To describe Willow was not a necessarily complicated request.

The filly was normal in nearly every aspect, and plain in both appearance and personality. The little grey unicorn was in no way special, she was not particularly strong or intelligent. Willow was the same as any other filly her age, with nothing that made her stand out. She had a short and well kempt mane the same color as her dull grey coat, which matched her eyes evenly.

There were times when Willow heard whispers that her mentor, Skyhoof, was secretly her father – however, these were silly rumors, and Willow dismissed them all as such. The aging unicorn had been as a father to her, though, since the death of her parents so long ago that she couldn’t even remember; and at times, Willow could almost pretend that the grumpy old Skyhoof really was her parent.

Other times, though, she thought of much ruder things about him.

Willow puffed and grunted as she dragged the umpteenth log over to the woodpile, casting a weary glance at the work ahead of her. To be honest, Willow truly and honestly hated the amount of work required of her if she wished to continue receiving her spellmaster’s lessons. However, she failed in every single aspect of even the simplest of spells; Willow hadn’t even gotten her Cutie Mark yet, like most of the other colts and fillies of Halter.

But she was determined, though.

Or at least, she would try to convince herself that she was, and she continued to do as such as she struggled to heave the heavy lumber atop the pile beside the one-room hut.

Willow toiled for what felt like hours, dragging firewood back to the cramped little hut that they resided in. Perhaps Skyhoof would teach her a wood-chopping spell, or something equally effective – but she was likely to botch that, as well.

Willow quickly shook such thoughts from her head, turning instead to her work to finish as fast as possible and return to her lessons.

“Sky?” Willow stuck her head in through the doorway, wiping sweat from her face with the crook of her elbow. “Sky, I have the wood!”

“How much?” the elderly unicorn peered up from behind his reading glasses, throwing her a weary look from his writing desk where his spellbook lay open before him. “Enough for the whole winter?”

“Um…”

“That’s what I thought,” Skyhoof snorted, scribbling a bit on some parchment on the stool beside him. “I foolishly presumed that you would have finished by now.”

Willow hung her head miserably, tipping one hoof and pawing the dirt floor in front of her.

“I-I’m sorry, Skyhoof,” the filly looked between her hooves. “I stacked it as high as I could, but-but it just kept falling on me…”

“By the Titans, you’re useless,” the crotchety unicorn grumbled, and Willow sniffled quietly. He sighed eventually, beckoning her forward. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I’ll get the rest of it myself.”

“Lesson time?” Willow bounded across what little distance there was between them eagerly, her unhappiness utterly forgotten. “Is it a new magic lesson? Star charts? Alchemy instructions? Did you make any new spells?”

“No!” Skyhoof barked crankily, rearing away from the enthusiastic filly as her face came far too close to his own. “No, no, and yes.”

“Can I see?” Willow asked excitedly, peering over his desk to spot anything interesting.

“No,” he grumped, slamming his worn spellbook shut. “How many times do I have to tell you, dolt?”

Willow lurched backward in embarrassment, her cheeks pink.

“The spellbook is a sacred object,” she recited dutifully, if a bit monotonously. “Knowledge is power, and to intrude upon another’s knowledge without their own is a violation of both privacy and soul.”

“You’re damned right,” Skyhoof frowned, and breathed heavily through his nostrils. “Now, if you’ll be patient for once, maybe we can get to a lesson instead of a lecture.”

Willow bit her tongue, and bowed her head.

“… Oh, stop moping!” he rolled his eyes. “You’re making me feel guilty. I wanted you to perform the Wind Hoof.”

“Why?” Willow blinked, clamping her jaws shut immediately afterwards. She was too late, though.

“Why else, fool?” Skyhoof barked at her, and Willow cringed. “We can’t move on with your lessons tomorrow if you don’t at least master this one.”

Willow’s stomach dropped, and she bit her lip.

It was the same spell that Skyhoof had first insisted on teaching her.

Ever.

And she still hadn’t mastered it.

“Right-right now?” Willow shuffled uneasily, knowing that she was only bound to fail again. She was admittedly a little surprised at the old stallion’s apparent change of heart, especially after her last spectacular failure. He had sworn nearly a month ago that he would never teach her anything again, and she had been utterly devastated by his words.

It also did not take long for Skyhoof to begin teaching her again, under the strict rule of no practicing magic without supervision, lest he lose another bed.

“No,” Skyhoof replied dryly, scratching the balding spot behind his ear. “Go ahead and take your time, I was thinking maybe sometime next week of course right now, nimrod!” he shouted, and Willow backpedalled swiftly as she simultaneously reached for the magic.

In theory, the Wind Hoof was similar to basic telekinesis, which nearly every unicorn could intrinsically practice. It was comprised of a weak magical grasp on the forces of wind, using elemental grip to act as a separate hoof instead of telekinesis. Willow, unfortunately, could not control basic telekinesis, or even a simple light spell without something going wrong.

Nonetheless, Willow stuck her tongue between her teeth and forced up as much magic as she could muster into her horn. She closed her eyes tightly shut, squeezing them hard for good measure, as if the act in itself could help her attain greater magical control.

Willow held the spell in her mind before allowing it to travel into her horn tip, desperate to forge the windy hoof with sheer willpower. She struggled against the barrier in her mind as the immense strain of the spell began to take its toll, and Willow began to sweat profusely as she peered beneath her eyelids at what she was sure would be dead air.

Much to her surprise, a thin, whispery hoof had slowly begun to form from whirling wind just in front of her, and Willow squealed in pleasure and surprise.

“I did i-!”

And that was all Willow managed to say before the windy hoof promptly exploded in a violent gust of wind, blasting her cleanly out the doorway.

Willow tiredly stacked the last of the tattered pages back into what she sincerely hoped was the right book, sticking them all back into the furious stallion’s desk.

‘Never again’ seemed to be a recurring theme for Willow, and it was one that she didn’t necessarily care for.

“Left drawer,” Skyhoof mumbled, dropping a stack of short candles into a box that the miniature tornado had blown around. “Second one up.”

“Are you still mad at me?” Willow asked quietly, rubbing her forehoof anxiously as the aged unicorn sighed heavily.

“Yes,” he nodded, making her flinch. “Yes, I am very, very mad. However.”

Willow’s head snapped up, eyes wide.

“However,” he drawled dryly, “I am a little pleased that you managed to make a tiny, minute, nearly insignificant modicum of progress.”

“Was that a compliment?” Willow asked, unable to keep the beaming smile from her face any longer.

“It’s going to be a slap upside the head if you keep it up,” Skyhoof grunted as he jammed another slightly torn book into his desk, knowing full well that he would do no such thing.

“Does that mean I get to learn more tomorrow?” she bounced cheerfully, and Skyhoof had to hide a small grin of his own at her youthful energy.

“Maybe…” he said slowly.

“YES!”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Skyhoof shuffled toward his bed tiredly, his hooves dragging against the floor. “And perhaps this time you’ll learn a bit of control. Now, go to bed.”

“Do I have to?” Willow whined, wishing that she had more time to practice.

“No,” the elderly stallion rumbled as he clambered into his shoddy bed. “You can always go chop wood.”

By the time he had finished his sentence, however, Willow was already snoring in her own bed.

Loudly.

“That’s what I thought.”

Willow was having a rather strange dream that night.

All night long she tossed and turned on her small bed by the door, dreaming terrible dreams of being choked by the Wind Hoof. It chased her through her dreams, clawing and pawing to steal her breath from her, and no matter how fast she ran away or how she tried and failed to scream for help, the same invisible hoof snatched her away and stomped her…

Willow awoke in a cold sweat, the morning sunlight stinging her eyes as she tumbled out of bed.

She lay on the floor breathing heavily for a few seconds, the upside down world making her slightly dizzy as the blood rushed to her head. Willow rolled over and dragged herself to a standing position, shaking her head wildly and rubbing her eyes. It wasn’t often that Skyhoof let her sleep in so late in the morning, unless it was her birthday.

Or he had a hangover.

Surprisingly, the old stallion lay peacefully in his bed, a sliver of the morning sun beaming down just over his head like a golden halo and complementing a rare little smile. Willow almost snorted at the thought of the old coot possessing angelic qualities, as she had certainly never seen many.

“I know today isn’t your birthday,” Willow sang quietly, creeping up on him. “If you don’t wake up, I’m going to poke you in the e~eye…!”

She jumped beside his bed, clapping her hooves loudly together to surprise him and make him jolt, probably snarling something about someday giving him a heart attack.

“BLARGH I’M A CLAPPY-MONSTER!” Willow screeched, slamming her little hooves together as hard as she could.

Skyhoof didn’t move.

“Come on, you old geezer,” she nickered. “If you don’t get up, I’m not making any bre~akfast.”

Willow stared at him for a bare moment, a horrible feeling beginning to worm through her chest as it slowly dawned on her that he wasn’t breathing.

And from the feel of him, he hadn’t been for quite a while.

“… Wake up,” Willow shook his cold hoof, the lump in her throat growing so that it was difficult for her to speak. Her firm disbelief battled the facts in front of her, and Willow only shook him more desperately. “Wake-wake up. Skyhoof? Sky? I-I’m sorry – I’m sorry, Sky, I-I didn’t mean it, Sky. Skyhoof?”

It slowly began to sink in, regardless of how hard she fought it; eventually, Willow was left standing in stunned silence beside the bed of her mentor, and all she could bring herself to do was quietly sob.

The funeral of Skyhoof was a short and uneventful one.

Willow spent much of her time quietly watching some of the volunteers from Halter wordlessly burying the old unicorn, only one of whom she knew by name. Iron Wing, the scarred old pegasus with a missing eye and captain of the town’s small defense militia, seemed to be the only one aside from Willow to be depressed about burying Skyhoof. The others weren’t quite disinterested, although Willow would have felt just as horrible if they were.

No, all who attended the small funeral by the hut seemed to be oddly… skittish.

They all left her wordlessly, and Iron Wing was kind enough to lay a single hoof on her shoulder before trotting off with the others. Willow spent the entire rest of the day in a dull haze, simply sitting at Skyhoof’s writing desk.

Nopony but her had shed a single tear for him.

Nopony.

She stared down at the blank wood, her stomach churning as she wondered if she would be sick again. Willow simply couldn’t understand what was wrong with them all, why nopony seemed to care that her only friend in the world was gone. Or even why they all seemed so downright disturbed, so eager to get away.

Skyhoof had been one of the stallions that was on constant watch of the village’s borders, keeping an eye out for everypony whenever he could. He even sometimes volunteered for position as a guard for those times when the moon was full and timberwolves lurked about, working just as hard as others to ensure that a magical barrier was erected around the entire town until safety was assured.

Why didn’t anypony but her miss him?

Why couldn’t they understand how much it hurt, how much she needed somepony to be with instead of sitting all alone in the cold cabin?

Willow rapidly rubbed her hooves over her face, finding that she had begun crying again. That wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all, and she could almost hear Skyhoof reprimanding her. She was a big mare, she wasn’t a little filly anymore. Grown up mares didn’t cry.

He wouldn’t have wanted her to cry.

Mysteriously, this only made her want to start crying again.

Instead, Willow forcefully shoved back the lump in her throat, and began rifling swiftly through Skyhoof’s desk. Although she supposed that it was her own, now. He hadn’t even left her a will.

Determined to keep her head on straight, Willow instead decided to search for Skyhoof’s spellbook. The worn grimoire doubtlessly had some of his best spells in it, that he probably would have taught her if it weren’t for-

She cut the thought off at the head, and shook her own violently. No, she would not start that again. Willow would take out the tattered old book and read the whole thing until she fell asleep on his – or rather, her – bed.

And when Willow thought back to that moment, she sincerely wished that she had managed to take a few other of Skyhoof’s precious belongings as well. Some of his strange vials filled with glowing liquid, maybe a couple more scraps of paper. Even just one little bit or bobble that reminded her of him, she wished she had taken anything aside from that accursed book when she first smelled the smoke.

Willow darted out of the hut in alarm, the book still tucked firmly under one hoof as she sought the source of the fire. She nearly ran into a startled pony holding nails and a hammer, as if he were intending to nail the door shut before it was violently thrown into his face. And, much to her shock and terror, found that the fire was being delivered to the thatched roofing of the cabin by none other than old Iron Wing himself. He was accompanied by a couple of other torch wielding pegasi, all of whom didn’t even have time to say much more than her name before she bolted in fear.