Twilight sat speechless, as the words that Axiom told her gradually began to sink in. Not that it was just his observations that indicated Scootaloo's feelings - Twilight had witnessed, and felt, them herself. How could it have been that Scootaloo, after seemingly only an afternoon of "quality" time with Twilight, had gone from practically loathing her with envy to feeling the same familial happiness that Twilight and her brother shared? Twilight didn't know what to make of it - she certainly tried to be as tender and kind as she could to a filly in need, but she hadn't expected to make such an impression. She wondered what it said about her social skills - a far cry from her days as a shut in student - and wondered what Scootaloo's emotional state must be like for her to latch so strongly to a pony that offered a semblance of care to her.

More pressing to the situation she was currently in with the Seers, she wasn't sure why that seemed an issue.

"I'm uh..." Twilight lifted herself off the crystal floor. "I'm just as surprised as you, honestly. I had no idea she felt that way about me. I - I was just trying to help her."

"From the looks of it, she seemed to need it," Axiom said blithely, further adding to Twilight's myriad of mixed feelings. "It's not often we see that strong of bond forged in such a short amount of time. Not outside of family, least of all" he added for emphasis.

Axiom's declaration did not ease Twilight's spinning mind one iota. She pawed at the floor with her shaky hoof, wracking her brain to try and figure out what exactly that meant for her, and for Scootaloo. Smart though she was, Twilight had no idea. What was Twilight supposed to say to Scootaloo now that she knew just how much of an impression she'd made? Pretending she didn't know that Scootaloo viewed her as near to family as one apparently could didn't seem fair to Scootaloo, not at all.

On the topic of fairness, however, Twilight was standing here before the Cabinet of Seers, and she had promised Scootaloo that she would try to find out if the filly would fly. She saw no reason why, despite the unexpected revelation about Scootaloo's impromptu attachment, that Twilight should break her word.

"I don't suppose," she began meekly, "that we could start again? I sort of made a promise."

The Seers had spent most of the time during Twilight's visit watching her curiously, fascinated by a new princess to interact with. Yet now, not one of them were looking at her, except for Audile. While the rest of the Seers were looking down uncomfortably at their hooves resting in their chairs, Audile looked intensely at Twilight, biting her lip. After several more seconds of increasingly awkward silence, the sound of a marker squeaking across Audile's whiteboard echoed around the room. The unicorn faltered for just a second, and then flipped the whiteboard over for Twilight to read.

Ax: From the looks of it, she seemed to need it. It's not often we see that strong of bond forged in such a short amount of time. Not outside of family, least of all.
PTS: I don't suppose that we could start again? I sort of made a promise.
Me: We can't.

"We can't," Twilight whispered softly, growing even more confused. "What do you mean you can't?"

Audile looked helplessly down the row of chairs to the other Seers to help explain in a manner more efficient than scribbling on a board. After another moment of awkward silence, Atlas came to her friend's aid, fiddling with her compass all the while.

"We're not allowed to. It's one of the rules," she said nervously. "Didn't Princess Celestia say anything?"

Twilight remembered that Princess Celestia had asked Twilight about her relationship with Scootaloo. Princess Celestia had even advised Twilight against looking into her future, as though she could innately sense the truth about the young pegasus pony. Yet, Celestia never mentioned any rules.

"We have two rules," Axiom explained wearily, "the first is that, for reasons I'm sure you can discern, we cannot see into the future of an alicorn, or once they become an alicorn, in some cases," he added.

Twilight nodded her head. Scenarios of power hungry ponies using knowledge of the future for personal gain was a topic that filled several works in her "fiction" shelf, and it was likely best they stayed there. "I guess that makes sense. What's the second?"

"The second is a little bit more complicated, and much more situational," Axiom began slowly, as if he'd not uttered these words for a very long time and was struggling to recite them. "If another pony forms a strong emotional bond with an alicorn, positive or negative, we can't show their future from that point onward."

Twilight pieced it together aloud, the implication of the rule becoming clearer with each word. "So then... because I helped Scootaloo to feel better, and because she was grateful for it, she-"

"-That was more than simple gratitude, your majesty," Axiom interrupted quietly, the choice of words making up for his soft tone. "Millions are grateful to Princess Celestia, but she could consult us about them without issue. Though I suppose your modesty is not unexpected, I think you underestimate just how happy and loved you made her feel. Judging from what we just witnessed, she seems to be a very emotional filly, suffering from a crushing amount of stress from all sorts of angles."

Twilight both admired and detested how truthfully Axiom spoke, and how his demeanor made words that would be tough to hear otherwise more bearable. "I didn't know..." Twilight whispered sadly.

"I know - we know," Axiom corrected, earning a series of solemnly supportive nods from the other Seers. "For better or worse, your generous gift of comfort to a hurting filly has..."

"Cut her off?" Twilight asked knowingly, looking at Archive as she spoke. "Isn't that what you said? Before showing me Shining Armor getting his cutie mark? You said we were both 'cut off' pretty early."

"Did I say that?" Archive replied with genuine confusion, "I honestly don't remember." Twilight knew that it wasn't his fault, but she had a hard time hiding her frustration as she sighed impatiently.

"Archive is right," Alumni stepped in politely. "Once Shining Armor began to show keen interest in joining the royal guard after earning his cutie mark, he started to spend more time outside of school studying it. Joining after school programs, physical training, things of that nature. With you still being a filly, your parents hired a foal sitter."

"Cadance..." Twilight murmured in acknowledgment.

"You always were the one she loved to sit for the most," Alumni said with a smile, earning a reluctant one from Twilight in return. "And once they met, Shining Armor and Princess Cadence began to develop strong feelings for one another as well."

"I see," Twilight said simply, shoulders slumped in defeat. She had been so close. Now, how was she going to tell Scootaloo that the Seers couldn't help? What would Scootaloo say when she knew the reason why they couldn't? Twilight could already guess that Scootaloo would be embarrassed beyond belief, regretting her willingness to accept help from a kind soul that offered it, and worse yet, become angry at herself for letting it happen.

But then, what if Twilight lied to her about it? Said the Seers couldn't help for some "other" reason? Immediately, Twilight pushed the idea from her head. Scootaloo had made it very clear that she wanted nothing but the truth from the princess, good or bad, and placating her was exactly what Scootaloo had rallied so hard against. More simple was the fact that, above all else, Twilight made a promise, and Twilight intended to keep it.

"I want to thank you all, for everything," Twilight's voice broke the silence as she stood up and stretched her legs. "But I suppose..." She trailed off, looking at the door behind her throne.

"I am very sorry that we could not help you, your majesty," Axiom hopped from his chair, offering his hoof to the princess. "I hope that this doesn't reflect too negatively on your visit today."

Twilight took his hoof and gave it a firm shake. "Not at all," she said as pleasantly as her mood would allow, which wasn't much. "Well, okay, I'm a little disappointed, but-"

"Wait!"

Axiom and Twilight's hooves dropped to the floor mid-shake at the interruption from Archive. The stallion stood up in his chair, clearly excited, but judging from his expression, equally nervous.

"I think I can help," he said.

"Archive," Axiom addressed the Seer warningly, the tone of his voice making even Twilight uneasy. "You know we can't."

"No, no, no! I would never dream of it," Archive waved his hooves frantically. "It's just, when Princess Twilight first mentioned Scootaloo, and her situation, I remembered something. Something in Scootaloo's past that I think might hold the answer to her - your - question."

Twilight's heart skipped a beat. "Really?"

"Yes!"

"And it's in her past?" Axiom checked again, the caution in his voice diminished, yet still present.

"It is," Archive insisted, "by quite a margin."

Axiom sighed in relief, and trotted to his chair alongside Antenna's bed, a twinkle in his eye that was a far cry from the somber disappointment just moments ago. "Princess Twilight, your throne?"

"Right," she wasted no time in settling in the crimson cushions, eager to see exactly what in Scootaloo's past would hold the answer to that burning question. As Antenna began to glow and hum once more, Twilight looked over to Archive and offered a wide grin. "Thank you!" she mouthed to him. Archive glanced back to her with a surprising sadness in his eyes.

"Don't thank me yet," his words cut through the air seconds before the familiar blackness engulfed the princess.

Twilight's world vanished before her as Antenna's glow and hum came to a crescendo. In the blackness, Twilight experienced a pleasant combination of contentment and curiosity. It gave her hope for what was hopefully coming next.

"Curious choice," Atlas' voice sounded throughout the void. "Audile, Appear, you're set."

Twilight didn't quite know what exactly the Seers had to do in order to bring these visions to fruition, but Audile did her part first. The silence gave way to a low growl, interspersed with a rhythmic thumping sound. Twilight recognized the sound from that very morning when she was journeying to Canterlot. Though Twilight couldn't see it yet, she knew that she was on a train.

Then, the darkness surrounding her melted away. Yet, Twilight didn't see what appeared to be a train car. Twilight was enveloped in dark blue, and the only thing that she could make out was a faint light above her, filtering through a blue sheet, like the sun through a curtain. Where was she? Twilight found herself growing frustrated at her inability to move or look around freely during these visions. But before she could dwell on what she couldn't do, Twilight's own curiosity was piqued by the sound of two voices speaking.

"I can't believe the Wonderbolts are still going to accept you after so many delays," said the voice of a stallion from the other side of the veil above Twilight. There was a shuffling sound as the voice spoke, and a shadow passed across the blue linen.

"It's not so much that they'll accept me," replied a female voice. "It's more like they are begging me to join! My instructor at the WBA told me that she'd never seen such raw ability, and she didn't give out praise easy."

"Raw ability," the stallion chuckled softly. "Doesn't hurt you that your dad is one of their lead physicians, or that you had some help... I'm amazed you're still a mare after all those steroids."

The comment apparantly struck a nerve to the mare. "Shut up!" she growled in a low voice. "I was already an awesome flier, the... supplements just helped a bit is all."

"If you say so. And what about her?"

Twilight, and the pony she was "inhabiting" felt a burst of excitement as the blue sheet filtering the light was lifted. The contrasting brightness was blinding, and all Twilight could see above her before the pony closed its eyes reflexively were two massive figures looming over her. As quickly as the sheet had been lifted, it lowered once more, leaving Twilight in her blue tinted cocoon again. She felt a twinge of sadness, and, as if to protest, her mouth opened, and an incoherent babble emerged.

It was as if a lightbulb had gone off in Twilight's head. As her tiny forelegs stretched above her, searching for the two figures that had appeared and then vanished in the darkness, Twilight knew exactly what was happening here. She was Scootaloo again, only this time, she was just a foal. She and the two ponies above her were on a train, with Scootaloo nestled snugly in a covered basket. And these two ponies... if Twilight had to guess, they must have been Scootaloo's parents.

"When you had that dream," the father said, "didn't you say she was miserable because she couldn't fly? You know what they say drugs and stuff can do to foals in the womb."

"That? That was a just a stupid dream," the mother insisted staunchly. "That whole Princess' Blessing thing is a bunch of mumbo jumbo. I don't know why I even asked about it."

"That's not what you said when you woke up crying in the middle of the night on my couch."

"Like you've never had a nightmare so real you couldn't tell you were dreaming," she shuddered. "No - as soon as I found out I was pregnant, I stopped dosing. She'll be fine."

The three ponies sat in silence for a few minutes, with nothing but the hypnotic sounds of the train rolling along the tracks, and, if Twilight wasn't mistaken, the static pattering of rain against the train car windows. Scootaloo's eyes began to droop, and the warmth of the basket she was tucked in was growing ever more comfortable. She issued a startled squeak as the brakes of the train began to shriek. Scootaloo felt a minute jerk when the momentum of the car stopped.

"I've got her," the father said, and the basket was lifted up. Twilight could feel herself swinging through the air, and could tell the from the dancing lights and shadows through the blanket that the family had left the train. "So, where do we go from here?"

The light and sounds of a train station had all but vanished, replaced with the darkness of the night sky. Raindrops gently collided with the cover of the basket, another calming metronome that was having a tranquilizing effect on Scootaloo. Suddenly, distant though it was, the low rumble of thunder sounded, and Twilight could feel a creeping fear taking over Scootaloo's state of mind.

"I'm... I'm not sure," said the voice of Scootaloo's mother. "I've never been to Ponyville before."

The clouds of thunder must have rolled closer, because the rumbling had grown louder.

"Really?"

"It's not like I was going to ask Mrs. Days the street address of an orphanage!"

"Who?"

"She was my maternity nurse."

"So, then how do you know that there's even one here?"

"Mrs. Days said she volunteers there all of the time," the mother explained. "I could hardly listen to her fawn about how much she loves the fillies and colts, and then ask her where to go to abandon mine. I might not be in college like you, but I'm not stupid."

"I never said-"

"Whatever," the mother's voice dripped with crossness. "Come on, this little hamlet can't be that big."

A thunderclap sounded above, and Scootaloo's fear exploded in tandem. Tears began to form in her eyes, and the foal started whining softly. Against the falling rain, Scootaloo's parents didn't seem to notice. Twilight felt an increasing sense of desperation as Scootaloo's volume increased, the longing for something familiar and caring in this dark, strange, frightening place growing ever more apparent.

"Oh... um, she's-" the stallion said coming to a halt. "I think she's scared."

"Oh goodness, poor thing," Scootaloo's mother said. "Here-"

The blanket was lifted again, and silhouetted against the partially cloud covered moon were the indistinct figures of Scootaloo's parents. Twilight couldn't discern any features on the two ponies, Scootaloo must have known who they were. Her little limbs reached up, flailing about while the foal babbled urgently. Cold water drizzled on to her fur, and she panicked even more. Wings flared on one of the ponies, and a set of hooves reached in and scooped Scootaloo and the blanket swaddling her up.

"Shh... it's okay," the mother whispered softly, pulling Scootaloo towards her chest. "Mommy's got you. It's okay... it's alright..."

Scootaloo's eyes were shut tight, and her muzzle was placed firmly against the mare's warm chest. Twilight could hear another metronome in the form of Scootaloo's mother's heartbeat. Combined with the quiet flapping of the wings and the coaxing whispers, the effect on Scootaloo's mood was remarkable. Fearful babbles turned into contented coos. Another thunderclap sounded, and Scootaloo paid it absolutely no mind.

"Should we keep going?" the father's voice asked tepidly.

"Yeah... let's go."

The trio continued to walk through a version of Ponyville that was familiar to Twilight, yet distorted by Scootaloo's perspective. Not only did the rain and exaggerated shadows obscured many of the landmarks, but everything seemed so much larger from the filly's point of view. Thunder boomed at regular intervals, and on the occassion, lightning illuminated the village of Ponyville. However, Twilight rarely got to see the results of it; Scootaloo instinctively closed her eyes and burrowed her tiny muzzle into her mother's chest whenever the sky flashed unexpectedly.

After several more minutes of walking accompanied by exasperated sighs, the parents came to a halt underneath one of the storefront awnings along the marketplace. Scootaloo peered out curiously, trying to discern what was on the other side of the blackened display case inside the store, but it was to little avail.

"This place is a lot bigger than I thought it was," the father sighed.

"You're telling me," said the mother's voice close to Scootaloo's ear. "Big enough to hide an orphanage. It's not as run down as I thought it would be either."

"We can't keep walking around in the rain though, not with a foal at least."

"I know, I know!" the mother groaned, her distressed tone of voice inspiring similar emotions in her foal. "But I think I have an idea. Here, take her," the mother pulled a reluctant Scootaloo away from her barrel.

"What? Are you sure?"

"She's yours too," the mother reminded him, and Twilight could practically hear her eyes roll while she said it. "Just sit down on your haunches, and hold her with your forelegs." There was a clumsy exchange, and Scootaloo wriggled about from within her prison of blankets to try to make sense of what was happening to her. A cry began to gurgle out of Scootaloo's throat, and her mother was quick to assuage it. "Shhhhh! It's okay! Hold her close to your chest, keep her warm. I think she likes that."

The mother was right, and the effect of being pressed firmly against her father's warm, steadily breathing chest was instantly soothing for the infant. "It's okay, I've got you. You're fine," the father whispered into Scootaloo's ear to the filly's delight. "What were you thinking?" he directed the question to the mare.

"I'm a pegasus," she said simply. "I'll fly up and see if I can't get a good look for it."

The father's chin rubbed against the top of Scootaloo's head as he nodded. There was a flapping of wings, and a whooshing sound as the mother presumably took off, leaving the father and daughter alone under the scarcely illuminated storefront.

"Heya, kiddo..." the father stroked her daughter's mane. "You're a cute little thing, you know that?"

Scootaloo likely had no idea what her father was saying, but she appreciated it nonetheless. She chirruped happily in response, and her father giggled back in turn.

"Yeah, you are. You'll get picked up in no time at all, I know it." The stroking grew almost imperceptibly firmer. "When you grow up, I - I do hope you won't think badly of us." he whispered shakily, his voice sounding as though it were coming close to breaking.

Scootaloo, though she couldn't speak or understand what in the world the stallion was saying, could tell that something was amiss. As if to mimic the comforting motions of her parents, she lightly tickled the ribs she was clinging to with her frail hooves.

"Oh goodness," his voice cracked at last, as another clap of thunder erupted above. Scootaloo stopped her massage and squeezed her father tightly, as the sound of rushing wings flooded her ears. "You're -" the stallion cleared his throat. "You're back. Anything?"

"No, I couldn't see a darn thing," the mother answered.

"Nothing?"

"Why don't you try and look around with rain pelting you in the face, at night, during a storm, tell me what you see?"

"Point taken... do we keep looking?"

There was a long pause. Then -

"I have an idea," the mother spoke quietly.

"I'm all ears."

"This place... this place seems nice, right? I mean, it's no Canterlot, but it's certainly not a dump like we thought it would be."

"I suppose."

"So..." the mare started slowly, "what if instead of wandering about in a rain storm, and risking getting sick or whatever to try and find an orphanage..."

"Okay?"

"What if we found a house - a nice place, of course - and just sort of..."

Scootaloo's father's grip tightened on his daughter. "You can't be serious?"

"I suppose you have a better suggestion? This is hardly a time to take the moral high ground, considering we came all the way out to some little village that we've never set hoof in before for the sole purpose of giving her up."

"That... We can't just leave her on someponies doorstep! What if - what if they don't want her? What if they can't take her in?"

"What if they are like us, you mean," the mother said blankly. "Only difference is, they'll know where the orphanage is. Or at least, they'll be able to ask about it without being ashamed of making a stupid mistake one night."

"I..."

The three sat still for several minutes, listening to the sounds of rain pummel the awning above and the thunder periodically rumbling. Then, the staccato sounds of other ponies laughing in the distance disrupted their trance.

"...You said a nice place?" the father asked, scratching Scootaloo's velvety ears.

"Yeah," the mare answered glumly. "I saw pretty big homes down the road."

There was yet another pregnant pause.

"Alright," the father relented. "Can you take her? I sort of need my front legs to walk."

"Sure. I think the storm's might be slowing down too, so she should be alright in her basket. It's probably better we do that here, than instead of when we get there."

"Better?"

"Easier," the mother said. "Look how tightly you're holding her."

With Scootaloo once again nestled in her basket, and on the verge of sleep, they began to walk down the street. After a couple of minutes, they stopped again, and the shift in momentum aroused Scootaloo from her slumber.

"You weren't kidding," the father whistled, "this place is straight out of Canterlot. I wonder who lives here?"

"It's probably best we don't know. And look, this place has a shelter over the doorstep, it's perfect."

"Guess you were wrong about the storm? It's picking up again."

"I guess. It's why I'm not a weather pony."

The mother was hovering in the air, with Scootaloo in tow. The father's hoofsteps sounded from behind Scootaloo in the basket, punctuated moreso now by the solid rock he was walking on, as opposed to the mud and grass of Ponyville at large. They stopped again, and Scootaloo felt the dampened vibration through her blankets of the basket hitting the ground.

"I guess this is really it, huh?"

"Looks like it," the mother replied. "Are we sure about this?"

"Do we have much of a choice?"

"Not really," the father sighed, "though I wish we did,"

"Maybe - maybe we can come back someday?" the mother suggested hopefully. "Once you finish your degree and get a nice job selling homes or whatever it was you said, and I finish my Wonderbolts Initiate stuff and make the big time, you know? Once things settle down."

"That would be perfect," the father's sillhouette nodded through the blanket. "Don't think me callous for saying this, but now just isn't..."

"The best time, right?"

"Right."

Scootaloo's quiet humming was drowned out by another growl of thunder.

"I was thinking," the mother started shakily. "Do you think we should give her a name? You know, so we can find her again?"

"Oh, right, that makes sense..." the father trailed off. "What um, what were you thinking?"

"I was hoping you might have an idea, actually."

"Well, she's orange," the father mused, "so maybe 'Tangerine' or 'Orange?' perhaps?"

"Maybe I should give it a try instead," she muttered quickly.

"Oh, and I suppose you have a better suggestion?"

"I did have one, actually."

"What? Was it from that "mumbo-jumbo" dream?"

"Yeah, well - why not? I was thinking maybe... 'Hummingbird.'" Her suggestion was partially muffled by another, louder, crash of thunder.

"You said Hummingbird?" he asked with a healthy dose of skepticism. "That seems..."

"Her wings buzzed a lot when she was trying to take off," the mother explained defensively. "And it's better than naming a pegasus after a fruit, isn't it? That's an earth pony thing, no offense."

"No, no, it's a better name than what I came up with," the father admitted. "It's just... if what you saw was true, and she really couldn't fly-"

"-she will!"

"Shhhh!" he hissed when Scootaloo began to stir at her mother's raised voice. "But if she can't, then naming her after a bird, that's kind of... Do you know what I mean?"

The mare sighed a long deep sigh. "You're right."

"Was there anything else? In the dream, I mean."

The mother took a moment or so, presumably to collect her thoughts, before replying. "There was, actually. She had a scooter."

"A scooter?"

"Yeah. It was a big blue wooden scooter, with red wheels and red handlebars. With silver axles," she added.

"You remember that really well, all things considered. You were fuzzy on the rest of it."

"I'd know it anywhere," the mother remarked with a hint of melancholy. "It seemed really important to her, she loved that thing."

"So how about Scooter?" Scootaloo's father asked over another crash of thunder. Scootaloo grew alert, even fearful at first, but when she heard the familiar voices after the "roar," she relaxed once again.

"Your college education at work," the mother chuckled. "Plus, that sounds like a boys name."

"Plankenwheel?"

"And that sounds like a horror movie villain!"

"Rollerboard?"

"Stop - just stop! She wasn't a scooter, she used it a lot-"

"Scootalot?"

"Would you just-" she ceased her nitpicking of his suggestion. "Actually, that one isn't bad. No, that's not bad at all."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it fits nicely. Scootalot... Do you have anything to write it down with in your satchel?"

There was a wet splatting noise as the satchel hit the ground. After a few seconds of shuffling the father said, "I've got a pen that should work, but my notebook is drenched. I'd probably just rip it apart trying to write on it. But... what about my train pass? It stayed dry in this binder."

"Is your name on it?"

"Doesn't look like it. No, there's nothing. Perfect! Now... Shcootaloth," his voice was muffled by the pen in his mouth. "Can you shpell that for me?"

"Aren't you the one in school?"

The pen clattered on the stone doorstep as the father spit it out. "Pbt! For numbers and accounting, not reading and writing," he said staunchly.

"Fine... you ready?"

More clicking. "Mhhm."

"S-C-O-O-T-A-L-O-" The mother droned slowly, but wasn't able to finish spelling the word before another thunderclap sounded, drowning her out.

"...What wath that lath part?"

"O-T!"

There was a scratching of pen on cardboard, and then the pen hit the ground, rattling to a stop. "Oh dear," the father whispered. Scootaloo barely heard it, but the mother couldn't quite make it out.

"What? What did you do?"

"You told me to write the 'o' twice!" the stallion defended himself.

"You wrote Scootaloo," the mother said bluntly.

"I'm sorry, okay? Look, I misheard you. Do you have your ticket?"

"Will you relax?" the mother shushed him. "It's fine. 'Scootaloo.' I like that, better than Scootalot. It's still got the scooter part of it, but It rhymes and flows really well."

"Scootaloo," the father parroted. "Scootaloooo."

"Don't hurt yourself," she joked. "Bring it here, and we'll put in with her." There was a shuffling of hoofsteps, and the blanket was lifted again, the porch light above blinding the startled filly inside. Drops of water dripped from her parents' wet manes, a precarious drop landing on the foal's muzzle, eliciting a faint sneeze. When Scootaloo's eyes opened again, her vision was filled with a brand new toy for her to play with - a cardboard ticket with her name scrawled upon it, the last 'o' noticeably offset from the rest. No sooner than when the ticket was tucked in the basket with her did she fumble with her tiny hooves to bring the ticket to her mouth to see what it tasted like. The corner she suckled on tasted, predictably, like cardboard.

"Our Scootaloo," the stallion muttered, tousling the filly's barely present mane. Even with her mouth full, Scootaloo had room to giggle. Her father's hoof retreated slowly. "I guess it's about that time, though... We probably don't want to have to explain why we're on someponies porch with a filly in a basket."

"Right," Scootaloo's mother agreed. "You go ahead, I'll knock on the door and catch up with you."

"Not getting second thoughts?"

"No, I'll be right there."

The clop of hooves against stone faded in the distance, blending with the sound of rain. Scootaloo's mother reached in to the basket, and softly massaged the foal's cheek with her hoof.

"Our Scootaloo," the mare whispered tearfully. As if she recognized her name already, Scootaloo's hooves abandoned her ticket and grasped, as effectively as they could, her mother's hoof, holding it in place. The silhouetted figure leaned in close, and planted a tiny kiss on her daughter's forehead.

"I'm sorry," the mare spoke almost inaudibly. "I hope that dream was just a dream, Scootaloo. You deserve so much better."

A far cry from the slow and soft mannerisms from before, the mother jerkily backed out and away from the basket. Scootaloo's forelegs were held aloft, the filly babbling incoherent pleas for her mother all the while, but the blue sheet once again shrouded Scootaloo in the dim confines of her basket instead. There were three loud knocks upon the wooden door, quickly followed by a scrabbling of hooves, choked sobbing, and then a rustling of wings.

The door creaked open, and the light from inside the home washed over the basket, filtering through the pseudo-curtain, meeting Scootaloo's widened violet eyes, and the filly felt a rush of wonder. The light blue inside of the basket began to warp and bend, and then, there was nothing.

Twilight found herself collapsed again on the floor before the Seers, her eyes red and puffy from tears she didn't even know she had spilled as she watched the vision unfold. With shaking limbs, she rose from the floor, and used her right foreleg to wipe her eyes, though they had already dried. Scootaloo's empathic sense of joy had all but vanished.

Author's Notes:

The rough script for this chapter was written well over a year ago, and I'm really happy to finally have it pushed out to you guys.

Pre-Read by RaylanKrios, who deserves a shout out for his patience and for sticking by me when I can be frustrating to deal with.

Speaking of which, he wrote a fantastic little story for a character that doesn't get nearly enough representation: Spike. It's a really neat interpretation (and a far better one than the episode we got) about Spike trying to find balance with his draconian roots and his pony family. The story is called Words To Live By and it's not nearly as popular as it deserves to be. Go give it a look!