The Royal Hotel's windows on the ground floor were all open and let in a soft breeze. Pale morning sunshine glistened on the surface of the main street, still damp from yesterday’s heavy showers. It illuminated the lobby in clear light, making the room welcoming and the atmosphere fitting for a special occasion.

She wasn't exactly happy about today being a special occasion. Of course introductions had to be made and an important change marked, now that Springtide had deemed her recovered enough to be up and about again. Still, she'd never been especially fond of too much personal attention.

University had helped, what with all the presentations one had to give over the course of the time spent there. But that had been in a safe environment. A normal environment. And not as a small, scarred and nervous alien horse. Of course she couldn't be sure what went for normal here in this new version of Stromness; but she had the distinct feeling that her new family had decided to really make the day special.

Family. She hadn't quite gotten over the fact yet she'd been taken in just like that. Maybe the outcome of herd animals building a civilization? What on earth had made her initiate it in the first place, calling a Fjord pony 'mum'? She was human, wasn't she? So why did it feel so normal to her, even the next day? So right. Why did being near Springtide make her feel calm, secure and, yes, happy?

Part of herself was mystified, another part saw it as a happy turn of something taken for granted in any case. Extraordinarily happy because it was the leader's family she ended up in: she'd lucked out beyond all expectation. That detail in turn worried the mystified part. A lot.

The mystified part worried and wondered about a great deal. Like, what had even happened? Ten days ago she was a shop assistant and it was May 2015. Ten days ago something happened; all logic and reason went out the window and she lost everything and everyone and – stop. Stop. That way lay madness and despair.

Better aim for madness and happiness. Could have been worse. Could have been eaten alive. Could have been alone forever in the ruins of Kirkwall. She took a deep breath and tried to get her brain back into reality. Try looking at something undeniably real right in front of her. The low, broad table she encountered Dawn reading at.

She first realized today that it had once been a regular pub table, but with the legs shortened quite a bit. It was laden with food, a veritable mountain range of mouth watering deliciousness. She caught herself being close to drooling; at the sight of raw vegetables and salad without dressing no less. For that matter, even the fragrance of good hay had become appetizing. Amazing.

Of course she had all the time in the world to marvel at the produce since her current responsibility was not getting in the way too much. She'd overheard Springtide complain about the fact that they already had brought in 'the first cut' and she as a result couldn't offer Brenda some fresh, tender goodness from their meadows. The next quality pasture was over a mile away after all. Almost immediately some stallion she'd been talking to offered to take care of that in reply.

Now she was watching the sweating, muddy-blue pony with an almost white mane drag in a large zinc-tub full of even more food. Seeing her sitting there startled him and he dropped the tub with a metallic thud. He stared at her for maybe five seconds before he rallied himself and pushed the tub into place with his forehead. “Good morning!” he exclaimed after standing upright again. “I, uh, hadn't expected to meet you before everybody else.”

She noticed him trying to steal a glance at her flank in the brief, awkward pause that followed. “Uh... hi.” All of a sudden she was painfully aware of her battered appearance and looked down at her chipped hooves. “I'm Brenda.”

He cleared his throat. “I know! I mean, sorry Brenda. Salt Marsh, at your service!” With a hopeful smile he held out a hoof.

If there was anything she wanted to avoid, it was coming across as rude or aloof. She forced herself to make eye contact and took the few steps over to bump hooves. That done she felt better; nobody here was out to hurt her after all. She turned a little sideways before sitting down again so that he would be able to see her mark and be done with it. No need to make this any more awkward.

As expected, he gaped at her before he snapped his mouth shut and went back to work without further comment. Now that was rude, but she couldn't really blame him, freak that she was.

As opposed to the leisurely pace from before, the stallion's movements were crisp and efficient when he brought in the rest of the containers in short succession. Two of the four were filled with tender grass, one with a multitude of herbs. One even contained watercress, wherever he found so much of the latter. Everything was meticulously washed and sorted. A fond smile worked its way onto her lips at the memory of egg and watercress sandwiches. Please let those somehow still exist.

When she looked up again he gave her a proud nod and a flourish with a hoof. She swallowed, partly out of nervousness, but even more because she was salivating like Freya used to do when presented with some ripe apples. Oh god. She hoped the latter wasn't too obvious. Who was she kidding? She felt herself blush.

She'd seen in the mirror that she could blush through fur. Or that the fur could change colour. Whichever it was, it was ridiculous. It was also unfair; normal horses didn't have to deal with this! Maybe the pony in front of her did, but he was looking anything but ashamed, quite the opposite in fact. She hurried to return the nod and mumbled “Thank you, that looks wonderful.”

He beamed with pride. “My pleasure!” He bowed, turned elegantly on his hindhooves alone and walked out the entrance, head held high and neck arched. She wondered what she'd just done. If she even did anything. Where had her ears pointed? Did she keep eye contact or not? How had she held herself? Did anything of that have any meaning for these people? She went back to her spot at the wall and sat down with a little thump. She was not looking forward to this evening.

A short while later, a sea green head peeked around the corner of the doorway that lead to the former hotel kitchen “Hello there Brenda, are you standing guard?” the mare inquired with a chuckle. “How are you? Salt told me you acknowledged him and approve of his work. And that you even let him see your mark.” She grinned. “Fine stallion that one.”

“I'm fine, m- Springtide. I've got nothing else– wait, what?!” Judging by the mare's lopsided smile she was blushing again. She felt her ears splay back. “You don't want me to go out and I'm trying to stay out of the way! But I'll die of boredom if I sit in our room all day! And... And no!”

Springtide's expression softened. “I'm sorry dear, just teasing. I stand by my comment about Salt though.” The mare held up a hoof when she started to protest. “Without the innuendo. Anyway. I know you feel superfluous but that's going to change after today, don't you worry.”

She slumped a little. “You think Dawn would mind me waiting in his study? He's got a lot of books, hasn't he?”

“I'm sure he won't mind, Brenda.” With that she hurried out of the room.

Stairs weren't on the list of things she'd tried to master in her new body yet and they proved a lot more difficult than anticipated. At least nobody was around to notice her stumbling and almost fall on the first step. Stairs were hard and she was already getting nervous about going down again. She didn't want to look stupid on top of everything else. She'd seen Dawn canter down here, even without using his wings to keep his balance. In the end she made it up there, even without bruises.

Dawn's study was fascinating. The free wall-space was covered in lists and drawings. A map of Stromness with a multitude of coloured markings lay on the large desk and a pile of what looked like schedules sat beside it. Mouthwritten in pencil, she had to remind herself in amazement at the clear and concise lettering. The script on the more elaborate documents pinned to the wood panelling resembled calligraphy, done in flowing movements. Could he write with inked wingtips?

Large metal office cabinets took up two of the walls, fastened in a way that allowed for air circulation all around them. When she opened one of them she found that it contained a huge collection of maps: land ranger, topographical and geological maps covering all of Orkney and the northern Scottish mainland. Even soil survey charts and detailed climate diagrams.

The cabinet was lined with smooth, synthetic black cloth, double layered on the inside of the door. She presumed this was done to block out even the faintest amount of light that might slip through the narrow gaps when closed.

She realized the contents had to be worth their weight in gold, at least if gold still had the same value. Doubtful. Maybe their weight in metal tools? The thought somehow appealed to her. Steel tools. She shook her head at the notion; where'd that come from?

Behind the next double door she found a collection of naval charts. Charts of the North Sea, a small part of the north Atlantic and a whole lot of the Scottish coastal waters. Even northern Ireland. Then there were tide calendars. Tidal currents overviews. Port infrastructure and shipping lanes. A history of shipwrecks in the Pentland firth from 1792 to 2011. Records of locations where remains washed ashore and overviews over the type of debris. Lifeboat service reports.

The remaining third of the cabinet's contents consisted of more literature on ship building, yachting, boat maintenance and navigation than she'd ever seen in one place. Why on earth did a town of horses need all this? They weren't seafaring, were they? It was mystifying. She'd have to ask Dawn about the meaning behind all this and why he would preserve these items with such care.

In the next one there were books and scientific publications on agriculture, land management and soil science. Thesis collections around similar themes. Technical manuals and guidebooks on everything from food preservation to metal working. Entry level textbooks on equine anatomy and veterinary practice. There were even a few texts on prehistoric tools.

Somebody had raided the council and harbour offices and public libraries in Kirkwall and Stromness. The scientific library in the UHI Agricultural College close by had been next. Everything even remotely useful to preserve a simple civilization was here, maybe to even build one from scratch. Except for the naval stuff of course. That was just weird.

There was a tightness in her chest that grew ever more persistent the longer she scanned the little library. Finally she realized what she was searching for and her eyes flicked back up to the scientific journals. Licking her dry lips she examined the thin spines. There it was, the last edition of 'Agricultural Ecology' from April 2015. She stared at it for several seconds, then rushed to cross-reference with the lifeboat reports. The last document in the orange folder showed the date 21st May 2015, barely legible on the yellowed paper.

Ten minutes later she sat down on her haunches and let out a deep breath, staring at the wall of evidence before her. The dates on library markings or official stamps ran up to the 22nd, but in no case beyond that point. Yet the collection could not have been put together while the institutions its contents originated from were staffed - and who would steal the publicly available parts anyway?

The world had ended on May 23rd 2015. Just not for everyone, that much was obvious. Then why for her?!

She almost kicked the cabinet closed, yet she caught herself at the last moment. Instead, she shut the door with the underside of a shaking hoof, the lock giving only a quiet click. She took a deep breath to calm herself, to force back the tears she could feel coming. What was today's date anyway? She never thought to ask up until now. Had they even continued to count the days like this or was there a new calendar?

She tried to remind herself about her resolution not to try and understand what had transpired. After looking through Dawn's little library though, keeping that resolution would be hard. She stomped a hoof. Where was her happy other part when she needed it, the one that couldn't care less? “Horseshit,” she muttered while walking over to the window that looked out over the street down to the harbour. Dawn's heather green brother was trotting by down there. He looked irritated.

After a few minutes of listless pony spotting she heard hoofsteps on the stairs. Despite everything, she found herself smiling at the fact that she recognized Springtide by her gait alone. The mare was carrying the enamel carafe and drinking bowl from their room in her mouth.

“Sorry about that whole staying indoors the last two days,” she said after putting the two things on the floor. “It's Dawn. He needs to handle this in his own way; he's lost quite a bit of sleep over you. It's that mark of yours.” She sighed. “Well, you probably guessed that.”

She looked back at her flank. It was still there. Of course it was still there, why wouldn't it be? Because it weirded her out and felt reassuring at the same time and it didn't make sense. “He has? But what's... I mean I kinda was quite fond...” she trailed off, biting her lower lip. How on earth should she go about talking about that? She looked at her mark again, this time with suspicion.

Springtide was saying something. “...only one who has one. There's only ever been one other and that was his father.”

There was a knot forming in her stomach. The thought that she was unique and that they'd want to know where she was from and where her mark came from hadn't crossed her mind up until now. She was afraid that 'I have no idea about both things' wouldn't cut it. She'd look as if she were withholding something. Lying to them. She'd lose all their trust! And... and Springtide was giving her a curious look and waiting for an answer. “Sorry. I didn't know,” she said in a small voice.

“Of course you didn't. Scapa, my mate, died in early summer this year. He had wings like Dawn, but he also had a mark like you have. It was a pair of saddlebags. If he ever figured out if it meant something he kept it to himself.” The green mare gave her a sad little smile. “He didn't like to talk about where he came from or anything of the past really.” Her face lit up with a smile. “You, on the other hoof, are from Kirkwall. No mystery about that!”

A sudden realization hit her: this would be brought up later today for sure. In front of everyone. And everybody would freak out if she told them the truth! Or declare her crazy. She was a real bad liar and she'd need to spin a convincing tale without obvious gaps. There was no way she was able to pull that off. If there was anyone she could confide in it had to be the mare in front of her, and it had to happen now.

“Uh... about that,” she began. Her mouth went dry. Springtide wouldn't freak out. Not her. At least maybe only a little, and then she'd protect her again. She took a deep and shaky breath. “Springt-” No. Wrong. Not for this. “Mum, I-”

Springtide held up a hoof with a warm smile. “No need to talk about that to every single one of us separately. Save your story for our get together, otherwise you'll just have to tell it twenty times over.”

“No that's not a problem! I mean-”

“Oh and I've already told Dawn not to treat you like a walking mark. He hates being treated as a pair of wings, if you know what I mean. I think he got it. Just bear with him please.”

“Thank you, I will! Please, it's just that-”

The green mare sniffed the air and her expression changed to one of urgency. “I need to get back to my bread or it'll burn! Sorry, I'll be all ears for you later. Promise.” She gave her a kind smile and hurried down the stairs.

“Oh. Okay,” she mumbled to the empty air in defeat.

With a final shake of her head she tore her gaze away from the spot Springtide had occupied seconds ago and tried to remember why she'd come here in the first place. That was it, some light-hearted reading. Something to take her mind off of the mystery and not to submerge herself in it. Right. Everything would turn out alright. Distraction.

A smaller cabinet furthest away from the desk finally yielded what she was looking for. The first thing she saw when she opened it was a black hardcover with DON'T PANIC imprinted on its spine in big, friendly letters. Exactly what she needed right now. “Talk about improbability,” she mused with a weak little smile. She blinked the moisture in the corners of her eyes away and settled down for some much needed relaxation.

Two frustrating hours later she already felt intense envy towards the pegasus. As if her un-alleviated nervousness wasn't enough. Everything in the little office was put in place with an extra pair of nimble appendages in mind. Appendages that eliminated the need to use one's mouth for everything.

Removing a book from a packed shelf proved difficult. This wasn't a plastic folder, so teeth weren't an option. On the other, well, hoof, using the tip of a hoof with enough care to not damage the precious item was an arduous process. Luckily there was a bowl filled with fresh hay on the desk. She used it to make certain the book wouldn't fall onto the hard floor in case she didn't catch it when it finally came loose.

She found that, for people who were bound to spent most of the daylight hours working, reading fiction had to be a luxury. It took forever to even get started; it took tools. Tools!

She lay on her belly with the book flat before her. Propping it up against the shelf would have made for more comfortable reading, but then she'd have the wrong angle to turn the page with the ruler between her lips. Holding the pages down on each side without crumpling them required great care and clean hooves. It was slow going. Real slow. At least the fur on her forelegs did a passable job of alleviating the latter problem. Still.

She'd get better with practice of course, but right now turning and 'preparing' a page took almost as long as reading one. With a defeated sigh she placed the ruler between the pages as a bookmark and let herself roll onto her side, stretching out her legs. She was just about to doze off when she was startled awake again by a familiar male voice from below.

“Brenda? You still up there?” A moment later Dawn appeared at the top of the stairs and looked around the room. Taking in the scene before him, a broad smile spread across his muzzle. “You can read! And you like to read actual literature? Not just 'useful' things?” He sounded genuinely happy, as if he'd just found something precious and endearing.

She blinked a few times and looked up, about to ask why the hell he'd assumed her to be illiterate. Her snide remark died on her lips when she saw his expression though, that smile was just too warm and infectious. And of course he'd assume that. Why wouldn't he? It wasn't as if there still were a lot of schools in Kirkwall. She couldn't help but return the smile, no matter how frustrated she'd been just a little before. “Yes, I do. This one here is actually one of my all time favourites.”

He looked positively giddy at the reply. “Finally someone! Love that one too, even if I don't get most of the references there have to be in there. I have a lot of fiction stashed away!” He sighed. “Never have the time to read them though. But you could and then you can tell me what I should give a try!” He was grinning and close to prancing in place as it looked.

The stallion's antics reminded her of a foal at Christmas and she couldn't help but laugh. Wait. A child at Christmas. A child. She'd never seen a foal sitting in front of a Christmas tree. Well, she had, but that had been in a stable and without glittery decorations and only a bunch of carrots under it. Also, children usually didn't gnaw on the branches. Well, except her nephew. He was an adorable little colt who could be forgiven for something like that though. “Hnngg!” she shook her head, grimacing.

“Brenda, are you alright?” Dawn asked carefully.

“What? Yes! Was just distracted, I mean, thought about something. Sorry. Eh, fiction stuff. You know Terry Pratchett?”

“Sure do! I think I've got most...,” he trailed of. A puzzled expression crossed his face and he cocked his head. “Where'd you find those in Kirkwall?” His eyes lit up. “Is there an intact library I don't know about?!” The giddiness was back. “Who taught you how to read?” He looked as if he was about to burst with excited curiosity.

She gulped. If she was prepared to trust Springtide, she could trust Dawn to not freak out, couldn't she? Only one way to find out. Still better than having a whole group freak out! She took a deep breath. “Uh, there... there's something you-”

“Dawn?” a male voice called out from the lobby.

Dawn rolled his eyes. “Moor? What is it?”

“Could you please join me down here? Apparently we have a roster conflict.” The sour expression on the speaker's face was audible. “Your usual diligence appears to have suffered under recent events.”

“Ah damn. Just what I need right now.” He sighed. “I think mother will be done baking soon; then we can get to the nice part of the day and finally sit down together. Been looking forward to it all week.” A warm smile touched his muzzle before he looked to the heavens with a heartfelt sigh and replied to the stallion downstairs. “I messed up the scheduling?”

“You could say that, dear brother.”

“Dawn?” she tried, holding up an angled foreleg and with her ears splayed half back, half sideways.

“Sorry Brenda.” He gave her an apologetic shrug with his wings. “Have to run. I want this out of the way before dinner or I won't be able to enjoy it as much as I should. I'll be all ears then, after all it's your day today! See you later!” He turned and disappeared down the stairs, leaving her so sit alone in his study.