. “Don’t hear much about that part of the country.”

“What were the mines like?”

“Dark,” Pinkie said. “Darker than the inside of a flour sack!” She giggled, and Flora did too.

As the time passed, the travelers were able to partially unwind, more than in several days. Sparkling Spyglass added another log to the fire and Flora produced more tea, and they eventually moved to the smaller dining area, where they ate of fresh greens and mushrooms. After the meal, Spy revealed that he had used a portion of truffle oil in all their meals, and it was for the better he said so after, for they would have insisted he not incur the loss at their behest. Flora’s questions kept flowing, mostly pertaining to Applewood and Canterlot, and they answered as best they could, always at pains to keep their stories light and appropriate for young ears.

When it was ten o’ clock by Spy’s timepiece, Flora went to bed, and the others began to express their fatigue as well. Spy insisted they sleep in the living room, and they accepted.

In the fire’s dying light, spilled across their reposing forms, Rarity remained wide awake. She tried to lull herself by staring at the play of light on the ceiling, but no sleep came, and when she heard someone rise, she was quick to see who it was. Big Mac stood for a moment, as if debating whether to move or just lie back down, and padded to the door. Rarity rose and followed him.

He did not notice her when he walked outside, his great shoulders shivering as they met the cold air. He walked until he was at the hill’s descending edge, and Rarity stood beside a small tree, watching, feeling silly. She had followed him on an impulse, moved to action only because she herself could not sleep. If he wanted some time to himself, he was entitled to it, and she made to go back to the observatory. She did not complete the first step, though; something kept her rooted to the spot.

“Perhaps I should talk to him,” she thought. It was no secret, at least to her, that he was unhappy. Bottling it up was no solution—but interrupting his privacy seemed no solution either.

She coughed politely, and his head whipped around.

“I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it. “I just… well, I saw you leave, and I thought I’d…”

"Check up on me?” he completed.

“No, not exactly. Honestly, I’m not sure. I’m sorry, Big Macintosh, I just followed you. If you’d like, I’ll leave.”

“Stay if you want,” he said. “Ah just needed to get out of there.”

“I understand.” She thought she did.

For several minutes, he looked off the hill, into the darkness, and she writhed internally. She had announced herself, so leaving was no longer a polite option, but he did not appear to have anything to say. She shifted her weight, and after a moment, shifted it a second time.

“We were close as anythin’, growin’ up. Ah know she expected that to change when we got a little older—told me as much—but it never happened.”

“Applejack.”

He looked at her as if it were obvious who he was speaking of. Rarity supposed it was.

“Ah know she’ll be okay.” His face darkened. “An’ before y’ask, it ain’t a glamour thing. Ah just know it, in my heart.”

“Okay.”

“You might call it sentimental, but Ah know it, deep down. They’ll all be okay.”

“I hope so.”

He nodded, as if it were decided. As if them agreeing had made it so, had ensured that their friends would survive the ordeal.

“So… this has been a pleasant surprise, has it not? This hospitality. I know I, personally, expected another campfire tonight. Or today. Whatever.”

Big Mac sat down and looked at her.

“That Spyglass is the nicest pony I’ve met in a long, long time, and that little Flora, so sweet. He’s right, she is smart. She’s going places, that filly.” She forced a chuckle. “I know I wasn’t half as bright at her age.”

Big Mac nodded, and Rarity noticed he had stopped shivering.

“We’ll get some warmer clothes in Snowdrift, and then we’ll be off again. I just hope we miss these supposed blizzards that it gets. The last thing we need is to be snowed in in demon town.”

“Ah made a mistake,” Big Mac said.

“I’m sorry? A mistake, dear?”

“Ah’m a fool.” His voice was so quiet, so strained, it took Rarity a moment to realize that he was holding back tears. His back was gently curved, and as he looked down at his hooves, she remembered him from Ponyville: polite but brief encounters on the farm or at the stalls, both of them going about their lives with no more than passing interest in each other. A lingering gaze, she on his broad back and haunches, he on her trimmer, softer curves. Neither expected to get to know the other, to see each other at their worst and most private.

She did not know what to do when he sniffed back tears. He was ugly then, his face pulled back in the wrong places, showing too much tooth, his neck grotesquely veined, his shoulders shaking and twitching as though electrified.

“Dear,” she said. “Whatever do you mean?”

He shook his head.

“Let’s get this cold air out of here.” She approached him, but still kept her distance, and put up a shield against the air. It did not work particularly well. “What do you mean, a mistake? Tell me.”

He sniffed again, and she held herself from cringing as a line of snot dripped to the grass. “Ah let myself get caught up in y’all’s business, an’ now we’re gonna mess it up ‘cause of me.”

“Um… well…”

He wiped his face and took a deep breath, and didn’t speak until he had composed himself. “Ah’m sorry you had to see that. Ah don’t usually…”

“You’re fine.”

He sighed. “If Ah had to be honest with myself, an’ with you, Ah’d say Ah ain’t feelin’ the love with these Elements.”

“I see.”

“Ah wanted to, real bad. You believe that, Rarity?”

“Of course I believe you.”

“‘Cause Ah did. Well, Ah still do, but it ain’t workin’.”

“Why not? Is it anything specific?”

He shrugged.

“Dear.”

“It’s stupid.”

“I doubt that very much,” Rarity said. “I know you fairly well, and I seriously doubt something small and stupid would make you feel this way.”

“Maybe.”

“What is it?”

He hesitated. “The glamour.”

“Ah.” She nodded, understanding. A small part of her mind crowed that she had already made her apologies for taking advantage of his glamour, of forgetting the pony besides the magic, that she should not have to be holding this conversation with him.

“It’s gone dead. Ah haven’t felt anythin’ since… before the mines, Ah believe.”

She licked her lips, aware that she was on touchy ground. “Why is that?”

“Dunno. Ah figure it’s done its damage, an’ it weren’t needed anymore.”

She looked at him, not sure what to say.

“An’ now here Ah am, followin’ along with y’all, goin’ through all the motions, hatin’ it all the way. Ah’ve got an Element to my name, so Ah can’t back out, but… Ah’d give a lot to. Just to go back home, be done with all this.”

“You and me both.”

“Hm.”

“No, seriously. I don’t think any one of us has been feeling right for a while now. Celestia knows, if I had the option, I wouldn’t be out here. I wouldn’t be even close enough to see that cursed city. In this atrocious weather, subsisting on grass and weeds. Who would want this?”

“At least yer friends with everypony.”

“Well…” She thought for a moment, momentarily caught off guard by his melodramatic turn. “What about us? You can’t say this isn’t friendship, you telling me these things here, me listening. You trust me. Would you tell Twilight, or Pinkie? Vinyl, even?”

“Not her.”

“Not Vinyl.”

“Nope.”

“But the others…”

“Probably, if they caught me at a weak moment.”

Rarity rubbed his back. “One thing I’ve learned about friendship, Big Mac, is that it’s not always pretty. Contrary to what one might think, it doesn’t even require you to like each other all the time. There’s been more times than I can count that I’ve wanted to slap each and every one of these mares right in their faces, and I expect they’ve felt the same about me. That’s just how it is. But… Friendship is there when it counts. Times like this, or when one of us is in danger, that’s when the true friendship appears.”

“You might not like each other all the time, but ya love each other,” Big Mac said.

“Precisely. It’s the deeper connection that matters, not the superficial trappings. They’re both important, but the core of it is the deeper, unspoken things. Like with you and Applejack.”

“That don’t count.”

“Doesn’t it? Siblings count just as much as anyone else.”

He thought.

“You’re saying you feel out of place with us, is that it?”

He nodded.

“Why is that?”

“‘Cause Ah can’t do anythin’. Ah ain’t helpin’ the cause anymore, not without my glamour.” Above, rain tinkled on Rarity’s shield. “That was my one thing, my one contribution, an’ without it, Ah’m just an average… just average.”

“That’s not true.”

“Anythin’ Ah can do, one of y’all can do better.”

“Now that’s not true either,” Rarity said sternly. “Honestly, Big Mac, you can’t be so self-defeating.” “And here comes the part where he asks me what I see in him, and I lavish him with encouragement.” She looked down at him again and felt her nose wrinkle. Pity and tenderness were the expected feelings, but she did not feel those for him. They had all come so far, it seemed wrong that he should require such a softhearted display, and wrong for her to offer one. Bowed under the weight of his own discouragement, ugly from crying and lost in the world, he was like an animal to her, and she felt only reproach.

Rarity took a deep breath, releasing her shield. The cold rain stung her skull, but the effect clarified her. She selected her words.

“I’m not going to pour out encouragement for you,” she said slowly. “I’m not your mother. What I will do, Big Mac, is tell you that we all genuinely value your friendship and your presence on this team, glamour or no. Do the others know about this?”

“Ah don’t wanna bring it up with ‘em.”

“You should.” She left it at that; she trusted he didn’t need it explained.

“Yer right,” he said. “Ah get caught up thinkin’ things over so much, sometimes, Ah ferget why Ah started thinkin’ in the first place. Ah’ll tell everyone tomorrow.”

“Good. Do.” She flinched internally, despising how cold she sounded.

“Trust buildin’,” he whispered to himself, and she sensed that the conversation was over. Slowly edging away, giving him every chance to turn and reel her back in, Rarity took her leave to the observatory.

On the upper floor, behind the telescope’s polished view piece, Twilight drank in the night sky. When she was younger, she had studied the constellations and their movement in the Canterlot observatory, its unrivaled power and glory lost on her young sensibilities, its manifold uses taken for granted and assumed common. What the royal observatory never had, though, and which Sparkling Spyglass did, was the deep and unending darkness that came from the near total absence of ambient light. Even as clouds swept past to cut short her session, Twilight could not speak for the dormant marvel the sky’s aspect had awoken.

She stepped away from the telescope and let herself stare at the far wall. She didn’t want to break the moment, to cut the feeling short, to take even a fraction of her mind away from remembering the sky. Spy gave her a minute.

“I’m afraid it’s been rather stop and go for a while now,” he said finally. “Usually is this time of year.”

“It was perfect,” Twilight said.

“Yes, I agree. A shame about the circumstances, though.”

“Yes.” She was aware that he was probing for information.

He coughed. “Yes, well, I’m quite proud of it.”

“How long did it take to build this? That’s a pretty small town down there; you can’t have had much help.”

“A year, maybe more. This place was actually contracted by Princess Celestia—I’m surprised you didn’t know.”

“No, I didn’t,” Twilight said, covering her shock, disguising it as mild interest. Her overworked mind immediately turned on the question, wondering what the princess might want with an observatory in this particular part of the world. Its placement was surely no accident. “Does that mean you were too?”

Spy only smiled. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say, even to you.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“I would expect so.” Their eyes met, and for a second, she brought her guard up.

“Are you in contact with any of the ponies in Snowdrift?” she asked.

“I never go there, no, but I have one or two friends that live up there. We write.”

She looked at his face again, making her tone nonchalant. “So some ponies might be expecting us when we get there.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he said. There was a fraction of a pause before his rejoinder; she was not sure whether she had imagined it.

“That’s fine.” She cleared her throat. “I’m afraid I don’t really understand why the sky has become how it is. Discord, obviously. But I don’t know anything specific.”

“You mean you haven’t heard from the princesses?”

Noting his use of the plural, she was able to relax a little. He did not know what had happened to Celestia. “They’re both busy with their own affairs.”

“Trying to set the sky to rights, I suppose.”

“I suppose.” Rain began on the roof, and Twilight yawned. “You said you had discovered some things. What were they?”

Sparkling Spyglass hummed to himself, filling the silence for a second as he shuffled through a stack of scrolls. “These charts,” he said. “These are star charts.” He unrolled one scroll and set it on a desk at the wall, holding the paper open with a book and an hourglass. “This is the predicted night sky for this month, and this,” he unrolled a second scroll on top of it, “is the sky as it is. I’ve circled the greatest discrepancies.”

Twilight frowned down at the scroll, examining the differences he had indicated. All across the sky, constellations were not where they should be, while others had simply rotated. She tried to see the month printed on the bottom scroll’s header, just in case Spy had been looking at the charts for two different months.

“I have my theories,” Spy said. “I’d love to hear yours, though. They’re probably much more refined.”

“Not exactly.” She thought back to her classes, the sections on astronomy, and her individual research that would come in spats later. It had been a long time since she had read about the specifics of the princesses’ connection to the stars. Their ties with the sun and moon were much more obvious, but the constellations played their part as well, a part Twilight only understood in basic terms.

“Look at this.” Spy pointed at the space between two constellations. “Here and elsewhere, you can see the distance between the stars on one end is greater than the distance between the other end. I haven’t looked deep enough into it, so I don’t know if they’re traveling on a curve or just rotating against each other, but… you see it, don’t you?”

“I see it,” Twilight said, chewing her lip. “I almost wonder…”

“Wonder what?” He leaned in eagerly.

“I wonder if what we’re seeing isn’t the true night sky. That maybe Discord has put up an illusion.”

“Now I had not thought of that,” Sparkling Spyglass said softly. “That would explain the apparent curvature, if we’re under a dome-like illusion.”

“That would make a lot of sense to me.”

“I’ll have to look closer at the discrepancies, see if the curves are consistent with a dome shape.” He thought for a moment, and Twilight recognized his look, the look of a pony already beginning to work out the steps to untangling a scientific problem. In that moment, she ached to have more time, to be able to wake up the following day and begin working out the physics and geometry her idea presented. “But how have the princesses not torn something like that down?” Spy asked.

Twilight shook her head, clearing it of her yearning. A few ideas came for why the illusion might be allowed to stand, but she did not want to go over them with the stranger, not without time to think about them herself.

“Curious, curious.”

Against her better judgment, she asked, “Have you found anything else? Anything strange about the moon?” She could feel the subject pulling at her, and she knew that leaving the observatory would be all the more painful if she kept him talking, but her eyes were wide as she drank in his words.

“Nothing yet, but I’m monitoring its rotation. I figure, if there’s trouble with the princesses, we might see it there.”

“I suppose,” Twilight said, knowing what he suggested: that Luna, under duress, might be flinging her moon too slowly or too fast. She doubted it, and was bitterly gladdened that he entertained the idea, that she might lower her esteem but slightly and so soften the separation.

“Obviously, I can’t pay the same attention to the sun. I wish I could.”

“You don’t have any solar filters?”

“I do, but the sun hasn’t been out much lately.”

“Oh, right.” She chuckled at her mistake. “I’m so used to this darkness, I don’t find myself thinking about it very much.”

“That’s fair,” he said. “Where did you set out from?”

She smiled. “I’m sorry, Spy. I don’t think I can talk about it.”

He shrugged, and she yawned again. She wanted to sleep, but she didn’t, and he pulled out more scrolls. They stayed up another hour, talking of constellations, of the moon, of the sun’s reflection off it and how that reflection might be made to change to accommodate a dome-shaped illusion. They spoke of reflections off the Snowdrift glacier, of comets and their paths. When at last Twilight could not keep her eyes open, they went to their rooms, and she fell asleep with her head full.

Sparkling Spyglass and Flora saw the group off with a pair of saddlebags loaded with food from their larder and a watch, neatly fastened around Rainbow’s foreleg with all the reverence of a ceremonial vestment. It was one in the afternoon, the sky an ocean of ink spangled with traces of cloud. They walked in a line down the hill, dropped a sigil, and then climbed the next. It was around five when they could clearly see the lights of Snowdrift, all the brighter under another ceiling of heavy clouds.

They set upon a gravel road that took them along a mild rise, the dark and crowded forest sloping away from them, deep into the southwest, where the trees would begin climbing into the mountains. They had skirted the forest on the train, hooking east instead, missing the densest woods and the best cover for the wind that ceaselessly moved.

Fine mist filled the air around the trees, their bristly shapes shrouded and brooding, almost as dark as the sky and just as immense. They walked above all, alone on the road, quietly waiting for their first good look at the next town. After so long off their airship—though not that long, for they had crashed in the lake a mere seven days ago—the sight of a real town felt strange and unreal.

When the town finally did appear, however, there was no shock. The ice water feeling of finding something new and anticipated didn’t come, the fear many of them had felt did not grow into panic or wither into despair. Together, they saw the same dull, brick and mortar building break over the horizon, then its neighbors, lined and lit like candles. As they drew closer, no magical lightning ripped the sky apart, no disembodied threat heralded their coming, no overwhelming sense of dread filled their tired hearts.

They stopped near the border, dropped a sigil, and decided to circle around to the gateway, not wishing to attract attention in the town. So they walked, over train tracks, under trees, circling the town and shivering in the rain that seemed as much a part of the land as the woods it veiled. Occasional voices found their way on gusts of wind, reaching the traveling friends and sounding no different from the voices they might hear anywhere else.

Together, they had heard of Snowdrift’s dangers, the threat of otherworldly magic hanging over the town like a pendulum. ‘Eccentric,’ it had been called, or nightmarish. To them, as they marched through more pines, splashed through more puddles, wiped more mud off their coats, and looked up into the same night sky as ever before, Snowdrift was but another town. A small hamlet, compact and busy, filled with ponies living their lives.

The shock of Snowdrift never came, but the shock of the gateway, a mile outside town and almost too wide to see across, its ambient magic a buzz saw in the unicorns’ heads and a cicada’s chirrup in the others’, left them breathless.