Spitfire closed her eyes and exhaled.

The night tasted of blood; blood and glass and frost and bile.  It tasted of every lonely night pinned between annotating textbooks and the barrel-slapping of her teammates.  It tasted amazing.

She cracked her eyes, and looked between the jagged ruts of broken earth beyond the finish line and the display board, her breath held as the magical algorithm calculated her lap time.  The cold amber spilling from the floodlights lured her gaze towards the only side of the campus stadium that wasn’t already lit.  Biting her lip, she looked back at the board, stamping her hooves to make the motion in her stomach more bearable.  Then her time shimmered in red lights.

“Oh come on!” Spitfire’s wings trembled as she bucked the ground.  Hard.  Two seconds slower? How was that even possible? She had definitely smashed it that time!  A blanket of spines and needles fell across her skin, and Spitfire tasted bile when realising she couldn’t shake it off.  It wasn’t good enough—she had to do better.  She just had to.

“Take a break, Spitty.  It’s been three hours already.”

“I’m not asking you to stay and watch!” Spitfire snapped her head to the stands beside her, where the only other pony was sitting.  Serena was wearing that expression again—the one that always left Spitfire unsure as to whether she was supposed to be feeling insulted or reassured.  She loved that expression like she loved the mare herself; from her shoes on her hooves to that cloud of a mane half-framing her head.

“Sorry,” she added, feeling the nip of desperation on her tongue.  “I got this, though.  Was just too cocky on that last ring, that’s all.”

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

Spitfire glared over her shoulder.  Serena’s blue coat never looked that dull in natural sunlight.  “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 before her.  Suddenly the air felt too thick to breathe.  She set her jaw, trying desperately to do the same with her stomach.  It was fine.  It wasn’t tomorrow yet.  She could train for another hour before starting to revise.  Time enough, right?

“If I don’t make the try-outs tomorrow, I’m gonna have to wait for the summer intake.  Again.”

“I know.  A whole six months.”  Spitfire could practically hear the eye-roll in Serena’s voice.  “Well go get ‘em then, Spitty.”

Spitfire snorted, flexing her wings one last time before pushing the ground away.  It was a good start—her best for a while—and the air was soon slicing against her body in neat angles as she twisted and turned around the course.  She couldn’t waste another chance, especially after that thing with Silverstream last year; not quite good enough, and leaving college without something to fall back on.

She swore as she took a corner too loose, and forced herself to focus.  The track below curved back towards that dark void and Spitfire licked her lips.  It was going to be fine for her whatever, though; she had a plan B, right? She had revised enough, right?

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 towards the floodlight, where Serena stood waiting.

“What the buck are you doing?” Spitfire’s voice rasped 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 drift 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 was good enough.  She was!

“It that why you’re here then?” she snapped, stopping in front of Serena.  “Every night you waste your time watching me.  Don’t you want to make your dream 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 agriculture exam, and then I’ll set up the best carrot farm this side of Griffinstone.”  She winked at Spitfire.  “Seriously, even Princess Celestia is gonna want a nibble on my carrots.”

“Well…” Spitfire looked down at the mud caking her hooves.  “Why aren’t you revising then?”

“Because I know when to quit.”  Serena laughed, a loud, soothing roll of sound.  “Besides, I’ve got carrots for a cutie mark; I think I’ll be fine.” She rubbed her cheek against Spitfire’s.  “Question is, don’t you want to make your dream come true?”

“What are you talking about? I want—” Spitfire frowned.  She looked between the finishing line and the library.  You needed a plan B; you always needed a plan B.

“I think you’d make an ace biologist, Spitty,” Serena said.  “I also think you’d make a pretty awesome athlete.”  She pressed her forehead against Spitfire’s, her amber eyes sparkling in their intensity.  “But hedging your bets? That’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.  

“Be bold, Spitty.  I’ll catch you before the try-outs tomorrow.”

Spitfire tossed her head, the warmth in her cheeks holding out against the crisp air.  Be bold, huh?

She trotted to the floodlight where, with a flick of a hoof, she removed the campus library from existence.  Then she brought it back.  Her stomach tightened, and her lungs shivered to a halt.

Spitfire closed her eyes, and exhaled.