“Aaaah!

“Waugh!”

Jerking backwards from the lavender mace that went slicing past, right in front of her enormously-rounded eyes, Trixie Lulamoon got her hind legs tangled up with each other. With a second, more undignified squawk she tripped over herself and fell on her rump.

Princess Twilight Sparkle fared no better. Her initial direction was forward, as the expected resistance of the door had somehow inexplicably disappeared . . . the most likely —and logical— explanation being, of course, that said door was no longer in a position to intersect with descending hoof. However, having started forward she had then jerked backwards, and, in doing so, had grievously overcompensated.

The fact that her wings had instinctively flared at that unbalancing hadn't been quite as helpful as nature might have intended, since their initial spread-and-flap resulted in a backwards launch off of the porch step of the wagon. Since her position had already been semi-vertical, instead of lifting her upwards that had, instead, pushed her backwards . . . a direction her legs were already starting to drive her.

Alas, just like Trixie, her hind legs seemed to have lost coordination, resulting in a tangle quite the same. Unlike Trixie, however, after falling on her rump she teeter-tottered back and forth, wings still outspread, looking very much like an awkward sort of sitting rocking-pony toy.

Although the startled unicorn was also currently sitting, she was right at the doorway and thus had a clear view of her guest's floundering about. For a few seconds she just sat there, hoof to her chest, eyes wide in stunned surprise. However, as her pulse slowed from the initial shock two different emotions burgeoned within, both quite powerful and both as diametrically opposed as they could possibly be.

She struggled to keep a snort of laughter from erupting; as horrified as she was at what had happened she simply could not keep that bubble of humor from growing, for Twilight really was looking hysterically comical sitting there like that! But she really was also mortally aghast, for because of her actions a Princess was sitting on the messy ground!

Her eyes instantly darted to the distressed alicorn as Twilight cleared her throat. “Umm . . . Hi,” she weakly smiled. “I'm not late, am I?”

“Trixie thanks you for the gift,” Trixie said as she levitated the small wicker basket soap sampler over to the sink, resting it on the small window shelf just above. “It was very thoughtful of you. It wasn't necessary, though,” she courteously demurred.

“It wasn't?” she reflexively blurted, then felt her face flame at that outburst. Once again she found herself in a situation of which she had no familiarity, nor had she done any preparations or rehearsals beforehoof.

Before Twilight could suffer another core meltdown Trixie smiled over her shoulder as she focused on lifting up the food tray. “Princess Twilight—”

“Twilight,” she interrupted.

“Excuse me?”

Watching the laden tray as it smoothly drifted from counter to linen-covered table she repeated. “It's just plain ol' Twilight.”

It had been years since she had danced the steps of a formal tea service/brunch, and, although it was quickly returning to her, these odd wrench-in-the-spoke moments were throwing her off balance. Once the tray was positioned, Trixie took her own seat opposite Twilight. “If that is truly what you wish,” she replied, and was a bit taken by surprise at the deep gusty exhale.

“You have no idea,” she muttered, softly enough that Trixie wasn't sure that was meant to be spoken aloud at all.

Before she could formulate any sort of courtly reply Twilight abruptly looked up, her eyes suddenly very intense. “Thank you for inviting me,” she began, and although Trixie kept a smile on her face her guts started twisting again. “But there's something I want to say first. Well, and do, too.”

A light lavender gleam gently coruscated about her horn and, moments later, from about the wagon there appeared multiple pinprick sparkles. Within seconds eleven purple motes danced in the air about her, then abruptly flashed before disappearing.

Huh, Trixie thought. I wonder where the other two had been? Once she'd realized that Twilight must have had some way of seeing the inside of her wagon, and once Trixie had actively looked for such a thing, she'd found nine very tiny . . . well, things. She had no idea what, exactly, they were, although she knew what they did. They'd been equally —and, no surprise here, mathematically precisely—spaced, three each along both walls and the ceiling.

“Oh!” Twilight's hooves suddenly covered her mouth, her eyes wide in horror. “I . . . I shouldn't have done that!” she blurted, panic clear in her voice. “I mean, disintegrated them like that. They were evidence. I just destroyed evidence! That's against the law, too! I—”

“Twilight!”

The sharp tone cut through to the distressed alicorn.

“Stop Sparkle-spazzing. Please?”

Mouth silently opening and closing like a stranded trout she just stared at Trixie.

“It's only evidence if there's a trial,” she more calmly explained, retreating back into the familiarity of the routine, opening up a tea canister and filling a large tea ball with the fragrant leaves. “Trixie is not going to press charges,” she assured. “But,” she admitted, “she does have some questions, and she would like answers.”

“Of course!” Twilight replied, so quickly, so promptly, and so utterly sincerely that it took Trixie by surprise. “You can ask me anything you want,” she assured, “Once I've said what I need to say?” she finished, the rising inflection definitely making it a question.

Guiding the teapot over to the samovar Trixie turned the spigot and began filling it with boiling-hot water. Twilight's eyes followed the teapot, the back of her mind cataloging and watching as her forebrain was busy preparing her “speech” . . . again. However, everything came to a screeching stop the instant she noticed the tiny little creature merrily flickering beneath the ornate platinum urn.

A salamander? She conjured and bound a salamander!? Just to heat water for tea? Just to impress me?

In an instant every little iota of goodwill Twilight had fostered towards Trixie vanished, as fury bubbled up inside and overwhelmed that. She hasn't changed at all! she fumed. She's still the egotistical —no, egomaniacal— pretentious showoff she's always been! Doesn't she know how dangerous salamanders are? Does she even care?

Salamanders, as every student of magic knew, were one of the four Primary Elementals. They were the element of Fire; the other three were Undines (water), Slyphs (air) and Gnomes (earth). They were odd creatures, as much spirit as corporeal beings. Because of that, they were difficult to summon, and extremely difficult to control. They weren't anything you tampered with on a whim.

Especially salamanders!

Each of the Primary Elementals perfectly represented their element. Gnomes, for instance, were stolid and slow but, once they started a task, extremely difficult to stop, or even change direction. And salamanders?

Salamanders were the personification of fire. Capricious and unpredictable, like a wildfire in dry grass. And, again, exactly like fire, salamanders consumed.

Everything.

Nothing was safe from their voracious appetite save certain precious, noble metals and pure rock, and even those could be melted into a liquid as fluid as water. Virtually everything was food —and fuel— to them: trees, grass, soil, plants . . . iron, copper, brass and bronze . . . insects . . . ponies . . .

And like a fire, once a salamander started ravening, there was no easy way to stop it from growing in size . . . and in hunger.

And she thought it would impress Twilight to cavalierly bind one for such a trivial task??

She opened her mouth to tear long painful strips off her hide but fought down that terrible desire. Who knew what might happen if she stressed out that pathetic braggart? Might that be enough to cause her —undoubtedly puerile— control over the salamander to falter, lapse and collapse?

Celestia truly was looking out for them both, because Trixie never noticed the look of rage and choler that purpled Twilight's face before she fought her fury back down and locked it under control.

“Ah . . . Trixie?” she started, her voice catching a moment. Looking up from filling the teapot and then starting to guide it over to the table Trixie gazed at her. “Ah—” she said, her voice sounding funny even to herself, a bit higher pitched than usual. “Is . . . is that a salamander?”

Trixie's reaction was nothing at all what Twilight had envisioned. She'd fully expected to see the unicorn's chest puff out in that irritating, grating fashion she'd done in the past, then hear her voice take that boastful, swaggering tone as she self-aggrandized the magnificence of “The Great and Powerful Trixie” once again.

Instead, Trixie ducked her head in an oddly timid fashion, and her expression, rather than being haughty, was demure and shy, looking more like a filly who had done something nice for their teacher and was hoping they would like the surprise. “Yes, it is,” she nodded.

“Ah . . .” she ahh-ed. “You . . . you do know how dangerous they are to summon and bind, don't you?”

She felt the blood drain from her face as Trixie blankly looked at her. Oh sweet Celestia! Twilight mentally gibbered. That's right! She never graduated! And Elemental Magics were advanced classes! Does she even know??

That mental blathering kicked into a higher gear at her answer. “But Trixie didn't summon, or bind him, Twilight.”

Twilight hovered on the brink of full-blown panic, unlike anything most ponies had ever had the misfortune of seeing. But before she actually leapt that threshold Trixie absolutely stunned her into frozen shock.

Smiling she extended an upright hoof towards the salamander, who truly did resemble his amphibian analogue to an uncanny degree, save for his 'skin' being tiny, dancing flames, much as one might see flickering over the surface of a huge log in a fireplace. Before Twilight could shriek a warning . . .

The salamander daintily stepped onto the surface of her hoof.

“I would never bind him,” she softly murmured, her muzzle mere inches from the fiery creature, who was gazing right back at her. “That would just be . . . wrong,” she said, the conviction in her voice as adamant as bedrock. Then softly grinned as she flicked her gaze towards Twilight. “Assuming he is a 'he', that is.”

“Then . . . then how do you command him?” she managed to get out, eyes wide still in shock at what she was seeing.

“Oh, I don't command either,” Trixie matter-of-factly explained. “I just asked him if he would mind doing this for me. As a favor. That's all.” A gentle azure glow shimmered down her horn; behind her a cabinet drawer also gleamed as it slid open. From inside a small rock, looking like gravel, was lifted out. As she brought the rock forward the drawer smoothly closed.

Almost against her will Twilight found herself fascinated, watching enraptured. Trixie hovered the rock —a piece of seeming stone, about the size of the salamander's head, resembling translucent quartz— above her hoof and right in front of the salamander, who started bouncing up and down and excitedly clapping his webbed paws.

“Yes,” Trixie murmured. “Go ahead. It's for you.”

Eagerly the salamander clasped the stone, then immediately began licking it, each swipe of the tongue leaving a small groove behind.

“What is that?” Twilight asked, intrigued.

“It's a diamond.”

“A diamond!?”

“Mmm Hmm,” Trixie nodded. “I'd figured it might be like candy to them. After all, a diamond is one-hundred percent carbon. Pure fuel, no waste.” She softly smiled, watching the salamander consume his treat. “The first time I gave him one I knew I'd guessed right.”

Extending her hoof back over to the samovar the tiny Elemental daintily stepped from hoof to urn, seating himself back into the burner as he happily continued enjoying his delicacy.

She still hadn't shaken the shock of what had just happened from her mind when Trixie inquired, “May Trixie now hear what Twilight wanted to say to her?” as she picked up from where she'd left off with the tea preparations.