It was where it had always been; six sides of mahogany untouched by time, and therefore an oasis. She reached out, cautious and scared — desperately wanting to dispel the mist and fog from her body, but aware of the terrible ache it held at bay. Sliding the lid loose, she took the closest item lightly in her hooves and exhaled. It felt cold and distant, and she held it close — nurturing it; urging it to bloom.

And, slowly, it did.

A Horseshoe: rusted, with lucky properties (unproven)

It was my very first flying lesson, and I was absolutely terrified. You knew that, of course.

Not that these wings hadn’t touched the clouds and chill air before. I had already, albeit hesitantly, braved the open skies once or twice. But this time — this time was different.

You were watching, for a start. Well, more than watching, actually. You were my guide and my mentor and my — what did you call it? — wingpony all rolled into one. You were the teacher, and suddenly I was a little filly again, gazing up with wonder and respect and awe at somepony who knew so very much about a subject I understood so little. I mean, we’ve all had those silly crushes right? Well, I had one then. You’d have never known it at the time but I was far more afraid of disappointing you than crashing into a tree or the ground.

Do you know that it scares me? Even now, years later, it scares me that I’m going to always see a different sky to you. Does that make sense? I mean, I love how you talk about yours — the freedom and the endless adventures; the ocean above threatening to swallow you whole, yet which still bends to your will and desires. It all sounds so breathtaking, and when I close my eyes and imagine it, it’s beautiful. I see the brightest blue — forever unblemished and pure.

I can imagine it, but it scares me that I might never understand it. I think that’s what keeps me so grounded for the most part when I’m with you. It’s a secret I have no desire to uncover, for what changes it would bring to our horizon.

But I’m digressing.

It was my very first flying lesson, and it was the day that I knew for sure you were a liar.

It might have been at the beginning. When you thought I couldn’t see you rolling your eyes and snickering as I twisted and contorted my body in some vague parody of your own, before telling me that it was a pretty good warm-up stretch, for a newbie. Or when you so casually told me that you too spent most of your first day of training picking branches from your mane and hay from your mouth. My face burned with embarrassment, but I appreciated your words.

It might have been when you pulled out your lucky horseshoe and told me how special and important it was to you — that it had been passed down through your family for generations, granting each wearer a safe and, more importantly, awesome flight. And that, at the end of the day, didn’t the Dash family lay claim to the most awesome flyers in all of Equestria?

It didn’t fit — of course it didn’t. Your forelegs and hooves are strong and athletic; mine slender and shaped from a life of study. But you tied it on using some ivy, and neither of us commented on how your forelegs trembled as you did so.

I still don’t know whether it brought me luck — after all, you refused to let me carry out the necessary tests after practice — but I do know that it worked. I was so distracted on keeping it safe and secure that I didn’t notice how high we were flying, and I remember following your instructions distractedly, without analysis.

It was the first time I had flown in your sky, and I felt safe.

It might have been then that I knew, or perhaps when you placed your hooves so gently around my barrel to guide me home. It might have been then that I realised there was a gentle and sensitive pony sitting within her brash and cocky kingdom, waiting for her existence to not be denied. But it wasn’t.

No, it was after we had landed — my legs like jelly — that I knew.

It was when you didn’t ask me for your horseshoe back.

Bookmarks (assorted colours)

In the amber evening we sit as one.
A sprawl of questing limbs and muted affirmations,
hooves crackling against pages; our lungs teasing air.
Charcoal mirages, brought into relief by the fire.

The nervous columns sing like sirens to you.
I feel your muscles tense and shift, as though
you’ve realised the wind has changed, despite
crystal and lidded eyes muting the call.

I think I envy you that.

You change your position and focus.
A blue bookmark becomes red; you always
have so many. Reading like you live, passion
unfocused and bright, until it’s spent.

I love these nights, because at last you are still, and
every time it feels like it’s the first time
I can keep up with you.
And when you crack the air with a query,
sometimes I’m even ahead.

Library notice – Overdue book (Daring Do and the…)

There was once a young mare named Rainbow,
who borrowed a book a long time ago,
the librarian would whine,
and then issue a fine,
paid by a kiss on a cheek set aglow.

She found herself blinking as she placed the item back inside the box, surprised at how visceral some of the memories still were, yet how out of reach others remained. It was all slowly returning though — she could feel it in the trembling of her heart; the tightness of her chest. She rejoiced, and she despaired.

Ticket (+1) — Wonderbolts Academy Graduation Day

My goodness, Cloudchaser looks so radiant up there. It’s like Celestia plucked the sun from the sky and placed it upon the stage to be cheered and adored.

Sitting beside me, Rainbow Dash is wearing her smile boldly. I’m pretty sure only I can see how tight it looks. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who’s supposed to.

It should be her up there. It should be her, but instead she’s sitting beside me clutching the graduation programme and probably wondering whether she’s ever going to get another shot at this. I heard you’re supposed to pass out or drop out by the end of the fifth year; either way, your time at the academy is over.

I allow my brain to run through all those calculations and permutations already etched deeply upon it, and now little more than reflexive thought, hoping again to find some missing part of the equation or a new perspective. It’s always the same though; the only conclusion to be found is the one I don’t want to accept.

That maybe even being the very best just isn’t good enough.

Not enough flight time, they had told her in the final debrief. Not enough hours on the clock. I watch Cloudchaser now as she accepts the diploma with shaking hooves and wonder how many hours more she’s put in — how many more she had available from not having other burdens.

Like bearing an element of harmony, and all that comes with it.

Is it my fault then? Oh, what if it is my fault? No, surely she’d have said something if she thought that — Rainbow's a pony who speaks her mind.

Isn’t she?

I should ask her — of course I should. I should ask her right now. Oh, but what if she—

Her hoof is suddenly squeezing mine as if she knows — as if she has seen how tight my smile looks — and I remember to start breathing again.

As Cloudchaser swoops down from the stage the seated ponies cheer loudly. Rainbow joins them — whooping and hollering and punching the air with her free foreleg; a little too loudly; a little too bright.

I’m so proud of you, Rainbow Dash.

Her foreleg trembles suddenly; violently. It lasts but a moment — only until she shifts position — but I recognise it for what it is. I gently squeeze her hoof, and she turns to look at me with half-guarded, uncertain eyes; a request to take her secret, and keep it.

I will, Dash. I’ll take it to my grave.

Brayton rock (peppermint)

Bubble helixes angrily escape the false sky,
disturbing lazy lines of the pier, broken to form generous routes.
Bled of colours and perspective, just
abstract bearers of cool shadows,
or perhaps a bird of prey; you joked about seeing Rocs here once.

You hang before me like a marionette dreaming.
Shoals of light pinch your body, pleading you to
twist and dance. I watch from beyond coral teeth,
lest you notice me, and that dream becomes uncertain.
Salt skin breaks your walls so easily.

We become willing slivers of stone,
betraying the light of the sun for azure eternity.
Where verdant Scylla, fish pecked and current-bent,
court our legs and tails. You reach out — keep reaching,
for a ghost of the past given form and detail.
Just one more meter; your mantra. One more meter
closer to the finish line.

My pepper-kissed chest contorts, becoming embers
that keep limbs moving against the siren call.
You are a kelp-buried anchor, but I pull you free,
and we are snapped up into fragmenting light,
like the first time we flew as one;
the sky a white ripple above us.

Glass breaths chase birds from the beach. Our bodies feel tight;
sodium dusted feathers and stone scratched skin.
A stick of rock offered as an apology; jade curves of
peppermint pushing down, centimetre by centimetre.

On the train home we sit and pick sand from each other’s wings.
Because sand gets everywhere.

A photograph of a rainbow in the night sky

Well settle down then, if you want me to tell you the story.

It’s a short one, but quite sweet — as the short ones often are — and perhaps it will help you understand.

A long, long time ago there lived a pegasus by the name of Rainbow Dash. She was a bold, daring and courageous pony, and it was said that once she set her mind to something she never gave up until she achieved her goal.

One day, Rainbow Dash decided she wanted to the win the heart of the princess of a very special kingdom. The princess was an old friend but, as time passed by, Rainbow Dash had started to become aware of stronger feelings tugging at her heart. But for the first time in her life — not that she would ever admit it of course — Rainbow Dash doubted. She was the fastest, strongest and bravest of all the ponies in Equestria, but were those assets things that the princess would appreciate?

No, she decided. The princess was an egghead — somepony obsessed with books and learning and stars. She would need to do something that also appealed to her interests.

Flying to the balcony of the princess’s castle, Rainbow Dash proclaimed the gift in advance, excited to share the sheer awesomeness of her plan.

“Fairest princess,” she declared. “I shall steal the brightest star from the night sky, for only that will be as hot and bright as my love for you.”

Before the princess could reply, Rainbow Dash launched herself into the cool, night sky. She pushed towards the brightest star, feeling her wings snap in rapid bursts, again and again. Minutes passed, but the star remained out of reach, and she paused to catch her breath.

“I must keep trying,” she panted. “For I cannot return to the fair princess without an awesome and fitting token of my love.”

So she pushed herself on again, and again. She cut through the air like the truest arrow ever launched from a bow. She drove her body onward until her skin burned and her lungs turned to brittle glass, but the star kept its distance from her with a patience that mocked.

She eventually paused on a cloud to rest her sore wings.

“What am I going to do?” she asked the moon desperately. “That stupid star keeps running from me, and without it how is the princess going to know how much I love her?”

Summoning her remaining strength, Rainbow Dash kicked into the sky for one final attempt. She pushed her body more than she had ever pushed it before — her wings grew numb as they blurred and lost shape; her throat snapped from the chill altitude; her vision swam from exhaustion and lightning jumped down her spine. It was coming, she realised, and she hoped it would be enough.

It sounded as though the sky was being torn apart — a terrific crack that slapped at her eyes and left a mute ringing in her ears, and a wet tickle on her cheeks. Out of the corners of her eyes she saw a swirl of rainbows spiralling outwards across the night sky. She closed her eyes, reaching out desperately.

When she felt nothing, she opened them again. The star was still too far away, and as she fell back through the colours her heart broke. But Rainbow Dash was a proud pony. She hated defeat, but she wouldn’t run and hide from it. Tired and sore, she returned to the castle where the princess was waiting.

“I’m sorry,” she lamented, landing on the balcony. “I wanted to bring you the brightest thing in the sky. A gift that you’d appreciate, but one that showed my awesomeness too.”

To her surprise the princess laughed.

“Oh, Rainbow Dash. Your determination to make me happy would have been gift enough, but did you not look around you as you flew? You did give me the brightest thing in the sky.”

Rainbow Dash followed the line of her foreleg and saw the last fading remnants of the rainboom churn and roil out of existence. And, as the colours fell, her heart soared.

She wasn’t even aware she had picked the letter up, but now that she held it in her hooves the gravity of the hazy scrawl was unavoidable. The road was jagged and tough, but until now it had lacked definition and shape. Now the harsh reality was visible once again, but she felt lighter for it, though it still felt too soon.

It always feels too soon.