Scootaloo tried to push that thought aside and climbed the ladder into the clubhouse. The place was still littered with confetti and shredded wrapping paper lay on the floor. Scootaloo walked past the now empty table with the mostly-white but somewhat stained tablecloth that once held her birthday cake. She was ten now—one whole decade. It felt odd to think that she was growing up.

Against the wall was a cabinet. She pulled open a drawer and dropped her glassy blue shards inside. Scootaloo frowned; she only had four pieces. She was certain that she'd picked up more. Oh well—she shrugged and pushed the drawer shut—that was still enough to pass out to her friends and keep one for herself. Her friends—she should get back to them.

Her brand new scooter awaited in the corner where she'd left it, but her eyes were drown to the poster on the wall above it. Rainbow Dash was whipping through the air so fast that the image blurred and her mane and tail appeared as nothing more than rainbow streaks. She had a silly grin on her face since the wind billowed out her cheeks and exposed all of her teeth. In retrospect, it wasn't a very flattering picture, but it did capture one of the things that she loved most about her idol: her flying prowess.

Scootaloo wanted to fly very badly. And now she could—almost. Her wings felt itchy trapped under her bandages.

“There's no way I'm going to wait three whole days.” Scootaloo felt better after saying that, but she also felt guilty. She was supposed to wait that long for a reason, and if she didn't, she could hurt herself. Well, Fluttershy had also said her wings would okay again once they'd stopped hurting...

Without further hesitation, Scootaloo twisted around and tore at the bandages with her teeth. The gauzy material was stretchier than she'd expected, but she managed to gnaw through it enough to break it. With part of it broken, the gauze unravelled and she tossed it onto the pile of discarded wrapping paper. It was almost like she was unwrapping another birthday present.

She had to be more careful with the cast on her left wing, but without the gauze holding it in place, She was able to tease it off and set it aside. Her feathers were terribly ruffled, but it felt good to stretch out her wings again. Tentatively, she flapped them a few times. The misaligned feathers irritated her, but there wasn't any other obvious pain. Well, she could still feel a sort of dull lingering pain, but her wing likely wouldn't hurt again unless she pushed it hard. If her calculations were correct, she shouldn't need to.

Scootaloo sat down and started straightening her feathers out with her mouth. Preening was not her favorite activity, but it was necessary if she wanted her wings to work right. The delay was irritating, but it did give her some time to think.

Technically, she could probably fly by jumping up if she managed to orient herself correctly, but after her failure this morning, the idea of jumping didn't sit well in her stomach. No, it'd be better if she could get off to a running start, and her scooter was the best option for that. Scootaloo frowned as she bit off the dangling end of a broken feather. She splayed out the neighboring ones to fill in the gap. If she wanted to use her scooter, she'd need a ramp, but where could she find a ramp that went straight up?

Her feathers looked fine on that side, so she swapped wings. Thankfully, her right one wasn't as bad as her left, but it was still quite ruffled. When was the last time she bothered to preen herself anyway? To be honest, she never really saw much of a use for it and typically didn't do it unless her wings felt more like feather dusters than fans.

She could try to make a ramp herself, but that would be a lot of work and she wasn't certain that anything she built would hold up. Apple Bloom could do a better job, but she felt ambivalent about involving her friends. They'd seen her fail one too many times.

No. She wouldn't fail. How could she even think about failing?

Scootaloo clenched her eyes shut. Her emotions were so conflicted right now. She was more certain of her ability to fly than she ever had been, yet at the same time, the back of her mind kept insisting that nothing had changed and that she was doomed to fail forever. On top of it all, she felt guilty about betraying her mother's trust.

“I shouldn't be doing this.” Scootaloo stretched out her wings and flapped them a few times. They felt like they were supposed to instead of whiffing through the air. The confetti in the room danced around behind her.

She reached for the basket in her scooter and put her helmet on. Tightening the strap under her chin, she grabbed the handlebars and rolled the scooter out the door. She had to pick it up with one foreleg while climbing down the rope ladder since the tree house didn't have an exit ramp. Speaking of ramps...

“I really shouldn't be doing this.” Scootaloo stood on her scooter with no place to go. She almost felt vindicated. Without a ramp, there was no way to get off the ground. She wouldn't have to break her promise, and she could always try again later. That was the logical thing to do, right?

She took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. It was gloomy, gray and overcast. The temperature must have dropped because it felt colder too. Those two pegasai who'd been trying to break up the cloud layer gave up and flew off. A light breeze rustled the trees. It was supposed to be a bright and sunny day. Erroneous weather was never a good sign.

The sky was foreboding, but it was also supposed to be hers. No, it was hers. She just had to claim it. A murder of crows darted out of the trees, squawking and complaining in a manner that would have made Fluttershy scowl. Scootaloo narrowed her violet eyes and snorted. She refused to be daunted by bad omens. Whatever came of this would be decided by her effort and her effort alone—not what fate had decided for her.

A glint on the horizon caught her attention. It was a flash of light from the tip of Twilight's plumbing-challenged castle. Another sign, perhaps? This one beckoned her to her friends. Scootaloo flattened her lips. She loved having their support, but right now she didn't want it or need it. The grudge the sky had against her was personal. She wanted to to show it who was boss all on her own.

Seeing Twilight's castle reminded her of something else too. Twilight's battle against the demonic centaur, Lord Tirek had left no shortage of scars across the landscape. Near the base of Deadpony Peak, a large boulder the size of a house had gotten caught in one the energy beams. It had been mostly vaporized, leaving only a wedge-shaped spire with a perfectly rounded slope. It would make the perfect ramp. It was also in the opposite direction from Twilight's castle.

Scootaloo started to turn around, but hesitated. This was her last chance to turn back. A tiny frown on her fuzzy face, she closed her eyes and listened to her heart. Its steady, rhythmic beating offered no answer. If she couldn't decide for herself, she'd look to her idol for inspiration. Rainbow Dash would never give up, and neither would she. Pivoting smoothly on one leg, Scoolaloo turned around and faced the foreboding mountain.

“I shouldn't be doing this now.” Scootaloo cocked her head to look up at the flat gray blanket smothering the sky. The wind licked at her face like a playful dog. She revved up her wings and kept a hoof on the ground to remain stationary. Sheer thrill pulsed through her veins. She leveled her head and kicked off to a fast start. “I should have done this a long time ago.”

The wind against her face was now of her own making as she shot out of the apple farm. The crude trail was rough, but her journey was fairly smooth. Her brand new scooter rode well, but it also helped that her wings gave some lift and she had long hang times on the inevitable bumps and hops. She didn't roll along the ground; she skipped.

Twilight's great battle left many scars on the landscape, and Scootaloo jumped off a grassy lip to cross a gouge dug deep through the earth. The chasm wasn't deep, but it was wide. Still, she crossed the gap with no trouble, and it was a thrill to watch the ground drop out below her. That minor success spurred her on even harder, and her real goal was in sight.

The curved spire twisted up from the rough, rocky ground like a claw set to scratch at the sky. Scootaloo was forced to slow her pace to avoid the jagged rocks strewn along the ground. Her speed might might seem slow to her, but she was an expert at maneuvering her scooter. Any other pony attempting to go that fast here would likely wind up with multiple broken legs and a fresh layer of road rash to wear underneath the inevitable full-body cast.

Scootaloo swiveled around the last jagged rock and hit the smooth base of the towering spire. The plain gray surface filled her vision as centripetal force pressed her down. She crouched low on her scooter and zoomed up. Even as she climbed, she gained speed. The rocky gray ground gave way and she fond herself staring straight up at the drab gray sky.

The wheels on her scooter kept spinning with nothing to roll against. Scootaloo grinned. She'd launched herself into the air. The real test, though, would be to see if she came back down.

Resisting the temptation to swivel midair and look down, she kept her wings buzzing and concentrated on moving forward. The feel of the wind in her face was the only judge of her success.

Scootaloo kept moving. The wind didn't die down. Her wings held her up. She was...

...flying.

It was incredible. Her heart beat with pride and wild freedom coursed through her veins. The wind wasn't beating at her; she was cutting through the sky like a knife. The clouds suddenly felt in reach and even the great heights of Deadpony Peak far beyond them were within her realm. While flying, she could go anywhere.

Still clutching her scooter, Scootaloo risked a peek and looked down. Everything looked tiny. She felt a momentary pang of panic. This was the highest up she'd ever been on her own. If she fell from this height, she could die. Scootaloo shut her mouth and forced herself to look back up. There was no need to worry about falling when she could fly.

The unfriendly layer of gray clouds blanketed the sky above her. They loomed overhead like a lid on on a cage. There wasn't an opening anywhere in sight, and a nagging feeling of dread itched at the back of her mind. She'd never done any sort of cloud-busting before. She'd never get through.

She tried to slow down to look for an opening, but she'd never flown before and wasn't any good at controlling her speed. Her forward momentum came to an end and was soon replaced by the dreadful sinking sensation of falling. Panicking, she overcompensated and flailed her wings too quickly in response. She flew up again but her left wing flared with pain.

“No!” The latest development all but drained the color from her face. Her thrill of flying was gone, replaced by an urgent need to land. The pain wasn't debilitating, but every moment she lingered and  flap she took grated her wing just a little bit more and caused it to ache just a little bit harder.

Looking down, the ground was such a long, long way off. How could she have let herself get so high? She had no idea how to land. Why had she insisted on flying before she'd recovered? Her wing felt like it was stuck in a cheese grater. Scootaloo bit her lip to mask the pain. Why had she insisted in coming out here alone? There was nopony around in any direction as far as she could see. There was nopony to catch her if she fell.

Scootaloo fought back her rising panic. She wasn't falling. She was still in control. There had to be something she could do.

There—to her left. The looming mountainside of Deadpony Peak wasn't far away. It looked like a sheer cliff, but there had to be some ledge—some perch she could land on. Twisting in midair, she aimed herself at the mountain and, in doing so, made a dreadful mistake. She was no longer facing up. She was parallel to the ground. She had no strength in that direction. That was the same angle that she'd tried and failed to fly at for ten years.

Briefly, she flew towards the mountain, but that dreadful sinking sensation returned and the pit of her stomach rolled over in dread. Scootaloo beat her wings harder, but it didn't do any good. Desperation eroded her reason, and she hurled her scooter into the void to lighten herself. It helped, briefly, but watching her signature icon tumble end over end out of sight towards the sharp rocks below broke what little reason she had left.

Her scooter vanished beneath her, and she knew she was only delaying the inevitable. She would fall next. A burst of energy shook her body as she flailed her wings and struggled against gravity. Her back arched up and her mind flooded with visions of her failures. No matter how hard she tried or how much she practiced, her wings had always failed her. Always. And now, when she need them the most, so high above the jagged rocks, they were going to fail her again.

She hurt too much. She couldn't go on.

She screamed, and fell.

Down below, a sharp crack pierced the land as the scooter smashed against the hard rocks and shattered. A lone wheel bounced from the wreckage and rolled away. Its short, but bumpy ride took it between two rocks and it came to rest next to a budding sunflower. Touched by a ray from the misplaced sun, the flower bloomed for the first time.

Scootaloo chocked on her scream when a bright light hit her face. There, above her, a tiny hole had opened in the clouds. Bright sunlight illuminated her in a narrow shaft. It was... peaceful.

The falling filly ceased struggling and looked up at the sun. “Mom...?” There was no alicorn there. It was just a hole in the clouds. Scootaloo was on her own. Her heart filled with regret, but the warm light reminded her of the soft embrace of her mother's magic. It reminded her of the time she spent in the Halls of Ascension staring at the picture of clouds. She remembered talking to her mother, holding a measuring tape in her teeth, and carrying the two. She remembered what she'd learned.

Scootaloo looked down. The ground was alarmingly close and approaching rapidly, but she still had time.

She knew what she had to do.

Twisting in the air, she faced the sun. Now aiming straight up, she forced her wings into motion. The pain was intense. The fiery grating of her joint and the sting of her past failures got lumped together into one agonizing unit. It was nearly unbearable. She couldn't move her wings quickly, but she didn't need to.

Though it felt like she was scraping rusty nails over chalkboards which also happened to be her eyeballs, her efforts paid off. The sinking sensation faded and she began climbing again. Every single motion, every wingbeat, up and down, sent searing jolts of pain through her body. Scootaloo gritted her teeth and glared at the hole in the clouds. She narrowed her eyes and focused on her goal, blotting out everything else. The sky was a big place though, and the clouds seemed impossibly far off.

Pain ruled her body, demanding that she cease her struggles. Darkness crept into the corners of her vision. It'd be so easy to give in. All she'd have to do is let it overtake her, but she refused. She was not going to give up now—not when she was so close. The sun guided her path; she let its light keep the darkness at bay. Though every inch was a struggle, she continued to gain ground in her reach for the top of the sky.

The bright shaft of sunlight illuminated her small form, framing her against the mountain. Though her shadow remained fixed in place on the ground, her body continued to climb. Her pace wasn't steady. She was slowing down.

The pain in her left wing made it difficult to move. At first, it felt like dipping a hoof into scalding butter, but now it felt like she was trying to weed thistle plants using only her tongue. She favored her good wing as much as she could, but she couldn't rely on it alone. Technically, it was possible to fly with one wing, but that was about as easy and practical as hopping on one hoof uphill in a snowstorm while wearing skis. Every little bit of power she could get out of her injured side was essential.

Scootaloo's heart filled with dread as she watched the clouds dangle just above her. She'd go up, then down, up, then down. She wasn't getting any closer to them and she was dangerously close to collapsing permanently.

On the ground, her shadow wavered between two objects. To its right was the broken and busted wheel. Her poor scooter had met a tragic end, dying young in a forceful impact on the sharp, jagged rocks. Scootaloo had ignored the bad omens, and this was the fate that destiny had in store for her.

But on the left, the sunflower was unfurling slowly. Defying fate, the plant opened up to show the world that even in the most impossible of situations, there can still be hope.

Scootaloo wavered. The smallest of nudge could send her in either direction.

The sun that guided her was too bright. Scootaloo winced and its image could still be seen as floating spots against her eyelids. This action caused her to veer, and she shifted to the right. She opened her eyes and struggled on, but she could not go up. It was almost as if the bright light from the sun was pushing her back, keeping her down. It was like her relationship with her mother.

The Sun Princess was a huge alicorn beloved by all. Scootaloo was a nopony. Nothing she could do could ever hope to shine as brightly as that. She was nothing more than a blemish on the sun's surface. Perhaps it would be better off without her...

She'd come so close to the clouds, but the pain was too much. She was no more capable of denying fate than her mother was. Scootaloo lowered her head and raised a hoof to cover her eyes. She didn't want to watch as she fell.

When she brought her hoof up, she heard a tap and felt the tug of a strap on her chin. She'd hit her hoof on her helmet—her birthday present—her gift from...

“Sweetie Belle” Scootaloo's eyes popped open. It was like somepony poured ice water down her back. In her haze of pain it was hard to think clearly, but she knew that Sweetie Belle was her friend and that she'd be terribly upset if Scootaloo allowed herself to fall to her death. That little nudge was enough to fuel a fresh round of determination. She looked back up and glared at the sun, flailing her wings as hard as she could. Since her right wing was stronger, she veered towards the left.

“I can do this,” She told herself. That's not how she felt, but she tried her best. Scootaloo gnashed her teeth and focused on flying. She was up here to prove that she could fly. There would be no more delays, no more second-guessing herself, no more pausing. It was just her and the sky, and she'd never give up or die trying.

Flailing at the sky, Scootaloo shut her eyes; the pain was so great that she saw spots in her vision. Flailing her good wing was working: she could almost touch the clouds, but it was also exhausting. She panted and huffed and her mouth and throat felt dry.

A thin wisp of cloud brushed her face and her eyes popped open. It was like running into a dew-laden cobweb. The hole in the clouds was right there. She just had to get through it.

Scootaloo struggled and clawed at the sky with her good wing. She glistened with sweat and her face was red. Her left wing had almost stopped working. She wasn't certain it was helping, though she kept moving it despite the pain. All she had to do was get up a little further and she could grab the edge, though with only one working wing her motion was erratic and she bobbed up and down just out of reach.

The exertion got to her, and her good wing was sore and slowing down. Pain permeated her limb and soaked it through. Her muscle felt like jelly. She'd come so close, and now she was sinking...

“No!” Scootaloo screamed and forced her wings—both of them—into a flurry of motion. Painful spots blurred her vision and black nothingness crept in from the sides. She was literally blinded by pain.

Paff.

Scootaloo wasn't certain if she'd passed out or if her mind had blocked her memory, but the next thing she remembered was staring a sea of white. She gasped for breath so hard that a stitch in her side jabbed at her with each breath. Her heart pounded in a frenzied zeal. Her wings were a throbbing mass of muted pain; she dared not move them.

As her body wound down and the haze in her mind receded, she suddenly realized where she was—and what she'd accomplished.

“I-I...” Scootaloo lifted a hoof. Her whole leg trembled and shook. She collapsed face-first on the fluff. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I did it.”

She'd flown.

There was no denying her victory. Her body might ache and complain, there might be nothing but empty clouds, but it was worth every last bit of effort just to be up here. All of her failures had finally come to an end.

She remained still. Lying there with her head in the clouds, she knew that she'd never be the same pony that she was before. No, she'd still be Scootaloo, of course, but nopony could call her 'chicken' ever again—not without looking foolish, anyway. It was a silly victory, but it put a smile on her face.

The act of smiling moved her parched lips. Curious, she stuck her tongue out. The cloud tasted like humid nothing. Its moisture didn't appease her thirst. Scootaloo frowned. She didn't want to worry about that now. Instead, she rolled over and looked up at the sun. Her motion jostled her numerous sore spots, but the cloud surface was as gentle as a hammock sewn from sunshine.

It felt good to look up at the sun again. It might not be perfect, but it was still amazing. She loved the way its warmth touched her cheeks. Its radiance bathed her whole body from the tip of her tiny muzzle to the tingling in her flanks to the ratty ends of her violet tail. Alone atop the clouds, she was the only pony to enjoy it. At that moment, the sun shone only for her.

“...”

Scootaloo's ears would have perked up if they weren't confined in her helmet. She thought she'd heard a voice somewhere beneath her. It was tempting to just lay there and enjoy the sky, but she would have to get down eventually and she couldn't imagine trying to do that without help.

Spurred into painful motion, she crawled over to hole she'd come through. She drew a short breath when she realized just how high up she was. Shaking her head to clear it, she called out, “Hello? I'm up he–”

Perhaps fate wanted one last jab at her; at that moment, the hole closed up and cut her off mid-sentence. Scootaloo felt a pang of fear. Around her, the fluffy white clouds stretched on like dunes in a desert. She could crawl over to the mountain and wait for them to disperse, but the thought of spending the night clinging to a cliff with no food, no water, and no shelter sent a shiver down her spine. Next Chapter: Rain Estimated time remaining: 24 Minutes