She hadn't done much more than get out of bed and Fluttershy was already not having a particularly good day.

She was not sure why. It was on the very tip of her tongue. A thought existing as the slightest tickle at the back of her mind. A warning that somewhere, something had gone terribly wrong.

But what exactly?

She finished running the brush through her mane, getting out the last bit of tangles that tended to form in her long pink hair. She looked back at her tail, flowing like a pink waterfall behind her. Her front hoof tapped against the wooden floor.

...She would be fine with not brushing it for one day.

She set the hairbrush down, and made her way to the kitchen. Her cottage was quiet this morning. Normally the sheer number of animals residing within meant at least some creature was awake and making a racket, but the only birdsong came filtering in through the window.

Had she shut all the little doors that she normally left open for her animal friends?

No – one look at the hatch above her kitchen sink showed it to be open, in case Mr. Weasel needed to get inside.

Mr. Weasel, of course, was nowhere in sight. And the small dish sitting on her counter was still filled with nuts, untouched.

Uncharacteristic. Of both Ms. Weasel and Mr. Ferret, the two of which would normally fight over the treats she left out, despite all of her scolding and the occasional necessary Stares. But the nuts weren't scattered across the floor. They were in their dish, untouched. The large flat rock she kept there where it'd catch the most sunlight during the day was missing Ms. Iguana.

She caught a glimpse of something flashing by through the circular window into her back yard and straightened up to peer through, hoping for a glimpse of Mr. Marmot or Mr. Ferret or Mr. Iguana. The window must have been very dirty and smudged. All she had made out was a patch of white moving quickly. Ms. Cat on the prowl? From inside she couldn’t tell. Instead of the greens of her little herb garden, the ground looked ashy and grey, greyer than an angry storm cloud.

It wasn't cold at all, but she shivered slightly.

She trotted over to her back door, her head swiveling back and forth as she went, eyes peeled for Mr. Tortoise. Though that wasn't right. He wouldn't be here. He had his own home, with her good frie

missing Mr. Iguana.

She caught a glimpse of something flashing by through the circular window into her backyard and straightened up, peering through, hoping for a glimpse of Mr. Orangutan or Ms. Nightingale or Mr. Newt. The window must have been very dirty and smudged. Instead of the greens of her little herb garden, the ground looked ashy and grey, greyer than the color of Ms. Elephant’s skin.

It wasn't cold at all, but she shivered slightly.

She trotted over to her back door, her head swiveling back and forth as she went, eyes peeled for Mr. Tortoise. She stepped out into the flat and uncomfortably warm air outside, her wings fluttering slightly in a desire to feel something move.

Hadn't there been birdsong earlier? It was quiet now. Even the loud honking of Mr. Stork's practice opera sessions would be a relief.

She took a few steps forward, the greyish grass crunching beneath her hooves. Abruptly she realized – she should lock her house. The animals would have their own ways in, but that way no one could enter and mess with them. Ms. Tortoise was easily spooked.

She found her key underneath the straw mat she had outside her back door, and reached down to grip the thing in her teeth. Had it always tasted quite like that? And the twisted metal of the key looked a bit.ly/keasymbol of some kind. A… heart? She forced the thought out of her head. It was too important.

With a click, the door had been locked, and she dropped the key into the fresh dirt of a terracotta pot next to the door. It'd be a nice reminder. She was going to plant something there. Tomorrow.

She resumed her trek across the yard, heading over to the small outbuilding she kept for her winged animals. Small winged animals. It's not as if Mr. Ostrich would fit inside, after all. Everycreature had its own place – though some places were admittedly were nicer than others. Mr. Rabbit insisted on sleeping in her very bed, and she found it very hard to argue with… That was his name, right? For some reason sh

trek across the yard, heading over to the small outbuilding she kept for her winged animals. Feathery winged animals. It’s not as if Mr. Yellowjacket would get along with the rest, and he already had quite the temper.

She poked her head inside, trying to be quiet in case any of her friends were still sleeping. As soon as she did, the acrid smell assaulted her senses, and she winced, her eyes taking in the messy floor covered in droppings and shed feathers. Had they always been so— But they were there. Her animal friends were there!

A smile stretched wide across her muzzle at the sight of the birds inside, and a few bobbing heads poked up to peer at her with glassy eyes.

She took a deep breath and began to count them, making sure no one had gotten lost. “One,” she said softly. “Seven. Four.” She blinked. What number came next? “Zero?” She frowned. “Two. Six?”

That seemed close enough. She didn’t like the reptilian way the animals were staring at her, and pulled her head back, finding relief in the stale air of the outdoors.

Things were okay. She still had some of her animal friends around. The rest must just be busy. Or… maybe planning a surprise party! After all, she didn’t want to get all worked up if it was something as innocuous like that. She knew how much trouble it had been when her frien

relief in the stale air of the outdoors.

Things were okay. Everything was fine. Nothing was wrong. All of her friends. Her important important animal friends. Her only friends. They began primarily first on her mind and they were perfectlyokay.

Fluttershy looked up at the pale sky. “Oh,” she said. “It looks like rain.”

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