Scootaloo didn't like Hearth's Warming Eve. She knew it was often a time of joy, a time of friendship and togetherness, for other ponies. Sweetie Belle spoke for hours about the extravagant feast her older sister prepared, the hot chocolate they drank before the fire, and the reading of beloved Hearth's Warming classics. Apple Bloom enjoyed long conversations with Big Macintosh, presents from Granny Smith, and delicious home-cooked sweets from Applejack. But Scootaloo had never experienced any of those things. For the orange pegasus, Hearth's Warming Eve consisted of a single present from Rainbow Dash, being left alone by her drunk mother, and writing a letter to her father that she knew would not be answered until late next year. Scootaloo had been denied that coveted family togetherness and sense of affection since she was a foal and, even though she was used to it, it still hurt.

This year was even worse than the others. Although Scootaloo detested the holiday, her meeting with Rainbow Dash provided a tiny ray of sunshine. A very short frame of time, less than ten minutes, in which the rainbow-maned pegasus presented her with a gift box and watched the excited filly open it. Scootaloo did not care that this moment ended with Rainbow Dash departing Ponyville to spend Hearth's Warming Eve with her family. But this year, she did not even have Rainbow Dash's smile to look forward to. On the morning of Hearth's Warming Eve, she awakened to find a letter in her mailbox. The letter was from Rainbow Dash, informing her that she had had to rush away from Ponyville sooner than she expected due to an illness in the family. She had been kind enough to leave a present at Scootaloo's doorstep, but it wasn't the same.

Her eyes filling with tears, Scootaloo seized the present Rainbow Dash had left for her. Scootaloo stared at the package as if it had wronged her in some way. She didn't even want to open it. Whatever was in this measly box, it could not make up for the agony of her broken heart. She did not blame Rainbow Dash for her misery. She blamed herself for being naive enough to assume every year would grant her that small mercy she craved. With a miserable sigh, Scootaloo slipped the box into her saddlebag.

You're on your own, kid, she thought sadly.

Her mother was away at some party, most likely hitting on stallions three times younger than her. Everypony else was probably with their family. As downtrodden as Scootaloo was, she didn't want to intrude on anypony's happiness. Deciding she couldn't bear staying home, Scootaloo visited the bedroom and then the kitchen to pack her saddlebags. She then left the house, abandoning her scooter for the time being. She just wanted to…...walk. Clear her head a bit and attempt to sort out her emotions.

Ponyville wasn't very crowded. There was the occasional intoxicated pony in the street or fillies singing carols, but otherwise Scootaloo was one of the few outside. The majority of the citizens had either gone to Canterlot to watch the traditional Hearth's Warming Eve play or had chosen to stay at home with their families. Most of the businesses were closed. However, Sugarcube Corner appeared to be open. Cupcake-shaped lights were strung from the roof and two immense gingerbread ponies stood “guard” at either side of the entrance.

Scootaloo glanced at the gingerbread ponies as she passed. She could have sworn the aroma drifting from them indicated they were made out of actual gingerbread, but that was impossible. A little bemused regardless, she paused as she stepped over the threshold. The shop had been decorated extensively for the holidays. Scootaloo stood in the middle of several plastic snowponies, an immense display of gingerbread houses, and several fiberglass candy canes. The entire shop smelled as if it had been dipped in hot chocolate. There was even a long red and white carpet leading from the doorway to the counter. Scootaloo followed the carpet, impressed by the lengths the Cakes had gone to for Hearth's Warming Eve. She stood before the counter and rang the bell, which had been painted a cheery emerald.

Mrs. Cake appeared after a moment, humming a traditional Hearth's Warming Eve carol and balancing a cake box on her head. At the counter, she slid the box off her head and placed it aside.

“Good morning, Scootaloo!” she greeted the filly cheerfully. “What can I get for you? We have a nice selection of seasonal cupcakes you might want to try. Or would you like a dozen peppermint cookies? They're very popular around this time of year!”

Scootaloo opened her mouth to reply, her heart soaring for one brief moment. She had never eaten “seasonal” cupcakes before, and those peppermint cookies sounded delicious. However, she realized that she did not have any bits. She had already spent the few bits she had made delivering newspapers on a present for Rainbow Dash. Her mother had either taken or hidden all of the other money in the house. And holidays or not, Scootaloo doubted she'd be able to pay for cupcakes with tomato and peanut butter sandwiches.

“I...I was looking for Pinkie Pie,” Scootaloo lied hastily. “Is she around?”

Mrs. Cake shook her head, appearing sympathetic.

“Oh dear,” she replied. “Didn't Pinkie Pie tell you? She went to spend the holidays with her family. I think the Apples went with her.”

Scootaloo recalled Apple Bloom talking about the Apples and the Pies spending the holidays together. Her heart clenched at the realization that, even if she wanted to visit Apple Bloom, she could not. She also couldn't be certain, but she thought Sweetie Belle and Rarity had left with their parents to visit relatives on the other side of Equestria. Hearth's Warming Eve seemed determined to take everypony she cared about away from her in some way or another.

Mrs. Cake studied the young pony's face. She wasn't even remotely close to Scootaloo, but she knew how highly the orange pegasus thought of Rainbow Dash. Knowing that Rainbow Dash had left Ponyville for the holidays, Mrs. Cake wondered if Scootaloo was lonely. Surely she must have somepony to spend Hearth's Warming Eve with.

“Um...dear…,” she uttered reluctantly. “If you don't mind me asking, where are your parents? Are they waiting outside?”

Scootaloo ignored the question. She forced a smile on her face, the corners of her mouth not quite up to it.

“So Pinkie Pie's not here?” she uttered. “That's a shame. Well, I'll see you later, Mrs. Cake. Happy Hearth's Warming!”

Mrs. Cake raised her eyebrows at the phony cheerfulness. Years of being around Pinkie Pie had made her an expert in detecting false happiness. Her motherly instincts stirred, urging her to reach across the counter and stroke Scootaloo's mane. But she restrained herself and did not ask any questions, deciding it was none of her business. However, Mrs. Cake seized the box she had laid aside and slid it across the counter to Scootaloo.

“Here you go, dear,” she offered, smiling warmly. “A dozen peppermint cookies, on the house!”

Surprised, Scootaloo took the offered box and stared at it. She had never tasted cookies fresh out of the oven before. Her mother wasn't much of a baker and neither was she.

“Are...are you sure, Mrs. Cake?” she inquired, hesitating.

Mrs. Cake nodded. She was content to see a genuine smile on Scootaloo's face as she regarded the gift.

“Thanks!” Scootaloo uttered, placing the box on her back.

Mrs. Cake waved to the orange pegasus, wishing her a happy Hearth's Warming as she departed.

Scootaloo chose a secluded spot between two cottages for her little picnic. Granted, the fare was a bit too scarce to constitute an actual “picnic”. Nevertheless, she unwrapped the two sandwiches she had brought and placed the box of cookies on the ground beside them. Scootaloo frowned at the unappetizing sandwiches. Deciding to ignore proper dining procedure, Scootaloo flipped open the box of cookies first. A truly wonderful scent flowed into her nostrils. She eagerly seized a cookie from the middle and bit into it. A single bite was enough to distract her from all that had gone wrong that day.

A small thud made Scootaloo whirl around. She dropped the half-eaten cookie back into the box, her fur standing on end. She spread her wings, a common pegasus gesture of aggression. She knew she wasn't a very threatening figure, but Rainbow Dash had taught her that confidence mattered more than power.

“Whose there?” she demanded, her voice strong and threatening.

She squinted as a creature bigger than her, but no larger than the average full-grown pony, detached itself from the darkness. This was no easy task, as the blackness clung to this equally dark creature, leaving it practically invisible. The creature seemed to materialize out of thin air, a body forming around its glowing blue eyes.

Scootaloo recoiled in fear. She had seen pictures of these creatures in books, heard about them from Rainbow Dash, and been tormented by them in some of her worst nightmares. But none of these were equal to seeing one before her. A real, honest-to-Celestia changeling. Dropping her fabricated bravado, Scootaloo backed away from the terrifying creature. It did not advance towards her, but she took that as a sign it was preparing an attack. Breathing heavily in her panic, Scootaloo took another hasty step back. Her hoof came down on the saddlebag she had laid decide. The ground was abruptly yanked out from underneath her as she stumbled backward, her hooves flailing desperately in the air. She landed unceremoniously on her back, waving her hooves like an insect.

Rainbow Dash, help me! she thought desperately.

But she knew her thoughts would never reach her pegasus friend. She was too scared to even scream for help as she watched the changeling approach. She was convinced this was the end for her. It was such an ironic, horrible end. Killed by a changeling on Hearth's Warming Eve. She wondered how long it would be before somepony found her body. She wondered if her mother would mourn her and if her father would attend her funeral. Scootaloo closed her eyes, whimpering in fear. She waited for a flash of emerald light, followed by the nothingness of death.

The changeling looked down at the trembling filly, blinking. She looked ridiculous, like an ant or a beetle that had fallen. The changeling wondered if she was ever going to get up, or if perhaps she preferred to remain in this absurd position. It cleared its throat, choosing its words very carefully. It spoke reluctantly, in a surprisingly normal voice.

“Are...are you going to get up?” it inquired slowly.

Scootaloo opened her eyes. The sight of the changeling standing above her nearly made her shut them again automatically. She realized, after a glance at her body, that she wasn't dead. In fact, she thought the changeling appeared a bit confused. And it came to Scootaloo's attention how embarrassingly strange she must appear, lying on her back with her hooves pointed at the sky. Blushing, the orange pegasus scrambled to her hooves. She casually brushed dirt off of her fur, shooting the changeling a menacing gaze that challenged it to comment on her foolishness.

“What are you doing here?” she asked rudely.

What she was really asking was how a changeling had made it past the guards whose job it was to protect Ponyville from their kind. The last she had heard, the attack of Queen Chrysalis had put all of Equestria on edge. Ponies were being checked, sometimes randomly, at every possible interval to prevent any changelings from infiltrating any of the various cities and towns. An undisguised changeling would have been arrested before it reached the town limit.

The changeling bristled at her rudeness.

“That is my business and my business alone!” it responded pompously.

Scootaloo opened her mouth to insult the creature. She wasn't too thrilled with being told off by what she now decided was nothing more than a giant bug. A great deal of rude words perched on her tongue. But she stopped as her eyes shifted to the changeling's body. She hadn't been paying much attention to its body, her brain registering the usual physical attributes that marked it as a changeling. However, a single detail caught her attention: A large bruise on the base of its neck. As her gaze moved away from the bruise, she was startled to notice there were more. The majority of the changeling's body was covered with bruises and wounds, many of them clumsily bandaged with stained cloth. Scootaloo's eyes returned to the creature's face and she noticed its left eye was swollen shut.

“Are you...okay?” she asked carefully.

The changeling shifted uncomfortably. It moved as if one of its legs was broken, or at least injured to the point it was painful to walk.

“I...I was attacked by a pack of timberwolves,” it revealed with hesitation.

“Attacked” was too light a word. The unfortunate changeling had been ambushed and nearly torn to pieces. It took some comfort in the fact that it had obliterated one or two of the animals beyond regeneration, but this was only a miniscule comfort. Fighting creatures that could rebuild themselves minutes after being blasted apart was not pleasant.

Scootaloo reached into her dropped saddlebag and pulled out a roll of bandages. She hadn't thought she'd need them, but she had decided it was worth filling up space because she had little else she wanted to pack. Smiling in an effort to put the changeling at ease, Scootaloo offered the bandages.

“Want me to patch you up?” she asked.

The changeling stared at her, its eyes flicking from her visage to the bandages. Reluctantly, almost certain it was going to regret it, the changeling nodded.

Scootaloo knew she was obligated to report the changeling to the nearest authority, but somehow she could not convince herself this was the right course of action. It just looked so pathetic in its current state, battered and bruised to an almost horrifying degree. Despite its impolite reply to her earlier question, Scootaloo could see muffled pleading in its eyes. It must be truly out of options if it was reaching out to a pony for help. Scootaloo moved to stand beside the changeling and began carefully bandaging its wounds, cringing at the strong aroma of blood.

“Thank you,” the changeling uttered appreciatively. “I tried to visit the hospital, but the doctors and nurses chased me away.”

Scootaloo grimaced, feeling a little sympathetic. She couldn't begin to imagine what it was like to be chased away by medical professionals while in such a terrible physical state. But at the same time, she couldn't blame the doctors and nurses for their reactions. If a changeling had walked into her abode and asked for medical assistance, she probably would have chased it away as well. Frowning at the sad irony, Scootaloo peeled away a layer of the filthy cloth. The cloth itself smelled rancid and the wound it was concealing was not at all pleasant.

“What's your name?” Scootaloo asked, trying to distract herself from the sight. “I'm Scootaloo.”

The changeling thought for a moment. Then it shook its head, appearing somewhat apologetic.

“Changelings don't have names,” it explained. “We are born to serve the Queen until we die. There is no need for identification when we are all exactly alike. Unlike ponies, we have but one single purpose in life.”

Scootaloo reflected on the little she knew about changelings. It occurred to her that nopony, even Twilight Sparkle, seemed to know a lot about the creatures. Most of the information came down to basic facts about their anatomy. Scootaloo had never had cause to complain, but now she realized it was unfortunate ponies had such meager interest in changelings.

“How about I call you….Peppermint?” she suggested.

The changeling appeared skeptical, perhaps a little suspicious.

“What is a….peppermint?” it inquired tentatively.

It thought the word might be another anti-Changeling slur. It had already heard “bug”, “pest”, and “love-sucker”, the last of them often shortened to “lucker”.

Scootaloo tried to explain as best she could. However, she made a few discoveries that complicated matters. First of all, Changelings apparently knew nothing about the existence of “candy”. Nor did they possess a distinction between “sweet” and “sour”. Taste appeared to be a foreign concept to them. What little Scootaloo managed to get across didn't make a difference.

“So it...is not something offensive?” the changeling surmised.

Scootaloo decided it was best to leave it at that vague explanation.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked, changing the subject. “Shouldn't you be at your hive?”

Peppermint hesitated. One of the first things changelings are taught is that betrayal is an inclination of any sentient race. Regardless, this peculiar equine species appeared to be different. Capable of building and maintaining close bonds, perhaps untouched by the fear of a literal spear in one's back when their share of the meal was desired. Seizing this thought, Peppermint made a decision its brethren would have deemed foolish.

“I heard talk of this being some kind of pony holiday,” the changeling admitted cautiously. “Others of my kind scoff at such things, but I was curious. Queen Chrysalis holds nothing but contempt for your equine traditions and morals. However, there is much love in the air and I have not eaten in nearly a month.”

The word “eaten” caused a slight quiver to dart across the filly's spine. Scootaloo knew the precise qualifications of a “meal” for changelings. Her hooves nearly left the changeling's body entirely in her sudden revulsion. But she continued, gently pressing a fresh layer of bandages over the red-stained flesh.

“Why haven't you eaten?” she inquired curiously.

Peppermint uttered a rueful sigh at the query.

“I failed to compliment my glorious queen, therefore I was rightfully punished,” it explained. “I was denied the fruits of our latest harvest.”

Scootaloo winced, detesting the cruelty of changelings. Attempting to bury her thoughts, she pursued the more innocent side of Peppermint's revelation.

“Your Queen sounds a little stuck-up,” Scootaloo observed. “Does she demand you compliment her every day?”

Peppermint sighed and nodded. It cringed, both due to pain and due to its recollections of other changelings who had been punished for the same crime. He was lucky to have just been denied food. He had heard unnerving accounts of changelings banished from the hive, isolated in unfamiliar portions of Equestria and left to be found by ponies. He did not dare imagine what had become of those unfortunates.

Finally, Scootaloo backed away from the changeling. She admired her work, her eyes drifting across Peppermint's body. She had done an acceptable job, but she was obviously a novice in the area of medical care.

“All better!” she announced, reminding herself of Miss Cheerilee.

She glanced at the box of cookies behind her.

“Um...you want something to eat?” she offered reluctantly.

It could have been her imagination, but she thought Peppermint appeared rather scrawny in the waist area. Additionally, she thought its cheeks were a little too drawn in.

Peppermint sniffed, gazing at the box with a frown. A changeling's sense of smell is very simple. It can smell certain emotions, it can smell the difference between a pony and a changeling, but there is little more distinction. Peppermint's limited understanding of the scent told him it was most likely not something poisonous. Other than that, he could only smell what Queen Chrysalis scathingly referred to as “horse food”.

“It...it would anger my dearest Queen,” Peppermint stammered.

But it was not in the hive anymore, surrounded by thousands of drones and under the hoof of Queen Chrysalis. Technically, it was under the rule of Princess Celestia. Peppermint realized that it had perhaps found a valuable loophole. It opened its mouth, revealing an excess of saliva behind its fangs.

Scootaloo laughed. She found it amusing how Peppermint was terrified of Queen Chrysalis, whom she herself had deemed nothing more than an “overgrown fly”.

“If she asks, lie,” she advised cheerfully. “How's that insect going to find out?”

Peppermint's hooves shook, its gaze one again floating to the box. The filly was correct. His queen need never know of his blasphemy. Its confidence rising, Peppermint nodded at Scootaloo.

Scootaloo retrieved two cookies from the box. She passed the first to the changeling and kept the second for herself. She stared, rather curious, at the creature as she bit into her own cookie. She wondered if it would somehow recognize its namesake among the mingled tastes.

The cookie filled the expanding hole in Peppermint's stomach, even though the food itself tasted like air. It thought it could detect the hint of something. Peppermint suspected the pony who had made the cookies put a great deal of love into their baking. It was this feeling, this rather stale bit of adoration clinging to the food, that truly helped the changeling. Its vitality began to reemerge.

“It's...wonderful,” Peppermint sighed, its tone dreamy.

Scootaloo, who could taste the actual substance of the cookie, nodded in agreement. The sandwiches she had packed lay forgotten in her saddlebags, not the least bit mourned.

The pony and the Changeling sat down together in that secluded little area, a box of cookies between them. If somepony had stumbled across their odd pairing, they would have been quite surprised at how easily the two had taken to one another. They looked such a divergent set of creatures: The colorful equine with eyes that shined with affection and the hideous “monster” with the appearance of a deformed insect.

“Changelings don't have parents, right?” Scootaloo surmised.

The Changeling shook its head, reaching for another cookie.

“The Queen is our mother, our ruler, and our salvation,” Peppermint explained. “We are born to serve her, as her children. It is our first and only lesson.”

Scootaloo imagined a changeling, the exact size as the one before her, bursting from a cocoon and being told it existed merely to serve Queen Chrysalis.

“Couldn't you...leave?” she suggested. “Disguise yourself as a pony? Blend in with society? It's not too hard. You just have to be nice to everypony and nopony will suspect you. They might even not mind too much if they discover your identity.”

Peppermint smiled at the pony's innocence. It was what equines referred to as “a filly”, otherwise known as one who had not quite reached full maturity. Changelings had no concept of this aspect of aging. Their entire mental and physical growth cycle, which took no less than a week, occurred within their cocoon. They emerged at the peak of this cycle, grown in a cocoon and then hatched directly into servitude.

“A true changeling would never want such a life,” Peppermint replied somberly. “Would anypony desire a life constantly hidden, unable to show one's true self without fear of banishment or execution? We stay in the hive because it is where we belong. Our home, our sanctuary, our only peace in this land that belongs to ponies and griffons and dragons.”

An unexplainable feeling of guilt ignited in Scootaloo's stomach. She had been about to eat yet another cookie. Frowning, she carefully place it back in the box. Her appetite had abruptly fled.

“Talk to Princess Celestia?” Scootaloo responded, insistent. “I'm sure if you...”

Peppermint sank its fangs into the cookie it held. It closed its eyes, slowing drawing out the tiny spots of emotion from within. It slowly opened its eyes, its mind drifting from the serenity of its meal to the innocent filly before it.

“We eat meat,” it announced bluntly. “Would your princesses allow that?”

Scootaloo's defiance flared. She opened her mouth for a smug, rebellious answer, but stopped herself. She reflected on Equestria's strict policies in regards to wildlife. Scootaloo's hooves quivered slightly, her grasp on reality eating away at the childish spite. Her eyes met the changeling's with difficulty.

“You don't know anything about Princess Celestia!”” she responded, her voice almost desperate in its anger. “She's a really understanding pony!”

Peppermint smiled. Its nostrils twitched. It could smell the emotion itself from the filly. Love for her friends, unwavering love for her land. Love for a rainbow-maned pegasus she saw not as a friend, but as a sister. Peppermint inhaled slightly, coaxing the taste onto its tongue. A sample, too faint for the orange pegasus to notice.

“She might very well be,” allowed Peppermint. “But changelings and ponies have been enemies for many a century. It is a little too late for us to establish any kind of treaty, especially when our Queen is determined to avoid peace.”

Scootaloo couldn't imagine the type of ruler who'd be “determined to avoid peace”. Princess Celestia, as merciful as she was, would never see eye to eye with somepony like that. But Scootaloo could not dismiss the possibility. She felt almost as if she was obligated to give this poor changeling hope, even though she did not know if peace was something he desired.

“We made peace with the griffins and the dragons,” Scootaloo pointed out.

Peppermint sighed and hung its head, its ears folding in defeat.

“That was different,” Peppermint replied quietly. “I am not a griffin. Nor am I a dragon. I am a changeling.”

It turned away from Scootaloo, its eyes focused on something in the distance. The snow was coming down a bit harder than it had been previously. Peppermint was not used to this type of weather. It shuddered at the frosty atmosphere. It hadn't been entirely aware of the temperature during its journey. The timberwolves had driven such relevant thoughts from its mind. The Changeling sighed again, somewhat yearning for the familiarity and warmth of the Hive. But as the melancholy sound left its mouth, it felt something around its body. Peppermint turned, puzzled as something was draped over its form.

Scootaloo had retrieved a blanket from her saddlebags. It was a very worn affair, tattered in many places and showing obvious signs of having been utilized profusely over the years. Scootaloo had maintained it the best she could. But the patches she had sewn on with Sweetie Belle's aid were just barely clinging to the fabric, whilst a few of the smaller holes had gone entirely uncovered. However, it was still relatively comfortable, or so Scootaloo imagined. Smiling reassuringly, the orange filly wrapped the blanket around the quivering Changeling.

“It gets cold around this time of year,” she explained. “I guess you're not used to it.”

In an instant, the cold seemed to melt out of existence. Several years' worth of emotion, sweet memories of an unbroken family, wonderful dreams of flying and a cyan pegasus flowed into Peppermint's skin. Affection, the raw love and trust of a young filly, was embedded into this quilt. Sewn into every corner was a beautiful memory of times long past, times marked by a mother's kiss or a sweet lullaby sung in a deep baritone. The changeling nearly recoiled at the intense heat.

“Th-thank you,” Peppermint stammered, overwhelmed.

It pressed the blanket harder against itself, reveling in the warmth.

“You...love your family,” Peppermint managed, closing its eyes.

Scootaloo drew back as if struck.

“Rainbow Dash is my only family,” she replied quietly.

She attempted a careless tone of voice, but her words carried the muffled agony of missed birthdays, lonely holidays, and unread bedtime stories. The unsung and hated constants of her young life, perhaps made more tolerable by her friendships.

“You're fortunate,” Peppermint whispered, smiling miserably. “A love that deep can never be stolen or used, even by Queen Chrysalis herself.”

Scootaloo stared at the changeling, her mouth slightly ajar. Her response to his statement was gradual in its arrival. Whenever the word “fortunate” appeared in her mind, it was connected to the more basic fortunes in her life, such as the fact she was alive, relatively healthy, and of average intelligence. Yet Peppermint's words made her think that perhaps her true blessing lie not in her intelligence or her health, but in the one mare in her life who'd made her look forward to things she'd previously detested. It was quite a journey from one thought to another, but eventually a smile came to life on Scootaloo's features.

“Yeah, I guess I'm pretty lucky,” she agreed.

She regarded the changeling yet again. Peppermint was not lucky, or at least not by the conventional definition. It broke Scootaloo's own heart to imagine the gentle heart of Peppermint continuously trampled. However, this rush of empathy startled her more than any rage she had experienced.

“What..what are you going to do after you leave?” Scootaloo asked in a small voice.

For it must at some point leave, she realized with abrupt sadness. It was a changeling and she was a pony. As wonderful as their meeting had been, it could not be a permanent source of comfort for either of them. Scootaloo swallowed a lump in her throat as she realized she was never going to see Peppermint again.

Peppermint appeared bemused by the question.

“I will return to my hive,” it answered slowly. “What else can I do?”

Somehow, Scootaloo was both surprised and unsurprised by the answer. For one brief moment, before she asked that fatal query, she had forgotten who and what Peppermint was. But as she looked at it, she reminded herself that it was not like her. It could not stay in Ponyville and live a safe, happy life in equine society.

“In this cold?” Scootaloo inquired skeptically.

The weather had turned decidedly bitter. The snowflakes no longer danced silently in the gentle winter air. They thrashed about in an airborne frenzy, mercilessly jostled by an aggressive wind. The world around the changeling and the pegasus had lost much of its cold beauty in the increasing ferocity.

Peppermint shivered. It could not reasonably favor its odds of returning to the hive without incident, especially in this unforgiving weather. It thought bleakly of the timberwolves. To return home, it would have to cross their domain. Peppermint ruminated its limited options for survival.

“May I keep this?” Peppermint inquired at last.

It indicated the blanket wrapped tightly around its form.

Naturally, Scootaloo had other blankets. Newer, more comfortable ones that would have been more than welcome upon her bed. Yet, for motives beyond her reasoning, she had chosen to keep this specific blanket as if it were something of great value. The thought of abandoning it had an act that she felt would have finally torn through her fragile heart and left her a shell. However, as Scootaloo gazed into the eyes of the changeling she had befriended, her attachment to the feeble blanket waned slightly. In that brief moment, Scootaloo understood Peppermint far better than she had ever understood anypony. Nopony should be left out, she realized. Nopony should have to brave the cold alone.

“Yeah,” Scootaloo replied, nodding. “You can keep it.”

Already, a deep sense of loss was clawing its way up her throat. But as the violence of the wind increased and the snow began to descend more heavily, she steadily lost any semblance of regret. Scootaloo was pleased knowing the love she had poured into that blanket might be enough for Peppermint.

Peppermint's horn glimmered faintly as it reached past its own magic. It reached deeper than it ever had previously, into the depths of the blanket. It thrust its entire being into Scootaloo's love for Rainbow Dash, her love for her friends, her hopes, her dreams, and even the fears she'd conquered. Peppermint absorbed all of these complex emotions, drawing them out of the blanket and into its own body. It could feel its magic flourishing as it was fed memories that had grown heavy with the innocent affection of a filly. An invisible barrier of heat wrapped itself around the changeling, pushing away the frosty wind. It tossed the blanket aside rather unceremoniously as the imperceptible inferno engulfed it. A green mist began to seep from underneath the bandages. The bandages themselves melted away a second proceeding, revealing wounds that were rapidly turning to unblemished fur.

Scootaloo watched the transformation with wide eyes. She stared in wonderment as the changeling went through a hasty restoration, its injuries evaporating and a hopeful light returning to its eyes. She could feel the warmth radiating from the creature. Its body temperature easily bested any fireplace.

“Thank you,” breathed Peppermint. “You have done so much for me. You have done more than anyone, changeling or equine. I do not understand your kindness, but I will accept it. I thank you from the bottom of my heart, my dear Scootaloo. May we meet again.”

Peppermint seized the blanket in its magic, folded it with loving care, and placed it on its back. Even though it had drained much of the love from it, it wanted to hold onto the quilt. There were more practical uses for such an item. Prior to its departure, the changeling turned and once again thanked Scootaloo for her kindness.

“Take care of yourself, alright?” Scootaloo replied, grinning.

The blanket pulsated lightly at Scootaloo's words.

“And you as well!” responded Peppermint with a nod and a smile.

Rather than watch the changeling leave, Scootaloo gazed upward at the falling snow. The heat had left her quite abruptly and she was already beginning to feel the cold again. But she did not want to move. To move was to forever close this chapter of her life, this truly fascinating adventure that had come to her from the abyss of a doomed holiday.

Happy Hearth's Warming Eve, she thought, hoping the sentiment would reach the changeling.

She had lost something precious to her, yet she did not want to cry. She missed Rainbow Dash, yet she wasn't miserable. She disliked Hearth's Warming Eve, yet she was smiling.

Author's Notes:

Merry Christmas and a Happy Hearth's Warming!