Spitfire closed her eyes and exhaled.

The night tasted of blood—of blood and glass and frost and bile.  It tasted of every lonely night spent between annotating textbooks and every jubilant moment slapping the barrels of her teammates in the locker room.  It tasted both bitter and sweet, like a life that always felt just beyond her reach, but yet all the better for it.  A challenge; something to be respected and admired, and then overcome.

She cracked her eyes and looked between the jagged ruts of broken earth beyond the finish line and the display board above, hot breath swelling behind her teeth as she waited for the magical algorithm to calculate her lap time.  The cold amber light spilling from the floodlights pulled her gaze towards the only side of the empty campus stadium that wasn’t already illuminated.  For a moment, something warm and inviting attempted to reach out to her across the frost-flecked night air—something that dared to breathe soft reassuring whispers against the imaginary cheers and celebrations that had only just faded away.  Spitfire craned her head towards them, her flanks prickling as she tried to define the vague sensations.  Then she tossed her head and returned her gaze to the scoreboard, stamping her hooves to make the unsettling motion in her stomach more bearable.

Her time appeared in shimmering red lights.

“Oh come on!” Spitfire’s wings trembled and curled as she pounded the ground, hard.  Two seconds slower? How was that even possible? She was sure she had smashed it that time!  A tight blanket of needles fell across her skin, and Spitfire again tasted bile on her tongue when she realised she couldn’t shake it off.  It wasn’t anywhere near good enough.  With that kind of lap time there was no way she was going to—

Spitfire paused and took in a steadying breath.  Then another.  She closed her eyes and waited for her stomach to settle.  It was going to be fine, she just needed to pick herself up and go again.  She could do better—She had to.

Or did she?

The quiet challenge nestled itself deep between her lungs and heart, pushing the air from her body and replacing it with a overwhelming concoction of security and confidence.  A half-smile began to twist her lips.  She needed to do better, but if she couldn't then there was already something else out there that she could do.  Something that she was already better at.

She allowed the feeling to take root for a few moments, indulging visions of graduating at the very top of her biology course and gliding into guaranteed employment, challenges and prestige.  Then she looked back at her time and the warmth quickly turned to cold sludge in her stomach.

“C’mon, Spitty, take a break will ya? It’s been three hours already.”

“It’s not like I’m asking you to stay and watch!” Spitfire snapped her head to the stands beside her, where the only other pony in the stadium was sitting in the front row.  Serena was wearing that expression again—the one that left Spitfire unsure as to whether she was supposed to be feeling insulted or reassured by the words that had just come from her mouth.  It was an expression Spitfire loved like the mare herself, from the practical, unassuming shoes on her hooves to that cloud of a mane always half-framing her head, and the sight of it pushed her frustrations to one side.

“Sorry,” she added, pressing a grin against the nip of desperation in her voice.  “You're probably right, but I got this.  Was just too cocky on that last ring, that’s all.”

“You’re tired and overthinking.  That’s all.”

Spitfire glared at her marefriend before frowning.  Serena’s blue coat never looked that dull in natural light.  It was strangely disconcerting, as though all of the things she had ever known were being challenged.  She shook her head.  “Don’t you have exams to be studying for?”

The earth pony bobbed her head, a smile on her lips.  “Always.  Why, don’t you?”

Spitfire looked back at the unlit expanse of the stadium.  Suddenly the air felt too thick to breathe.  Serena was right—what in Equestria was she playing at? She had an exam tomorrow morning, perhaps the most important exam of her whole course, and just how was she going to ace it if she hadn't put in every single spare hour going? Because that was the plan, right? Ace her exams and get a research grant with a little lecturing on the side.  Just in case she didn’t…

She set her jaw, desperately trying to do the same with her stomach.  No, it was going to be fine.  It wasn’t tomorrow yet.  She could train for another hour or so and still have plenty of time left to revise.  She could do both.  She had to.

“If I don’t make the try-outs tomorrow I’m not gonna have another chance before graduating.  You know how hard it is to break into a team once you're out of college?”  Spitfire looked back at the tight course of rings circling the track.  And if she couldn’t get into a team and make a name for herself, how much harder would it be to break into the Wonderbolts?

“Let me guess, we're talking somewhere between ‘very hard’ and ‘impossible’, right?”  Even without looking Spitfire could tell Serena was rolling her eyes.  “And what about your exam?”

“I can do both.”

Serena's eyes flashed.  “Well what are you waiting for then? Go get ‘em, Spitty.”

Spitfire snorted, flexing her wings one last time before pushing the ground away.  It was a good start—her best for a while in fact—and the air was soon slicing against her body in neat angles as she twisted and turned through the rings lining the course.  She had to still shave so much off her time; she couldn’t waste this last chance to get into the team, especially after that thing with Silverstream last year.  Poor guy—if you weren’t good enough then you weren’t good enough, but leaving college without having something else to fall back on was a damn terrifying way to go.  She remembered his face when the news broke, and a cold sweat broke across her skin.

The corner came too fast, and Spitfire swore as she was forced to take it wide and high.  The track below curved back towards that dark void and she licked her lips.  She just needed to stay focused.  It was going to be different for her; she had a plan B, right? Something she was great at.  Something that made her heart beat fast and her chest swell, right?

Right?

As she sliced into the penultimate corner Spitfire’s throat grew tight.  But then surely she should be revising for it right now.  Surely she should have hit the books weeks ago and not stopped.  Because what if she wasn’t prepared? What if she was unprepared and she failed her exam and—

Suddenly, the last set of floodlights snapped on, pulling the rigid lines of the campus library into view.  Spitfire squawked in alarm, before hot panic consumed her at the sight of the building.  Angling herself, she dropped heavily towards the ground and cantered to a halt.  Her body felt slick and itchy as she marched across the track towards the floodlight controls, where Serena stood waiting.

“What the buck are you doing?” Spitfire’s voice rasped violently in the still air.  “You just ruined my best run!”

“Your best?” Serena snorted.  “Oh please, Spitty, I was putting you out of your misery.  I haven’t seen you move that slowly since I dragged you up to dance at the Hearth’s Warming Ball.”

Spitfire looked up at the display and her blood turned to ice.  No way.  No bucking way! Eighteen seconds out? How was that even possible? As her stomach clenched, Spitfire glared at the ground beneath her.  It wasn’t fair.  She wanted this so bad and was absolutely good enough.  She was!

“Is that why you’re still here then?” she snapped, stopping in front of her marefriend.  “Every night this week you’ve wasted your time watching me.  Shouldn’t you be worrying more about your dream? Don’t you want to make it come true?”

A look of mock hurt flashed across Serena’s face.  “Of course I do, and I will! Tomorrow I’m gonna ace my last agriculture exam, and then I’ll set up the best carrot farm this side of Griffonstone.”  She winked at Spitfire.  “Seriously, even Princess Celestia will be chowing down on my carrots.”

“Huh…” Spitfire looked down at the mud caking her hooves, caught off-guard by her marefriend’s confidence.  Then she found herself chuckling.  “Well why aren’t you revising for it then?”

“I have been! It’s just that I’m not complicating my career plans by trying to juggle in other things. ” Serena laughed, a loud, soothing roll of sound that bit deep into the night air.  “Anyway, I’ve got carrots for a cutie mark; I think I’ll be fine.”  She stepped forward and rubbed her cheek against Spitfire’s.  “What your question should have been, though, is ‘Don’t I want to make my dream come true?’”

“What are you talking about? I am—” Spitfire frowned.  She looked between the finishing line and the library.  Two options, and neither being convincingly achieved at the moment.  What was her dream anyway? What did she want?

“I think you’d make an ace biologist, Spitty,” Serena said, walking back to the floodlight controls.  With a flick of her hoof she switched off the ones beside the library.  “Just imagine the outrageous carrots we could make together.  But I also think you’d make a pretty awesome athlete too.”  She flicked the switch again and stepped forward to press her forehead against Spitfire’s.  In the unnatural light her amber eyes sparkled with strange intensity.  “Hedging your bets like this, though? It's actually kinda… weak.”

“Weak? You—” Spitfire’s words were dashed against Serena’s lips.  Her marefriend bumped their foreheads together, then set off across the illuminated track.  

“I got three hours of evidence to back me up here—three years if you wanna get all specific.  You’ve got to commit one hundred percent if you want something in life—you taught me that.  Be bold, Spitty.  I’ll catch you before the try-outs tomorrow.”

Spitfire tossed her head and stamped her hooves, the warmth in her cheeks holding out against the crisp air.  Serena sure was something.

“Be bold, huh?” she whispered aloud.  In her own voice, the words didn’t sound anywhere near as convincing.

She trotted across to the floodlight controls and stared hard at the library.  It would be fun, a life of study and teaching, of textbooks and nurturing.  A guaranteed career upon graduation, she’d have security and could still race a little on the side.  If things didn’t work out with the try-outs then she could still be happy, of that she was certain.

And yet, as silence returned to the stadium, Spitfire realised that she couldn’t hear the blood in her veins or feel her heart slam against her chest.  Her stomach tightened momentarily as she flicked the switch with her hoof.  Then, as the library vanished from sight, a reassuring warmth spread slowly throughout her body.  She had one chance now, not two.  And one chance felt good.  It felt right.

“Be bold,” she repeated.  Perhaps it was the increased volume of her voice, but this time she believed it.  “Give it one-hundred percent.”

Returning to the starting line, Spitfire closed her eyes and exhaled.