Scootaloo lay in her bunk, underneath the sheet. She had her eyes wide open, though; although she was resting, she not once felt the urge to fall asleep. Her gaze was trained upwards at the ceiling where she could see a vague orange blob reflected in the metal ceiling. She raised a hoof and waved; the reflection waved back, with what looked to be a little more enthusiasm. Scootaloo smiled, and turned her head back to rest limply on the pillow.

It was several minutes of lying there later that led her to think about how uncomfortably stiff that pillow behind her head felt. Then, she remembered why. Scootaloo scooted forward on the mattress so that her head was in front of the pillow and then she spun her body around underneath the sheet so that she was nestled in a sitting position with her hooves tucked beneath her torso. She then grabbed the corner of the pillow between her teeth and tossed it backwards, landing on the other side of the bunk.

Where the pillow had sat just seconds prior was a small, black-and-white patterned composition book, much like foals would use in school to take notes and do assignments in. The front had a space where you could write in a subject or a name; it read, in very neat, black cursive, "Scootaloo".

She opened the composition book to a page where it seemed to bulge; as the pages fell open, this bulge was revealed to be a black felt-tip pen without a cap lying in the crook between the pages. Scootaloo leaned her face into the book and grasped the pen in between her teeth. Her eyes scanned the page that lay open, skipping over the thin blue lines that were marred with scribbly script on the top half of the page. No, it was on the bottom half of the page, blank but for those blue lines, that Scootaloo touched down the tip of the pen and then moved it with her mouth in gentle strokes. The lines of ink curved and snaked around into spirals and the contours of equine forms, punctuated by the occasional point or straight line. When she lifted the pen, she did it with clear intention, dropping it to move on to the next figure. Finally, upon completing the rest, Scootaloo went back and added a small symbol to each of the figures. Then, satisfied, she dropped the pen back into the crevice.

What now lay in front of her was a neat line drawing of three young fillies. On the left lay a smiling unicorn with a voluminous, spiralling mane; on the right was an earth pony, also smiling, whose mane was smaller with rounded tips. In between them, holding them together in a hug with her outstretched forelegs, was a pegasus with a shorter, more pointed mane. In contrast, her expression was sombre.

Scootaloo, looking down on the drawing she had just created, had a face to match. She let out a sigh and closed the book. It only took her a few moments to walk over to the other side of the bunk and drag the pillow back over to where her head normally lay, covering the book in the process. Then Scootaloo, with little else to do, climbed down the ladder leading down from the bunk and walked off down the hallway to the cockpit to make sure that she wasn't about to hit anything.