Of course the universe couldn’t just let her have this. She had found her old friend again and saved her, her new friends had found her again and saved her. Blood that wasn’t hers pumped through her veins. It felt nice, like she was carrying a little bit of Applejack inside her. And they still had to deal with…this. Whatever this was.

It shuffled into view, a moving tree.

Twilight flopped her head to the side. The plant was just a shrub. Its voice, obnoxious and self-important, reminded her of the sort of affect the lower-ranking members of her old economics cohort would adopt, usually not long before failing out. But the sight of it filled her with dread.

“You,” it said, and Twilight felt like she was being looked like, though it had no eyes, “are, if I am not mistaken, the current librarian of the Golden Oak Tree. I understand you may use different titles; I mean to communicate substance, not labels. Did,” and its “eyes” swung over her friends, “the forest try iocane powder? Ah, but I doubted, and it seems to be born out empirically, that such a trick would work on the heir of Frankie Knight. Of course, there may be confounders, and there is always the niggling problem of induction. Or my assumptions might be wrong altogether.”

“That plant can talk!” Rainbow Dash said. She pointed in case anypony had missed it. “Look, it’s a shrub! It’s talking!”

“Arguably,” the shrub said. “It might be telepathy, or your own imagination. How do you define your terms?”

“And it’s really annoying,” Rainbow Dash said. “Hey, Twilight, it’s kind of like talking to you.”

“What are you?” Twilight said.

“I am, so I assert, the Unbearably Pedantic Arguably Coniferous Tree. You can tell by my long pointy needles and incessant need to be absolutely correct.”

“Are you a coniferous tree?” Fluttershy asked.

“Arguably.”

“Oh.”

Twilight felt its gaze on her again. “I sense the spores of the golden oak tree on you. Are you indeed Frankie Knight’s heir?”

Twilight considered what had happened. “I doubt it.”

“This…bank, then. Who is its princess?”

“Um…me.”

“But she’s not a princess,” Rainbow Dash added.

“It’s fine, I won’t be offended,” Twilight said. “You can call me Princess if you want.”

“I prefer to be exact,” the shrub said. “Very well. Let me explain the fate of Ponyville to its last economist.”

“It’s fate isn’t for you to decide,” Applejack said.

“No, I am just explaining it.” Twilight imagined the shrub giving Applejack a puzzled look. “The agreement between Frankie Knight and me goes back centuries.”

“You?” Twilight said. “What makes you so important?”

She regretted speaking almost instantly. The shrub’s attention on her felt like slimy worms crawling up her coat.

“Let me provide an analogy at some risk of inexactness. I hope you will ‘understand’ what I am saying and not—”

“Yes! Fine!”

“Your species is split into three types: Earth Ponies, Unicorns, and Pegasi. Pegasi can fly and manipulate weather, Unicorns are capable with math and magic, and Earth Ponies, of course, have unparalleled business acumen. How this evolved I do not know, perhaps some kind of group selection promoting a partition of skills. This would of course be grounded in the economic theory of comparative advantage, which states that there are gains to specialization and trade.”

“That sounds very unlikely.”

“I assert nothing. I am merely speculating in a showy way while risking nothing.”

“Argh! You unbearably—argh!”

“Now consider the Alicorns.”

“…Oh….”

“You see? No specialization. Why the reversal, and why are the Alicorns the most powerful ponies when they do not benefit from the very specialization that makes your species so formidable?”

Twilight couldn’t help but be curious. “Why?”

“Ponies, in my experience, with few exceptions, are great at a many number of tasks physical, magical, and intellectual. Economics is not one of these tasks.”

Like pricing by what a book said, Twilight thought. Or not understanding that low prices mean high prices; that the market price is the lowest price.

“A species that cannot manage to think about economics will not manage anything in the end. It is no coincidence that your Alicorns are the best of your economists, and that your Alicorns are your leaders. As to why they must have attributes of all three pony types, look at the companions you have gathered around yourself.”

Rarity, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie…two of each type, including herself.

“I am that,” said the Unbearably Pedantic Arguably Coniferous Tree. “The forest does not like economics very much. I find it quite thrilling.”

“You don’t seem like every kind of plant combined.”

“No? I can think like an oak, which is to say, slowly. I am as contemplative as the slow-moving fungus, as stubborn as grass. My mind—yes, I have one—has all these parts. It is called empathy. It is a kind of magic few ponies excel at.”

“And that makes you, what, a prince?”

“Mm, there is little difference. I am the dealmaker. The job is mostly talking to other plants, you might be surprised to learn. What do they think, and how is that best changed? I need to be inside their, well, not heads, just as much as a part of them is inside mine. Forgive my flowery language; I am a plant, after all.”

Twilight listened with a growing sense of unease. It sounded like his job was a lot like what she had done with her friends over the past several days. She did not like to see herself in that obnoxious plant.

“So now I am here to make another deal.”

There it was. That sense of wrongness.

Twilight’s heart began to pulse. She and her friends were beaten and exhausted. The forest surrounded Ponyville entirely, with the exception of the bank. In other words, the shrub had a pretty good bargaining position. So why was it begging to talk to her?

Princess Celestia, the obvious answer flashed, but that didn’t seem right. Ponyville wasn’t exactly her town. Twilight didn’t know the details, but there was old magic in the golden oak tree and the compact between the forest and the town. Princess Celestia wasn’t an immediate or necessary danger. There was no reason not to consolidate and prepare for a confrontation.

What did the forest want?

No. Wrong question. I am not dealing with the forest. I am dealing with the Unbearably Pedantic Arguably Coniferous Tree.

The sugary-electric feeling of bingo! rushed through her limbs. It was like working out the answer to a particularly thorny test question.

“Do you know what a principal-agent problem is?” she said to the tree. “I wonder what your plan is, and if the other plants know about it.”

“I cannot quite say I do not know what you are referring to, but I assure you even the most likely possibility is very improbable.”

“I’ll make it clear. You want a new deal. Not like that,” she added hurriedly, “but a new pact with the town. Uh, it is with the town, right?”

“Frankie Knight was exceptional.”

“But not unique, right? It’s to do with the golden oak tree, isn’t it? It’s pretty much the only magical tree for miles that isn’t part of the forest. You gave me a huge hint when you identified me by the smell or whatever it was. I’m right, right?”

“Nothing is certain.”

“Hey, you can’t lie directly, can you? Maybe I should start pumping you for information.”

The…aura around the shrub, whatever it did to project the sense of having a face, grew colder.

“You’re going to be out of a job soon,” Twilight said. “The forest is done with economics, is that right? They tried putting up with us, and it...went...too...far....”

Guilt and fear throbbed up her spine. “It was me? The economics, right? Too much? But how did it even reach the forest?”

“You took away the guardian.” Twilight imagined the shrub trembling with rage. “That thing entered freely and with the ideals of ponies.”

“What thing?”

She could feel its “eyes” flicker to the statue and back.

“No,” she said hotly. It wasn’t going to blame the mare, and there was nothing to blame her for. “She was here before you, before any of us.”

“What are y’all talking about?” Applejack said.

“No, that’s my friend,” said Rainbow Dash at almost the same time.

“So what if I pointed her out?” Twilight demanded. “There’s no reason to act like a foal about it. Your whole existence is predicated on your ability to deal with…oh, wow. You are not popular right now, are you?”

“There is no move to replace me, if that is what you are suggesting.”

“No one wants your job! Right? To point at the invisible and say not to worry? And everypony says, what is this invisible thing you’re pointing at? How can you tell me not to worry about it? It’s an invisible thing only you can see of course I’m worried about it!”

The shrub didn’t answer.

“What was the idea? That if you took care of everything, the forest wouldn’t have to face the facts? But the deal between you and Knight was that there would be nothing to take care of. I am right, I can see it on your…er, I can tell. So you got complacent. And then…this happened. Your own laziness caught up with you. Everything has a cost.”

And the shrub exploded with fury.

“Pony! I am being merciful! You cannot even stand! And your friends don’t have our powers. It is only because the forest cannot challenge Princess Celestia that I—stop smiling like that!”

“Twilight?” Rarity said nervously. “I don’t think you should offend our, um, delightful new acquaintance.”

But Twilight knew who was standing behind her and to the side, even if she was being shy and invisible.

“You think I can’t stand, coward? That I’m only lying here, you miserable excuse for an economist, because I don’t have the strength? That by all rights I should be dead, and a miracle gave me life, but no power? Perhaps. But perhaps I have the strength to stand after all.”

Twilight gritted her teeth. Pushing Fluttershy’s helping hoof away, she began to heave herself up. The splitting pain in her side, the excruciating ache in her neck, and the pounding in her head all flared up, but it made her mad and she used that.

There was always somepony behind her, and if she only imagined herself leaning on a skinny, clown-dressed figure, then it wasn’t so difficult to stand.

Her horn pointed to the sky.

“To the cost?” Twilight said.

It slumped forward like it was bowing.

“Please.”

Twilight collapsed in front of it. In truth she couldn’t move. But the plant didn’t need to know that.

“I’m trying to be nicer,” she said. “Helping ponies rather than disdaining them. Seeing who they are, learning why they think what they think. I think everypony makes sense inside their own head, even if they seem crazy or irrational on the outside. That or my friends are just weird.”

“If I could just undo—”

“No! There’s no undoing.” Twilight was aware she was whispering to a plant. It felt strangely right. “I have a friend. She’s mad, or scared, or upset and won’t show herself. I hurt her badly. It happened, see? But if you can’t hurt your friends, what’s the point? Friends are ponies who you bring into your circle. Of course they’re going to hurt you! Inside the circle is the place where hurting you gets to happen.”

“I do not know what you are talking about.”

“I just mean that if a single mistake condemns you forever, then we’re all damned. Except possibly Fluttershy, she might be perfect? I’m not sure, I’ll have to ask her. But markets shouldn't do that, and neither should ponies.”

Leaves rustled. She felt wriggling slime on her coat, a sure sign of the shrub’s gaze.

“You can’t move.”

“You’re more stuck than I am,” Twilight said.

Silence.

“Help?”

“Yes. For a price.”

“But—”

“Because it wouldn’t be fair to all the other creatures of the forest, would it? I’ve seen what that same fear did to my friends.”

“What do you want?”

“Sleep. Talk to Pinkie Pie. I’ll sign whatever she agrees to.”

Twilight closed her eyes.

After a while, she began to snore.

It was over a week before the forest left Ponyville. During that time, pony and tree lived, if not in harmony, then at least in equilibrium. Twilight thought it was good for the forest to socialize a bit. And it was good for ponies to remember why they paid their voluntary defense funds.

Pinkie Pie and Applejack did most of the actual dealing with the forest and its representative, the Unbearably Pedantic Arguably Coniferous Tree. “We’re going to need a bigger circle,” Pinkie Pie had said when Twilight asked her how it was going.

Twilight spent most of the time resting on Fluttershy’s orders. The rest she spent alone or with Spike, thinking.

She still couldn’t see the mare.

It was a bit long for a spell of shyness. Shyness had never been a problem before.

“I’m sorry,” she said to the pale cold sky.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said to the frosty air.

“I wish you would let me see you again.”

She tried kissing at random, but it felt stupid and she stopped.

“What are you doing?”

Twilight whipped around. The Unbearably Pedantic Arguably Coniferous Tree was, well, not looking at her, but it was slime-attentioning her.

Twilight couldn't think of an answer that wasn't insane. “What are you doing?”

“A deal has been reached. The forest will return to its former boundaries. In return there will be harsh penalties for soliciting on its premises.”

“Huh?”

“And no unwanted magazine subscriptions.”

“Um…if you say so.”

“Various arrangements have been made.”

“Such as?”

“More pumpkin spice flowers will grow.”

“At what price?”

“The forest may go wherever Pinkie Pie goes.”

Twilight almost objected. But the forest probably meant to follow her like ducklings. To them, Pinkie Pie was simply the bravest pony in the world.

Maybe she was to Twilight as well.

“Thank you,” Twilight said. “For your help.”

The shrub inclined like it was nodding. “We will probably never see each other again.”

It shuffled off.

Seeing it go made Twilight realize something.

It wasn't shyness. It was goodbye.

Even as she cried, the transformation began. It happened slowly in a very short span of time.

Trees uprooted and raced across the snow on roots deep enough to touch earth under the snow. Thorns arced across the snow like dolphins leaping along the sea. The forest rolled back like the endless white hills, pulling back beyond. Ponyville was restored its plot, and an end was brought to this one.

Everypony was happy again. Except Twilight, who cried a bit. The hole in her heart would never fully heal. But she had friends, and work to do, and if it took a month for her to start sleeping soundly again and longer still for her appetite to restore, well, such is grief.

Our finale scene takes place only three days after the forest left Ponyville, except for what it left with Pinkie Pie, a tiny green seedling that she put into a pot on a windowsill in full view of the morning sun. Twilight is chewing her best pen, frowning at the letter. Finally she rolls it up, ties a ribbon around it, and gives it to Spike, who sends it flying to Canterlot in a burst of flame.

“Do you think she got it?” Twilights asks nervously. Of course she did, but Twilight asks questions when she is nervous.

“Of course she—” Spike belched green flames. Twilight grabbed the letter, saw the royal seal, and tore it open.

Dear Princess Celestia,

Why did you send me only two invitations to the Grand Galloping Gala, knowing that I have five friends, not counting Spike?

Your faithful student,

Twilight Sparkle

And the message she received:

To the Chief Executive Economist of the Daughter Bank of Ponyville,

Did you teach them about scarcity and the price system yet?

Cheers,

Princess Celestia

And that really does settle everything. Not all loose ends wrapped up—what of Applejack’s cruel aunts? Or Rainbow Dash's mysterious friend? Where is Maud? And the rest of Twilight’s old cohort? Surely there is more to Princess Cadance and Shining Armor than meets the eye. But those are best left for another time. This story has no more threads left to sew.

Except…well, it’s embarrassing.

Kissing is a messy business in the best of circumstances. And an injured, exhausted Unicorn trying to plant a smacker on a traumatized, broken old mare whom she couldn’t see and who wasn’t ready for it, and when neither of them had any practice, despite what Twilight Sparkle might have slyly hinted to Moondancer when they were both just fillies, well, we should just be grateful no pony got a tongue in their eye.

The point is, Twilight had missed. Pretty badly, actually. So the mare was feeling understandably glum and unsure of what to do. She couldn’t be seen or heard. She finally knew Twilight cared, and she couldn't be seen or heard. It was like convincing yourself that the worst that could happen if you asked that cute filly out was that she’d say no, and then dropping dead of a heart attack halfway through a line about if it hurt when she fell from Clousdale.

She had nothing left. If she stopped doing her job, she’d be replaced by somepony just as efficient and much less…involved. As Twilight had tried to explain, competition meant you didn’t have to choose. You just had to listen.

And when she’d given up everything, and gotten nothing, well…it didn’t seem right. Didn’t seem like it was worth stopping here. Oh, it was equilibrium all right. A global minimum.

No. She wasn’t done. It wasn’t over.

There is one more story to tell.

Author's Notes:

And here you were looking forward to an epic battle between a horse and a tree.