One week. That’s all I got with Fine in the beginning, and then he was out of my life again. One week.

In such a short time, my life changed in ways I didn’t understand. The world was so very different from what I’d been taught. Maybe I didn’t have a roof over my head… but I’d never been so warm and my belly was always full. He let me do things that before would have gotten me beaten or would have cost me a day’s meal, and at the time I thought I was really getting away with things! It wasn’t until later that I realized my life before had been abnormal.

One week. That was all it took for my mind to be opened to a whole new world of possibilities. And when that week ended, I found I didn’t want to be separated from the one who, for all intents and purposes, rescued me. I didn’t just like him, he became everything to me.

He had no idea what he'd started. Neither did I.

—Fleur de Lis, Book of Shadows XLVIII,

June 9, 1007

Fleur leaned over the front of the small boat, watching in quiet fascination as ice cold water swept past. She tried tracing the swirls and eddies and foam, but they moved in ways she couldn’t fathom. A large chunk of ice bumped against the dull brown hull. Curious, she reached down and bumped it with her hoof, examining how it twirled and bobbed before finally slipping past the flat front of the vessel.

“If you fall in, I’m not stopping to get you out.”

She pulled back slowly, setting her hooves down on the smooth hull beneath her. The boat rocked steadily back and forth in response to the paddle the stranger used to propel them against the river’s current. Fleur had already nearly fallen a dozen times, but she would always find herself distracted by something else. Just the idea of being on a boat was alien and new.

Her head turned to shore, which was covered in thin pine and fir trees. Her ears perked to the chattering of squirrels, another very new sound, and she sought them out with her eyes. There, two of them, wrestling on some high branches. She giggled at the site of one chasing the other in circles about the trunk. Sadly, they passed the scene swiftly, but Fleur merely redirected her curiosity elsewhere.

In this case, ‘elsewhere’ was the waters around the stranger’s paddle. She stared in rapt fascination as tiny whirlpools followed the paddle’s motions in the water. When it rose to arc forward, the droplets fell in rivulets that sounded like music and projected the light in strange ways. She knew she shouldn’t be so fascinated by mere water, but her attention didn’t waver as the paddle entered the water again, smooth and quiet.

After so many strokes, she turned her attention to the stranger. His entire body shook, but only a little, and his gaze was focused upon the waters ahead of them. He shifted frequently, making the boat rock in small motions, and his black tail was wrapped about his flank.

Fleur had seen that behavior enough times within herself to know what it meant. She cocked her head, then looked to the front of the boat. There was nothing ahead of them save more water and ice, the river turning gently through the thin woods.

She turned back to the stranger. “What are you afraid of?”

His eyes flicked to her. He spoke through gritted teeth. “I don’t like boats.”

“Oh.” She waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t. “Why?”

Another flick of the eyes. “Because I can’t swim.”

“Oh.” She looked over the side of the boat at all the ice. She could easily imagine falling in and freezing. Just the thought made her shiver. She turned back to him. “I can’t swim, too.”

“Then I suggest you sit still.”

“Oh.” She dropped to her haunches, wiggling a little to get comfortable. “Okay.”

Fleur had gathered the subtle ‘and be quiet’ of his intent, but for once she found it difficult to obey. Obedience had come so easy in the past, but with the loss of her father and brother, she felt as if a dam had burst open. She had the option to be herself, to say and do what she wanted. The desire, long bottled within her, now pried at her lips with eager, greedy claws.

She let out a long yawn, which reminded her how little sleep she’d had that night. Her eyes drifted to the Mare in the Moon, still visible through the thin trees and snowfall. It was low. Turning her attention the other direction revealed the same pre-dawn darkness she’d long grown accustomed to waking in. Morning would be upon them soon, and her head drooped as weariness pressed in. Should she take a nap?

But if she took a nap, she might shift around in sleep, and if she shifted too much she might unbalance the boat, and if she unbalanced the boat it might tip over, and then she and the stranger would drown or freeze or drown and freeze and it would be all her fault! She snapped her head up and straightened her back, steeling herself awake. Her gaze drifted to the stranger, who still had the same focus as before. Wasn’t he tired?

Fleur needed something to keep her eyes open, as a second yawn reminded her. So she asked, “Where are we going?”

She realized too late that she was probably supposed to be quiet. Tensing, she turned her face away and braced for the pain.

“Not much farther now.”

Her eyes opened wide. Slowly, she turned back to him. He wasn’t even looking at her, his gaze still focused on the river. Bolstered by his indifference, but dreading the potential consequences, she asked, “Why don’t you get mad?”

His muzzle screwed up with uncertainty. At last, he gave her his full attention. “Why would I be mad?”

Her ears folded back as she thought. “Because… I’m talking too much.”

The stranger gave a derisive sniff and refocused his attention on the river. “What would your father do in this situation?”

With a wince, Fluer turned away from him. “He’d hurt me, and not let me have breakfast. Or supper.”

“What about lunch?”

She drooped. “I’ve never been allowed to have lunch.”

The quiet splashes of the paddle and the crunch of ice against the hull decorated the quiet between them. She wondered if the stranger was considering following her father’s example.

“Well,” he said at last, “I am not your father.”

No, he wasn’t. She kept having to remind herself of that. Though she didn’t understand why, he wouldn’t harm her for any of the things that she was used to.

There’s nopony left in your family to listen to, so you will listen to me.

She shuffled in place, words on the tip of her tongue. A glance back showed him still focused on the river. Even as she turned forward, however, she felt the boat shift into a new direction. Her gaze fell upon a rapidly approaching shoreline among the trees. In the steadily building light of dawn, she could just make out a small something hidden behind the branches. Although she’d never seen one before, she soon recognized it as a tent.

The front of the boat plowed into the muddy shore, the force of the impact nearly toppling her. Within seconds, the stranger had climbed out, and she heard him issue a long sigh. He turned back to her and frowned. “Come on, out.”

Fleur climbed to the edge of the boat quickly; it seemed like an oddly long fall. Despite a few butterflies in her stomach, she crouched low, wiggling her tail in the air as she prepped, then jumped down. Her knees bent upon landing, cushioning the blow, but her hooves slipped a little in the slick mud. She barely managed to avoid a face full of the stuff.

There was a loud thunk, and when she looked back the boat was drifting away on the current, heading back in the direction they came. The stranger was trotting for the tent by the time she turned back to him. With a spark of his horn, some sticks rose from a pile nearby, landed in a neat new pile before the tent, and sparked. The fire was small, but Fleur hurried to it in hopes of gathering what warmth she could.

The stranger disappeared in the tent. Fleur huddled by the fire and yawned loudly, her ears twitching to the sound of something banging behind the canvas. A moment later, a large skillet and a bag floated out of the tent, followed by the stranger.

Fleur’s weariness dissipated in an instant. “Are you going to make breakfast?”

He merely grunted, but Fleur had heard her brother make the same sound enough times to know that this was meant to be a ‘yes.’ She hopped to her hooves and beamed. “Can I cook? I’m really good at it. Dad made me cook every meal!”

“No.” The stallion set three short, Y-shaped rods in the ground around the fire, then set a triangular metal plate atop them. The result resembled a makeshift stove, on which he set the skillet.

Fleur’s smile faded and her shoulders sagged. “A-are you sure? I promise, I won’t mess up.”

He began mixing ingredients in the skillet, including things like lettuce, tomatoes and some kind of grass Fleur didn’t recognize. “You’re not my slave. I don’t need you to cook for us.”

“But… But…” She stared at the skillet, then at him, then back again. Something welled up in her, making her eyes burn. “I wanted to be useful. You saved me, and I…”

Her own words struck her. She stared up at the stranger, lips trembling as the understanding finally, truly dawned on her. “You… You saved me.”

The stranger shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking her way for the barest instant. He focused on the skillet.

Fleur didn’t try to stop herself, and before she knew it she was pressed against his side. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she rubbed her head against him. “You saved me. You saved me! I owe you so much. P-please, I can cook. I can… I can clean! I have to do something for you. Please!”

He scowled at her from the corner of his eye. “That’s enough.”

“But I—”

He pulled away from her, eyes hard and expression like stone. “Let’s get one thing straight: you are not going to be staying with me long. As soon as I find the right place for you, you will stay there.”

She opened her mouth to object, but his expression darkened and she promptly closed it again. She bowed her head, but didn’t break eye contact.

“I am not the good guy in this story,” he continued, turning back to the skillet. “I am a monster, and you don’t want to be anywhere near me for very long. I don’t want you trying to repay me for being something so… vile.”

Fleur listened to this with a heavy heart, but before the implications of his words could strike, something else came to mind. She looked up at him, ears perking once more as she looked back on the night. “That doesn’t make sense.”

He heaved a sigh. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah! If you’re a monster, why didn’t you kill me? You were supposed to, weren’t you?”

The hardness of his eyes cracked. He tensed up. Then, after several seconds of stillness, he sagged and released a long breath. “You’re awfully observant for a little kid.” He stirred the skillet with a wooden spoon. “What’s your name?”

Sitting up straight and offering her best smile, she replied, “Fleur.”

His brow furrowed. He turned to her with an expectant expression. “That’s it?”

“Um… yes?” She thought about it, then added bashfully, “Fleur Purpurnyj?”

He blinked a few times, then shook his head and went back to his cooking. “Weird. Almost every single name I’ve come across in Grypha has been some Goddess-awful pile of syllables and nonsense. Even the name of your town was ridiculous. And you’re just ‘Fleur’?”

She rubbed her hooves together, cheeks burning. “Father says my m-mother named me. Before I killed her.” When he froze, she leaned forward. “Is it a… bad name?”

He remained silent for a few seconds, staring wide-eyed into the skillet as if it held something terrible within its shallow depths. “He told you that you… killed her?”

“I did kill her.” She stared at the snow around her hooves, her entire body heavy. “I did. She’s dead. It’s my fault.”

He continued to gaze at the skillet. Time passed. He stirred the sizzling food, levitated out two wooden plates, and separated the food between them. Then he turned and hovered a plate just beneath her muzzle. Upon seeing it, her eyes widened; he had to have given her an equal share.

“I like your name.”

He was really giving her so much? Gingerly, she took the plate in her hooves. “Thank you.”

“The first name, that is.” He turned away from her. “That last one needs to go.”

“I… I won’t mind.” She eyed the meal, a hodgepodge of ingredients that appeared to be mixed haphazardly. She took her first bite slowly, dreading what might assault her taste buds. The food was crunchy… but surprisingly flavorful. Had he added spices without her noticing? And that strange grass had a powerful hit in its taste that she’d never experienced before. She took her second bite with much greater emphasis.

As she worked on her simple but tasty meal, she reflected on the stranger. He was indeed strange, claiming to be bad but acting so kind. Sparing her life, letting her come with him, keeping her warm. Even this simple meal was more than she could have expected on any given day with her father and brother. This stallion… Nopony had ever treated her so well.

As the last bite slid down her throat, she recognized a new desire. It was like appreciation, only… stronger.

“Alright,” he said, putting his plate down by the fire, “time to get some sleep.”

She eyed the rising sun, but the words that escaped her had nothing to do with it. “What’s your name?”

He paused, hoof raised for the tent. He glanced back.

“You don’t need to know that.”

He disappeared inside.

Fleur watched him go, lips curled in a frown and shoulders sagging. What was wrong with a name? With a sigh, she began lowering to the ground—

The tent flap opened. “Are you coming, or what?”

“Huh?” Their eyes met, hers wide and his narrowed. They remained that way for a while, Fleur struggling to understand what he meant. She cast her eyes around at the snowy world, then back at him.

At last, his shoulders sagged. “You were actually going to sleep out there, weren’t you?

Fleur stared at the ground, her forelegs shuffling in the snow-covered dirt. “Where else would I sleep?”

“In the tent!” He shoved the flap open a little wider and gestured with a shift of his head.

“B-but, that’s where you’re sleeping.” She turned her face away even as she curled up. She taken this position many a time in the past. It was reflexive, not unlike how she closed her eyes in preparation for pain. “I can’t. I’m not allowed. I’m—”

Something jerked her hooves forward just enough to force her to stand. When she looked up, the stallion was standing over her with a scowl that, against everything she knew, actually put her father’s to shame. She stepped back, blood chilling as the stallion’s hard red eyes bored into her own.

“Now listen,” he snarled. “I don’t know what made you think coming with me was a good idea, but since you did, I’m going to teach you a few things. You’re not going to be with me very long and you’re going to need some basic survival skills. Look at me.”

Fleur’s head froze, half-turned away. Though she trembled, she forced her eyes to open. His glare was almost enough to make her curl up into a ball and sob. Her lip quaked almost as much as her legs.

But when he spoke next, his tone had softened. He set a hoof to her chin and forced her to look directly at him. “First lesson: the one who breaks eye contact first, loses. You’re going to have to be strong, Fleur. Your father and brothers aren’t around anymore, they can’t control your life, and that means you have to learn to fend for yourself. You need to make the decisions.”

She tried to relax. His eyes weren’t so hard anymore, she should be able to relax. But her legs still shivered and her heart still hammered. “B-but I’ve never had to make decisions.”

He stood to his full height, expression solemn. “You’ll learn. You’ll learn, or the world will gobble you up. Second lesson: stand up for yourself. Where do you want to sleep?”

Her mouth opened and closed a few times. A hard wind penetrated her makeshift coat with all the intensity of an icy talon. Yet her mind didn’t focus on the chill; the stranger had asked her to make a decision. No, more than that: he asked what she wanted. For the first time in her life, somepony asked, and she had no idea what to say.

She looked to the tent. Her body begged for salvation from the cold winds, but could she tell him that? Maybe this was a test. Maybe he really didn’t—

“Look at me.”

Her eyes snapped to his face. His expression hadn’t changed.

“Look me in the eye,” he whispered. “See me not as some ‘master,’ nor as a ‘savior.’ Look at me. Think about what you want. Don’t think about anything else. You are your own pony now. You have needs. You have wants.”

He bent low so his muzzle was almost touching hers. His eyes filled her vision.

“What. Do you. Want?”

She flicked a glance at the tent. Only a glance. She licked her lips and cleared her head. Pain… Pain was probably coming, but she had to do as he said. So, with a ball of ice in her stomach, Fleur licked her lips and said, “I want to sleep in the tent.”

He continued to stare. She stared right back, tail tucked between her legs. He didn’t attack. He didn’t speak. She could hardly tell he was breathing.

Then he stood up straight and stepped aside. With a small gesture at the tent, he said, “Alright. Go ahead.”

She waited for the caveat. Or perhaps laughter. None came. Not daring to hope, she began to walk slowly, carefully for the tent. She kept her body low and her eyes on him, her breath coming in small gasps that steamed between them.

Her hoof touched the floor of the tent. It was such an unfamiliar, unexpected sensation that she jerked her leg back. She studied the brown, unfamiliar material then looked to the stranger. He nodded.

A light kicked on in Fleur’s mind. Heart humming, she hurried inside before he could change his mind. The wind stopped entirely, and though she wasn’t warm, she did feel far more comfortable. The tent was loaded with the stranger’s travelling pack, but she managed to sit herself down in a corner. Although excitement coursed through her veins, she didn’t dare show her enthusiasm; there was still a good chance the stranger would have a change of heart.

She watched as he stepped in and closed the tent flap, blocking out the morning light and the chill wind. He stretched, yawned and settled on the floor, already curling up for sleep.

Fleur didn’t move. She didn’t speak. She almost didn’t breath. What if making a sound disturbed him? There was precious little space in the tent; what if she curled up for sleep and bumped him? If she did anything to disturb his sleep, he might toss her back outside! No, better to sit there and wait. Maybe if she—

“Hey.”

With a blink, she saw him watching her from the corner of his eye. “Y-yes?”

“Get some sleep. You need it.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she nodded. Moving with utmost care, making sure to be as quiet as possible, she began to lower herself down.

“Oh, for the love of Equestria…” He caught her in his magic and pulled her forward.

Fleur yelped and tried to scramble away. “I’m sorry, I’ll be good! Don’t throw me outside, I promise I won’t—”

Her words died as he nestled her against his body. She could only gape as he curled for sleep once more, surrounding her in his own warmth. She kept perfectly still, not sure what to say or do or think about this sudden development. Her father and brothers had never done something like this for her. Was she supposed to do something?

It was… really comfortable.

She released a long yawn, then slapped a hoof over her lips. The stranger didn’t stir.

She lay there, eyes on his face. His lips were curled in a frown, his brow furrowed. But, as time passed, his grimace began to fade. Soon his breathing became rhythmic.

It took time for Fleur to realize that she was safe. It took longer for her to smile. She closed her eyes, pressed against his delightfully warm body.

For the first time in her life, Fleur stopped worrying.

Fleur jerked awake, just barely managing to stifle her shout. She stared into the darkness, but in truth she didn’t even see that. Her mind’s eye was still on her father’s hoof pressing against her throat. The sensation of it against her skin, the way her breath stopped, how her lungs ached for air…

The stranger’s voice cut through the illusion. “Another one.”

The world came into focus, revealing the shadowy interior of a barn. Bright light streamed through the window of the loft they’d hidden in, the beams revealing the lazily drifting dust that filled the air. With cheeks flushed, she turned her face away from the stranger, who lay not a foot away from her.

Fleur shifted from side to side, her forehooves kneading at the hay. Guilt swelled within her, but she couldn’t bring herself to apologize. After so many times, the words were beginning to feel rote, as if they held no meaning anymore. How much sleep had they lost because of this?

The stranger asked, “Were they always this bad?”

She shook her head.

“What changed?”

With no answers to give, she merely stared at her hooves.

“That wasn’t as direct as you’re thinking.”

A blink. Her brow furrowed, Fleur turned her head to study him. His face was an unreadable mask, which didn’t help her situation at all. Not knowing what to say, she merely kept staring.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. His chest expanded in a long breath. He nodded. “Tell me something, Fleur; are you glad you’re here?”

Fleur perked her ears. “I am.”

“Really?”

She might have shouted the answer were they not hiding. “Really.”

He opened his eyes. “Tell me why.”

Another blink. Did he really want her to talk about it? He’d never shown much interest in the last four days. She ran the topic through her head, wondering how much detail she should offer. There was so much to say. Thoughts that had been drifting through her mind ever since that night. She’d kept quiet about all of it, though, suspecting that he didn’t want to hear it. Now that he’d expressed an interest, she feared she might say more than he wanted to hear.

He let out a yawn, which prompted her to speak. “B-because of you.”

When he came out of the yawn, his face had lost its control; he appeared tired. So very, very tired. And she was responsible for that. She turned her face away once again.

“Eye contact.”

Fleur forced herself to look him in the eye, doing her best not to appear guilty. She had no idea if she was doing a good job.

“Now, because of me.” He tilted his head in a lethargic motion. “Explain.”

She almost looked down. Almost. Somehow she managed to stop herself, even though her cheeks burned and her stomach felt funny. She tried to think of the first thing to say, but all she managed was, “You don’t hurt me.”

“Hmm.” He nodded.

Fleur found her lips moving once again. “You let me make decisions. A-and… let me be warm. And today you let me take a bath. With hot water.” She smiled at the memory. “You let me speak. You didn’t get mad when I messed up breakfast this morning. I can move, I can think, I can speak, I can breathe and you won’t hurt me for it.”

As she spoke, her words came faster and with greater confidence. She raised her head and grinned. “I’m free. You set me free. I don’t care if we’re always walking, or we sometimes sleep outside, or that we always leave at night when it’s so cold. I have so much more, more than I could have, more than I wanted! I—”

His hoof pressed to her muzzle, stifling the flow of words. His face did a curious dance with itself – brow furrowing, lips twitching between smiles and frowns – but his eyes were soft and spoke clearly. He’d never had such warmth in them before. They made Fleur’s little heart melt.

At last, he managed to speak. “Getting a little loud there.” He retracted his hoof as his features finally settled into a small smile. “If you’re so happy, why are you so afraid?”

She opened her mouth… and said nothing. Her excitement faded once more, drifting away as she thought and thought, but no answer could come to her. At last she shrugged. “I don’t know, but I keep dreaming of my father and brothers.”

The stranger nodded. “I think I know. I think you’re afraid that you might wake up and find that all of this isn’t real.”

Her ears lowered.

“That you imagined me up, and you’re still living under those cold stairs.”

Her eyes dropped to her hooves.

“And that just when you’ve finally escaped, your family will be there, ready to drag you back into the dark and the misery.”

Her lips trembled, her throat ached, her eyes burned. Once more, she felt a hoof pressed to her throat. She could see the cold indifference in her brothers’ eyes, the distaste in her aunt’s, the frigid hatred of her father. It was almost enough to make her scream.

Hooves pressed atop her shoulders. She looked up to see the stranger smiling. An open smile, warmer than any smile she’d ever seen in her entire life.

“It’s over, Fleur. They will never touch you again.”

And when she looked into his eyes and saw the honesty behind them, Fleur knew that she believed him. She believed every word, and it was beautiful and captivating and empowering all at once. Her worries, her fears, her hesitations were quelled by this stranger. Her shackles had been cut, but she’d yet to throw them away.

Here, with his strong hooves on her shoulders and a kind smile she’d never seen before on his face, she felt she could leave them behind at last. The realization – the sheer comprehension – softly creeped into her mind. It welled within her belly, churned up her throat and pushed into her skull before finally bursting forth from her eyes as tears. The next thing she knew, she’d buried her head in his shoulder and begun sobbing.

The stranger went stiff. She barely noticed. She was too happy to notice. She wrapped her forelegs around his neck and wept as she’d never wept before.

Eventually, his own legs wrapped about her. He offered no more words.

She needed none.

They stood atop a tall cliff, staring down into the snow-covered landscape. To the east stood sheer walls that marked the southern tip of the Nyebo Pyero Range. The north was covered in hills, many of which hosted cattle ranches, and to the west the Skoleya river lived up to its name by snaking through a long, wide valley dotted with farmland. And in the center, before the wide eyes of a six-year-old filly, a city arose.

Fleur, having never even left her father’s house in her short life, could only stare in stark amazement at the sight of a proper city. Its buildings, taller than anything she’d ever known, were circular brown columns with layer upon layer of disks, to and from the edges of which griffons the size of specks flowed. There were also shorter, rectangular buildings, but these paled in comparison to the alien shapes towering to the heavens. Fleur tried to count the dots of creatures moving about, but quickly gave up.

She shook her head to clear it, then turned to the stranger. “Are we going in there?”

He nodded even as he took his fist steps down the hill and out of the forest. “Stalliongrad. It’s the only city in Grypha with a noticeable pony population. It was founded specifically to be the main thoroughfare between Grypha and Equestria, hence the Equestrian name.”

She hurried to catch up, her attention still set upon the distant city. “But I thought you wanted to avoid others.”

“Normally, yes.” He noted her struggling to keep up his pace and slowed down. “But right now, we need to be there.”

Fleur kept close to him, her tail curling about one of his hind legs. “But it looks so big. What if we get lost?”

The stranger shrugged. “We won’t get lost. I’ve been there before. Besides, I have to go there to report on my mission, and to get back to Equestria.” He shuddered before adding, “I’m not looking forward to that trip.”

Tearing her gaze from the distant structures, she cast a concerned look his way. “Why? Is it dangerous?”

He glanced back at her. At first, he held a hard scowl… but then it softened. “You don’t know much about geography, do you?”

She cocked her head. “Geowhat?”

The stranger chuckled and shook his head. “Geography. The study of locations, maps, things like that. Anyway, there’s an ocean between Equestria and Grypha.”

With a gasp, she cried, “You mean you have to get on a boat to go home?”

The scowl returned. “That’s what it means.”

“But you don’t like boats!”

“Well unfortunately, it’s not up to me.” He snorted, steam billowing up into the air. “I go where I am told, and keep my complaints to myself.”

She wanted to complain in his stead, but didn’t want to be annoying. Even so, she didn’t like the idea. After some thought, she skipped a little closer and pressed her cheek to his side. “I’ll stay with you. Keep you from being scared?”

The stranger paused, his head turning back. He stared at her as if she were a strange and unusual creature rather than another pony. She looked back, trying to emphasize how serious she was through her eyes.

He sighed and resumed his walk. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course!” She trotted ahead so she could look back at his face. “You’re my hero. I owe you. I want to help.”

“Not with this, Little Miss.” He blinked, eyebrows rising. He moved his lips, rolled his chin, moved his lips again. “Huh. I like that.”

“Like what?”

“Nothing.” He smiled, something he’d been doing more often lately. “Look, you can’t come to Equestria with me.”

She jumped in front of him. “Why not? I want to go!”

“What we want is seldom what we get.” He stepped casually around her. “You coming with me won’t end well for anypony.”

She trotted after him, a block of ice lodged in her chest. “Then what am I going to do? I don’t know what to do. I need you.”

“What you need is somepony capable who can take care of you. That’s not me.” He gestured to Stalliongrad. “I’m going to drop you off in the city.”

“But I don’t want to live in the city!” She grabbed his tail between her teeth, fully prepared to pull on it, but promptly spit it out. Gagging, she sat and began rubbing her tongue with both hooves.

The stranger, stride unbroken, giggled at her expression. “Yeah, I don’t imagine hair dye tastes too good.”

Gritting her teeth, she thought carefully over the problem. A solution came to her quickly, but she hesitated; using magic without permission had always been taboo. But… it was only taboo because her father said so, right? And the stranger did say she should act on her own from now on. Did that include magic?

He was getting away! Deciding to take the risk and test one of her newfound freedoms, Fleur lowered her head and concentrated on his tail. It was soon encased in a pink aura, to which she gave a firm tug.

The stranger paused, his hind legs shifting to account for the unexpected pull. He looked to his tail, then cast a deadpan look at her. “Fleur…”

“I want to go with you!” She leveled him with her hardest glare.

“Let my tail go.”

“Not until you say I can go!”

The scowl returned, but for once it had no effect on Fleur. She gritted her teeth and focused on the magic, determined not to let go.

The stranger reached back to tug on his tail. When it didn’t move, his eyebrows lowered. Then, his own horn shined, his red aura mixing with her pink one around the tail. She could feel his magic pulling against hers, but she resisted. She didn’t really understand how she was resisting, but she did it anyway.

Seconds passed as their two auras swirled around one another. Fleur concentrated, working to keep her magic intact. For having no idea what she was doing, she found it surprisingly easy.

The stranger’s expression shifted from frustration to annoyance, then curiosity. He eyed her, then let the magic die from his horn. “You’re pretty good for your age.”

The compliment caught her off guard, her eyes widening and her cheeks going hot. “Really?”

“Yep.” He turned to her, tail still stuck in the air by her magic, and peered at her horn. “Most fillies your age are just figuring out how to use their horns, and you can already play tug-of-war with an adult. Who taught you?”

The burning in her cheeks intensified. Her horn flickered and died, and his tail dropped back to its normal position. “I… uh… watched my father and brothers.”

His stare shifted to incredulity. “You mean you taught yourself.” When she nodded, he looked away and muttered something under his breath about feeling ‘inadequate,’ whatever that meant.

She tapped her forehooves together, ears folded back. “Is that… bad?”

He flinched and quickly turned back to her. “No, not at all! It’s impressive. I couldn’t use my magic that well at your age.”

She beamed, approaching him at a canter. “So does this mean I can come?”

The stranger laughed and shook his head. “No.” He pressed a hoof to her muzzle as she pouted. “But it does suggest you have some special skill relating to magic. You’re going to need to learn it properly.”

She brushed his hoof aside and gazed up at him with a wide-eyed, pleading expression. “But why can’t you teach me?”

“I’m not going to be around long enough. Ah—” He raised his hoof to silence her before she could speak. “And I’m not bringing you with me.”

She threw her hooves high. “Then who’s going to teach me?!”

“You’ll go to school, just like the other fillies and colts.”

Her anger faded in an instant, replaced by slack-jawed disbelief. “You mean I’ll meet other ponies? Other… foals?”

He turned to resume his march for the city. “That’s right. You’re going to be living with them, in fact. It’ll be nice to have foals your age to play with for a change, right?”

Would it? The idea left her feeling… ill. “B-but, what do I say? What do I do? I’ve never even seen foals my age.”

“What about cubs? Surely you’ve met a cub or two your age?”

Fleur stared at her hooves, but began to follow. “Not really.”

He cast another look back at her, but it was only the briefest glance. “Well, you will now. Don’t worry, it’ll come naturally.”

She hoped so. She really did. “Do I have to stay? I can help you.” She trotted to catch up, eagerness rising in her voice as she spoke. “I can carry things, and cook and be quiet and… and… and lots of things!”

He didn’t so much as slow down. “I’m sure you can.”

She broke into a gallop, sliding to a stop in front of him and rearing back to press her forehooves to his chest. “Please! I want to stay with you!”

He kept going, pushing her aside with an ease that made her feel foalish. She watched him pass, lips trembling and heart aching. What didn’t he understand?

“Please.” She rubbed at her stinging eyes. “I feel safe with you. Please.”

With a groan, he finally turned back to her. She fought with her tears in order to stare up at him, and he stared right back with a frown combining annoyance and concern. Time stretched on as they gazed at one another, Fleur not daring to speak, and the stranger not breaking eye contact. She silently begged him to listen, to accept her, to give her the protection and love she so desperately desired.

That thought hit her hard, and she reeled as if struck in the head. Love? Was it love she was seeking? That hadn’t occurred to her before. But now, on the side of this hill, her legs shivering in the snow and a strange, frightening city full of frightening, strange creatures so close, it seemed obvious. Her father, brothers and aunt had always denied her that one simple, precious thing. And now that she’d met somepony who might, maybe be able to offer it to her, she was supposed to let him slip through her hooves?

The idea was too terrible to contemplate.

“Please,” she whispered, leaning forward a little. “I want to be with you.”

He sucked in a long breath before pressed a hoof to his forehead and scowling. “I don’t take care of foals.”

“I can take care of myself.” She stepped a little closer. “You don’t have to watch over me. I just want… I want…” Why was it so hard to say?

The stranger stepped forward. He placed his forehooves on her shoulders, eyes never leaving hers. There was a sadness to his gaze, a longing that she hoped and prayed would work in her favor. She let out a weak gasp when he dropped down to hug her tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered in her ear. “I can’t give you what you want. I just… can’t. I wish I could. You’re going to have to adapt and be strong on your own, Little Miss.”

Fleur rested her chin on his shoulder, tears dripping to her cheeks. “I just want somepony to love me.”

“I know. Believe me, Fleur, I know.” He nuzzled her neck. She thought she heard him sniff. “It’s not me. I’m not capable of that kind of thing.”

“Are you sure? Really sure?”

He pulled back and gave her a sad smile. “I’m a monster, Fleur. Monsters don’t love. They only destroy. If you stay with me, it’ll kill you. I can’t let that happen. That’s why you have to stay here.” He cupped her chin with a hoof and raised her head. “Do you understand?”

She didn’t. She didn’t understand at all. She wanted to shout at him, to demand he let her come with him, but knew it would do no good. Everything was going over her head, and she hated it.

She felt like screaming. Instead, she forced herself to whisper, “I… understand.”

His smile gained a wry slant to it as he patted her head. “Good girl.”

And he turned away, marching for the city at the same gait as always. Fleur rubbed her eyes and followed, hooves shuffling in the snow.

Her freedom was slipping through her hooves. Fleur knew it without having any direct evidence of it. She could just feel the hooves of her father’s, brothers’ and aunt’s ghosts grasping at her body, ready to drag her into a fresh new life of misery and isolation. The pain in her chest brought to mind their teeth chewing feverishly upon her heart.

She sat on a bench in a short hallway made of ugly yellow brick. If she perked her ears just right she could hear children playing upstairs, but there was no angle by which she could hear the conversation currently being had behind the closed door opposite her. There was a wide plague on the door, but she couldn’t read what it said. Her father never taught her how.

Fleur pondered the situation carefully, desperate to find something, anything to change what was happening. The noise upstairs didn’t help matters. She wished the children would just be quiet so she could think. That’s what she needed, time to think.

The stranger was in that room right now, arranging to leave her in this place. How could he? After all the time they’d spent together, he couldn’t just walk away. But that was exactly what he planned to do. Why? She could be brave. She could be smart. How was she supposed to learn to survive like he wanted without him there to teach her?

She clutched a book in her forelegs, keeping it pressed tight to her chest. It was a book about magic. He’d taken it from a local library so that she could learn on her own for a while. He didn’t seem to understand that she didn’t want to learn on her own.

Tears threatened to break free. She closed her eyes and brushed them with a fetlock. The sensation of the ghosts clawing at her back intensified. Already she could see herself, lying alone in some dark room, nopony to talk to, nopony to love and appreciate her. It would be like her father’s house all over again. But this time, no shadow pony was going to rescue her, for it was the shadow pony that put her here.

He couldn’t do this to her!

Click.

She looked as the door opened on squeaky hinges. The stranger stepped out, his expression unreadable. A gold and orange griffon, the silver of age decorating his wings and fur, followed behind. The griffon carried one of his hind legs carefully, and she noticed a long, featherless scar just above his knee.

Fleur brushed the tears from her face and focused her attention on the stranger, dread eating away at her.

The stranger gestured to the griffon. “Fleur, this is Myagkey Kluv, the headmaster. He’s the one in charge of the orphanage.”

The griffon gave her a smile that seemed sad, although she suspected he hadn’t meant it to be. “A pleasure to meet you, young filly. You may call me Kluv; everyone does. Unless you’re a bad child, then you call me ‘Old Fartfeather’ and I teach you manners.” He chuckled and offered his claw.

Fleur stared at the appendage, then turned her wide-eyed, pleading gaze upon the stranger.

The stranger heaved a long sigh. “Give us a moment.”

Kluv flinched as if the stranger had struck him and retreated a step. “Of course. I’ll be in the next room.”

As soon as he entered the front lobby, the stranger’s shoulders sagged and he gave Fleur an exasperated look. “You knew this time was coming.”

“I hoped you’d change your mind.” She studied her hooves. “You were supposed to change your mind.”

He dropped to his knees to be level with her. “It was never my decision. This is for the best, Fleur.”

“No, it’s not!” She glared at him through blurry eyes. “Best for who? It’s not the best for me!”

Brow furrowed, he considered her. It wasn’t a look of anger or frustration, though; it felt more like a curious study. At last, he spoke. “Fleur, don’t you remember? It was my job to kill all members of the Purpurnyj family. I was supposed to kill you.”

She crossed her hooves and pouted. “But you didn’t. Why didn’t you? You can’t leave me.”

“I have to.” He nuzzled her, and she did her best not to enjoy the sensation. “Understand, Fleur, please. I was supposed to kill you. If they find out I didn’t, they’ll send someone else to do it. If you go with me, they’ll find out. You must stay far away from me, in a place that nopony will look.”

He pressed his hoof to her heart. It felt strangely warm, just like the smile he now sported. “I met a scared, weak little filly. That filly is dead. You are a new pony, Fleur, able to change your life. If you stay here, you will go on to be something far better, brighter and happier than what you used to be. I have faith in that.”

All bitterness fled her. The ghosts holding her soul lost some of their grip as she stared at him. “You… You really think so?”

He nodded, then wrapped her in a tight hug. “Don’t tell anypony I said this, but I’m going to miss you, Little Miss.”

She wrapped her long legs around his neck, holding on as tightly as she could. This was it. He was about to leave, and there was nothing she could do about it. The tears threatened to come back, but she wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

“W-will I ever see you again?”

He replied quickly. “Probably not. I’m going far away.”

She squeezed a little more tightly. “But, if I work hard and get to be better… Is there a chance?”

His hesitation could be felt in the way his hold on her stiffened. She closed her eyes and prayed for the right answer.

“M… Maybe. I wouldn’t count on it.”

The teeth squeezed on her heart. “You could always come back. To visit?”

He was silent for a while. She didn’t speak, afraid to push him away with words.

“We’ll see. I can’t promise you anything. To be honest… I don’t think so. But—” He stepped back and pressed his hoof to her heart again. “Don’t ever give up hope. Be strong for me, alright?”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned away. She watched him go at first, stomach twisting into ugly knots.

Then a thought occurred to her. “Wait!”

The stranger stumbled and nearly fell. With a fresh sigh, he shot a frustrated look over his shoulder.

Fleur rubbed her hooves together, cheeks burning even as she hoped he’d answer. “Please, can I… Can I at least know your name?”

His features softened, his eyebrows rose. He turned away, but didn’t resume his walk. Fleur leaned forward, licked her lips, and waited.

After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke.

“My name is Fine Crime.”

With those as his parting words, he walked out of the hall and her life.

Author's Notes:

I strongly questioned the wisdom of writing this chapter. It was originally my intent to skip straight to the orphanage, but I felt that without these scenes certain aspects down the line would feel weak. At the same time, I couldn't decide if these scenes were really necessary for the story. In my indecision, I finally decided to take the risk, despite my strong desire to move ahead to other things.