Tarnished Teapot found himself back at the beginning. As he returned to the camp, he thought back to the day he had been banished. He thought of his anger, his rage, he thought about his frustration; he thought about everything that had led him to that point. He thought about his later realisation on his journey that perhaps he had been a bit of a jerk and he hadn’t helped himself.

He wondered, was he helping himself now? He had allowed the stranger to get under his skin. It bothered him a great deal. He thought about Longhaul and sort of wished that the wise old wanderer and traveller of the roads of Equestria was here to give him advice, as he had once done. It felt like a lifetime ago that he had seen Longhaul, but it hadn’t been all that long ago.

Responding with rage wasn’t going to help him, wasn’t going to do him any good, and, if anything, would only make the problem worse. It was time to reign himself in, have himself a good think, and then try to do better. As he calmed down a bit, as he held the small diamond dog pup, he searched his heart, asking himself if he had done the right thing, letting the diamond dogs live. It felt like the right thing. Sure, they had done wrong, but it wasn’t his place to be judge, jury, and executioner. He wasn’t a killer. He was starting to become a healer, and in his mind, one could not be both, although he was certain that many would disagree with him.

He could see the firelight reflecting in Maud’s eyes when he returned to the camp. She looked at him, looked at his amulet, and for a moment, even though he was certain that it was only his imagination, he thought he saw disappointment in Maud’s eyes. He certainly felt disappointed with himself. Maud had made tea, which was both good and necessary.

When he reached the fire, he held up the blanketed bundle and said, “I have a puppy.”

Maud responded with a few blinks, her eyes focused on the blanket wrapped puppy that Tarnish was holding in his bright blue telekinesis, and then, turning her head, she looked Tarnish in the eye.

“You have a puppy.”

“Yes. We’ve established that.” Tarnish’s eyebrow rose as he spoke. “I think she needs food. She’s small. I am not sure what to do.”

“She killed them, didn’t she?” Maud asked.

“Now is not the time for anger,” Tarnish replied in a strained voice as he sat down beside the fire. “She’s cold and probably hungry. Trixie is in a bad way. The stranger is gone and there are more important things to focus upon.” Setting the pup down beside him, Tarnish began to fix himself a cup of tea and glanced over at Flamingo, who was circling the camp.

Moving slowly, even by her own glacial standards, Maud sat down beside Tarnish, settled on her haunches, and moving with careful caution, she picked up the pup off of the ground so she could hold it in her forelegs. There was a low snuffle from within the blankets, and then, with a yelp, the pup’s head poked out.

“She’s a little girl,” Tarnish said as he held up a tin of condensed milk and gave it a thoughtful stare. “Hmm.”

“What are you going to do with her? She’s a… a—”

“Diamond dog?” Tarnish finished without looking over at his wife. “She’s a small, helpless creature that will die if we don’t do the right thing. Sort of like Trixie. I plan to send her home with Limestone and have Limestone take her to Buttons.” Tarnish’s ears stood up as he heard snuffling.

He made an opening with the can opener, a small triangular opening in the top of the tin of condensed milk, then another to allow for airflow. He poured some into his tea, and then before he could say anything, Maud snatched the tin of condensed milk out of his telekinetic grasp.

She tilted it over and allowed a little to dribble over the pup’s nose. She began lapping it up, licking the top of the can, and some of it ran down her fuzzy chin. Maud looked over at her husband, holding the tin in her fetlock while cradling the pup in one foreleg.

“I feel very odd,” Maud said in a voice that wavered just enough that Tarnish noticed, and Maud noticed that he noticed. One of her eyebrows arched and then she turned away, choosing to look down at the pup instead. “There is something strangely pleasant about this. Not quite studying new rocks pleasant, and not midnight dancing pleasant, but pleasant nonetheless.” Maud blinked a few times, then stared down with a blank, vacant expression as the pup continued to lap up condensed milk from the tin.

“Maud, if we had a foal, what would you like to have?” Tarnished asked, wondering if Maud would choose an earth pony or a unicorn.

There was a long, drawn out silence, the only sounds were the crackle-pop of the fire and the lapping sounds of the pup. Maud had become statuesque, unmoving, and she stared down at the tiny blanket wrapped bundle that she held.

“I would like a little colt,” Maud replied, surprising Tarnish. “And I would like for him to be like you.”

Holding his teacup, Tarnish couldn’t help but notice that Maud hadn’t mentioned anything about earth ponies or unicorns, only a colt. He nodded. A colt would be nice. A little version of him that he could hang out with. A little version of himself that he could teach to do all kinds of things. A little buddy. A friend.

There was a click as the door opened and then Limestone came out. She looked worried, concerned, and for a moment, her attention was focused on Maud, who was feeding the pup. After a moment of surprise, Limestone recovered and came over to where Tarnish was sitting.

“Something is wrong with Trixie, her leg, the one that you drained, it’s been swelling. It’s burning hot and she’s sweating real bad. Something is up with her leg, I can sense it, but I can’t figure out what it is.”

“Hmm.” Holding his teacup, Tarnish got up, went to the door, stuck his head inside, lifted Trixie from the bed, and then carried her outside. He held her aloft as Limestone scrambled to unfold the blanket that Trixie had lain upon earlier. When Limestone spread the blanket out by the fire, Tarnish set the comatose mare down upon it.

He sipped his tea, sat down, lifted up Trixie’s injured foreleg, and began to examine it. It was swelling and some foul smelling liquid oozed from the opening he had made earlier. He took another sip of tea, held the leg up a little bit more, and used the firelight to see what he could see.

“Her frog is swollen,” Limestone said as she glanced over Tarnish’s withers.

“It is,” Tarnish replied as he straightened out her leg and looked at Trixie’s frog. The swelling protruded out past the hoof and folds of flesh made seeing what might be wrong difficult. Tarnish could feel the squishiness of infection that would need to be drained out. It was a lot worse than earlier and it scared him. He realised that he might need to give Twilight a call on the mirror.

As he thought about calling Twilight, he noticed the faint gleam of metal for a second, a glint in the firelight. He ignited his horn, summoning as much light as he could, and then lowered his head down to have a better look. He saw the glint again, and narrowing his eyes, squinting, he parted swollen folds of flesh to have a better look.

With his snoot inches away from Trixie’s frog, Tarnish grabbed ahold of the shiny bit of metal with his telekinesis. He gave it a tug and nothing happened. Grimacing, not one to be denied, Tarnish got a better grip on what he thought was a nail, gave it a good twist and a yank at the same time.

The nail, several inches long, came out with a surprising suddenness, and uncorked the festering rot trapped in Trixie’s leg. Fever simmered pus came spurting out like a geyser of greasy gooshiness and sprayed Tarnish in the face. The heat and the pressure gave it a great deal of force, and his own telekinesis, which was holding Trixie’s leg, also contributed. He let out a cry of disgust, but made a terrible mistake by opening his mouth.

Limestone’s mouth fell open in shock and disgust as she watched. Somehow, Tarnish kept his presence of mind and he did not drop Trixie’s leg, further injuring her. Instead he pointed it away from him and kept squeezing, trying to get the infection to drain out as he coughed, gagged, spat, and sputtered. She felt pity for her brother in law; there was a bad night and then there was whatever Tarnish was having, having been tormented by the stranger and now this.

A terrible, gag inducing stench filled the camp, the smell of rot. Limestone backed away, her nostrils flaring, and she heard a soft cry from the pup, who she felt bad for. Dogs had a better sense of smell than ponies, or so it was said.

“I feel soiled,” Tarnish muttered.

“Tarnish, you okay?” Limestone asked.

“No,” he replied, “I'm not okay. I'm about as far from okay as one can get.”

“That sucks. It really does. I feel for you, brother.”

“Thank you, Limestone.”

“No kisses for you,” Maud deadpanned, “not until you brush your teeth. That's just nasty.”

“I have learned a valuable lesson,” Tarnish said in a low, disgusted voice, “one I'll not soon forget. I love learning, I really do.”

Using his telekinesis, he applied steady, constant pressure to Trixie’s foreleg, which drained the infection out. He squeezed her frog as well, applying gentle pressure, as much as he dared, hoping that he was helping rather than harming.

This had been a night of lessons. The sunset raid on a diamond dog camp, first aid, the horrible encounter with the unknown stranger, and now this. He spat a few times, trying to get the bitter taste out of his mouth, and then took a sip of tea, which he had somehow held on to this entire time without dropping it. He could not help but notice that his telekinesis was getting better, stronger, more stable with more use.

He thought about what the stranger had said, how his magic would grow stronger as he matured, and he felt a chill that somehow overpowered the warmth of the fire beside him. He glanced over at Maud, who was still feeding the pup, and then at Limestone, who sat watching. Blinking, trying to dispel the chill that had fallen upon him, he returned his attention to Trixie.

He levitated the nail so he could examine it. It was long, sharp, bent, and covered in something crusty. No doubt, it was the source of the swelling, inflammation, and infection in Trixie’s leg. It had probably been in there for a while. He looked down at the mare and felt sorry for her. She had probably tried to escape, for which she had been recaptured and beaten. And then, with the nail lodged in her frog, when she had no doubt become too sick to work, had they beaten her even more, thinking her to be lazy? The thought made Tarnish both angry and disgusted.

The purple-green bruises were visible through Trixie’s pale blue pelt and her hair was coming out in clumps. She was still unresponsive, but now that her leg was draining and the source of the problem removed, he hoped that she would make a turn for the better. She had been given aspirin for her fever and other drugs they had in their first aid boxes.

Sweat glistened on her pelt and her lips moved as she continued with her delirious murmuring. He hoped that she was warm enough by the fire, but knew that it would be best to return her to the bed soon. He sipped his tea and was thankful that it helped to rid him of the horrible taste that still lingered in his mouth.

Already, her swollen frog was about half the size that it had been, but it still bulged out way past her hoof. Nothing more seemed to be coming out, so Tarnish eased her leg down. She whimpered, her body shook, and then she quieted a bit, slipping off into a deeper sleep.

He thought about zebra medicine. He didn’t have the extensive collection of herbs, poultices, and potions to treat Trixie and her many wounds, but he had small amounts. The zebras had something called economy of medicine. You could pour an entire healing potion down a patient’s throat, potentially wasting a great deal of the potion, or you could make a small effigy of the patient and apply the healing potion to the injured area, such as the leg or whatever was messed up. A few drops of potion went a long way this way, meaning that one healing potion could be made to last for a very long time.

Heaving a weary sigh, Tarnish realised that the night’s lessons were not over. He needed to make himself an effigy of Trixie… he’d need some of her hair, or better yet, one of her more vital bits, like a sliver of hoof, or an eyelash, or some of her saliva. If he could construct an effigy of her, he could use some of their precious healing supplies on the effigy, heal Trixie, and learn more about his chosen craft. He took a sip of tea and thought about what he needed to do. The learning curve was steep, but not impossible.

Once she was better, Tarnish would have to figure out how to sever the connection, one first had to get the effigy’s connection to project itself, something called an astral manifestation, which required a great deal of concentration, and then using something symbolic to cut the astral thread, like an actual pair of scissors. It was the act that somehow made it possible, not the actual pair of scissors. Tarnish did not understand it, and he wasn’t sure that he ever would. Of course, he still had to establish the connection, which would be tricky.

And then, Tarnish was seized with an idea. Tarnish had an idea and it was absolutely brilliant. It was also as terrible as it was brilliant. He sipped his tea and thought about how dreadful and wonderful his idea was. The stranger, for all of her supposed superiourity, had no doubt left behind bits and pieces of herself. With a detect magic spell, he was certain that he could find bits and pieces of the strange unicorn left behind in the bushes or on the road. Some hairs, perhaps from her tail or her mane. If he could find something left behind from her…

He could make himself an effigy.

Author's Notes: