Part Seven:  Alone Together

Thade entered the village in the dead of night.  Though there were no ponies in sight, he melted into the shadows, sliding elusively down the street.  Could it really be here, in this simple little town?  Two years of searching, two years of leads, of dead ends, of false trails, of lost hope, only to discover it has been here this whole time?  The idea was ridiculous, absurd... but his last source had seemed so confident—as confident as one can be whilst under fear of death, that is.

        He paused for a moment, glancing to the stars.  The full moon hung in the sky; from her lunar prison, Nightmare Moon seemed to glare down at him.  Thade was familiar with the myth of the Mare in the Moon—after all, one cannot dedicate his life to searching for one myth without learning of many others along the way.  Banished to the moon by her sister Celestia, it was fabled that at the end of her thousand years of imprisonment, she would return once more, casting Equestria into eternal night.  Thade wasn’t sure if the legend was true or not, but suspected he would find out in a decade or so, when the thousand years come to a close... that is, of course, according to the many books he had read on the subject—none of which contained the information he truly sought.

        He carried on, craftily hugging corners and making no sound.  He turned onto another desolate road, made a left at at the next street, and there it was.  Once more he began to doubt.  Could the book really be here, in this library within a tree?  Years of searching dank caverns, abandoned castles, impenetrable forests, for the book to be in a library, of all places?  Nevertheless, he was here, and had no choice but to carry on.

        With a nearly-silent whisper he teleported to the library balcony above a tree branch.  The window opened with a faint glow, and he slipped inside.  It was empty, just as he had expected.  Shelves of books lined the walls; he walked to the nearest one.  Elements of a Successful Meal, read the spine of the first book he saw.  He moved to the right, scanning the leather-bound texts.  There is no possible way, he thought.  This is too easy.  It would never be kept—

        A noise outside.  He reacted instantly, slipping into the darkness under the nearby staircase.  He glanced to the window, searching for the source of the rustling.  For a moment, he saw the silhouette of something—the bird hopped through the window, the same window through which he himself had entered.  If Thade wasn’t so skilled in the art of silence, he would have breathed a sigh of relief; merely a bird!  With a malicious grin he hit it with a quick Paralyzing Spell, and it dropped to the ground.  He walked up to its motionless body and frowned.  Dead.  I must have used too much force.  I do often underestimate my own abilities—his thoughts were cut off as he noticed the view out the window for the first time, noticed the castle in the distance: Canterlot.  Of course.

        The pieces fell together.  The book was here, beneath the watchful eye of Celestia.  Thade wasn’t sure why she would prefer to keep it here instead of under the defenses of Canterlot Castle.  Years of searching, to end up in a library; to find a book in a defenseless library... but perhaps that was it.  Yes, it had to be.  Thade couldn’t help but marvel at the genius of it... the object of his desire was hidden in plain sight.  This library, this simple tree, was the last place he chose to search—he had come here in desperation, as a last hope, one final effort, precisely because it seemed too easy.  That’s why it was here.  Who would look for a fabled, hidden book in a simple library?  This did mean, however, that he could not take it with him; the book must stay, or Celestia might grow suspicious.  Thade had no reason to believe the alicorn was guarding the book or even aware of it, but if she was, stealing it could only mean drawing attention to himself.

        A mixture of emotions overcame him.  Frustration that he had wasted so much time when the answer was so obvious.  A flood of relief that the first part of his journey was finally over.  Jarring nervousness that perhaps the book wasn’t here.  But there was a deeper fear, one that he tried but failed to ignore... what if the book was there, but did not contain the spell or the instructions he sought?  How could it be that even the fabled text Magic of the Damned, which was thought to be destroyed until his searches unearthed it, did not contain the spell, while an insignificant book from his childhood did?  The last time he held it was long long ago, and he sought it now only because he had no remaining options.  It was a desperate grasp, a wild guess, but maybe it was also something more than that... intuition, perhaps.  With anticipation he returned his attention to the bookshelf.

The Dead and the Free.  Not even close.  He continued sliding to the right, searching through the alphabet.  Flame of the Phoenix... Monsters and Ghosts and Other Scary Stories... The Quest for Night’s Edge...

He impatiently shifted through several more books, and then... there.  There it was.

At first he could only stare, overcome with surprise, eagerness, and... fear?  Yes, still the fear that the book didn’t contain what he needed, of course.

It slid gingerly off the shelf, enveloped in a sharp black aura—his magic was no longer brilliant red, as it was in his youth.  No, that had changed soon after he began this quest.  He saw it as a sign of strength—or at least that is what he told himself.

The worn leather book dropped gently into his outstretched hooves.  He read the cover, and then read it again.  Here it was.  Supernaturals.  How long since he last held this book, flipped through its pages, inhaled its dusty old scent?  What happened after that fateful day in his youth, when he used it to discover the location of Sonselo?  How did it arrive here, on this bookshelf within a tree?  He supposed that was a tale that would never be told.   Not that it mattered—it was his once more.  That is all that counted.

        For a terrifying moment, he had the urge to throw it, to bash it through the window, to expel it from his presence.  He imagined himself do it as if in a dream... how easy it would be to destroy years of hard work, to make useless years of searching, to ruin this ancient binding, and to break the promise he had made to himself—to her.  He could end it all here, if he wanted; he could turn back, turn away...

        These thoughts cut off sharply as he noticed for the first time the book’s subtitle.  He blinked in surprise.

“Natural Cures that are Super”, it read.

His brain stuttered to a halt; he didn’t even have the capacity to consider the meaning of this.  His eyes scoured the title once more.

        Supernaturals: Natural Cures that are Super.

        He threw the cover open, hastily flipping to a random page in the middle of the dusty relic, reading the first words he saw.  “Using milk-grass to cure stiff wings: first, be sure the milk-grass is in season—soiled milk-grass will not work.  Squeeze the milk out of the grass as if it were toothpaste—”

        With a feral roar of frustration, Thade grabbed at the brittle pages and yanked them out; in a puff of dust, shredded paper floated to the ground like autumn leaves.

        “Where IS IT?”

        The room suddenly became unnaturally dark, as if a tarp had been placed over the moon.  With a hectic rustling books began flying off the shelves like startled bats.  The air became a swirl of swooping pages and dust.  The window shutter burst open, clacking loudly against the wall.  Then it was over.

        Thade stood alone in the library, which now appeared to have fallen victim to a tornado.  Books and pages were strewn about crazily.  He was breathing heavily, his head slightly lowered.

        I must clear my mind, I must gain control, he thought.  It is here.  I know it is here.

        Slowly, like a snake rising out of a basket, a black tendril of magic slid from his horn.  The Seeking Spell danced blindly through the air, feeling its way along the field of fallen books.  Suddenly it shot up, as if it had noticed some otherwise undetectable signal.  It dashed across the room, felt across several more books, and then stiffened as if in excitement.  The tendril began pulsing slowly with a gray light.  It had found its target.

        Thade shoved books from his path, trying not to allow his excitement to get the better of him.  He traced the glowing tendril to its source: a pile of dust and torn leather, amidst hundreds of other piles of dust and torn leather.

Thade, you fool!  he thought to himself.  You’ve gone and destroyed it!

His first thought was to use a Repair Spell, but he chastised himself before making such a mistake—if the book was as powerful as he hoped, such minor magic could cause it damage, even destroy it; magic repels magic: the first lesson every unicorn learned.  His horn glowed instead with a Revealing Spell, a complex one he had learned from his distant travels.  While the Repair Spell would directly influence its target, and therefore potentially do it harm, a Revealing Spell would act as a catalyst, a slight nudge, a magical instigator.  He smiled slightly at his own ingenuity, his horn glowing even brighter.

        The pile began glowing with the same aura... suddenly the torn leather lifted from the ground, floating before Thade.  The dust particles, which were paper only minutes ago, swirled before him.  They began reassembling, faster and faster, and the book began to fill once more with pages, the leather began to melt back together, the binding began to take its familiar shape.  Thade stared, eyes wide, as the book rebuilt itself before him.  Within moments, the dust was gone, the pages were filled, the leather cover was whole.  It turned to face him.  The title glowed as if each letter were a crack through the walls of Hell.  As he watched, though, part of the title began to disappear, its light began to fade.  Soon, the book was no longer titled Supernaturals: Natural Cures that are Super.  It now read simply Supernaturals.  The one solitary word slowly grew distorted, then shrank, then grew distorted again—the effect was nauseating, but Thade was soon spared, for the floating book opened before him, the pages flipping as if by a soundless wind.  Then they stopped.  There was a flash, a tingling sensation, and then Thade was no longer in the library.

        Snow-capped mountains towered around him.  He was flying with incredible speed through the rocky slopes and canyons, though he felt no sensation of motion, not even a breeze.  It was as if he were stationary, floating motionless in the air, while the world rotated below with great velocity.  In the distance, the highest peak of all; soon it was right before him.  He slowed to a stop, and saw that in the mountainside was a gaping cavern, dimly lit with flickering red.  Then he was inside the cavern, saw a glowing figure laying on an alter in the center; saw the columns, the Pillars, crack and being to topple.  Indecipherable symbols lined the circular wall; between and behind the two farthest Pillars the stone wall was carved beautifully with the figure of a rose.  There was no sound but his own quick breathing.

        Something tiny near the alter rose into the air.  Though Thade was almost close enough to touch it, he couldn’t tell what it was—the world seemed to glow slightly, resulting in a dream-like blur that clouded his vision.  The object began floating towards him, and suddenly he recognized its shape.  With a soundless burst of light the object disappeared; in its place was a small disk of pure white.  The entire cavern was trembling around him, cracks raced through the ceiling, shattered debris were flung in every direction.  Still, the only sound was his breathing.

        The small white disk was now a larger white disk, and it continued growing; soon, it filled nearly his whole field of vision.  The trembling lessened, the cavern stabilized, the white portal stood silently before him.  He watched in wonder, staring intently into the vast empty whiteness, not shading his eyes lest he miss something.  As he floated in the air, his shadow floated upon the ground.

        An unknown amount of time passed, and then... did he see something?  Was that a silhouette?  A hint of gray in the white oblivion?  Yes, it must have been!  And it grew larger, walked nearer, became more defined; the blur began to form the shape of a pony, a most familiar pony, and even before he could see her mane or her coat he knew it was her.  In his mind flashed every moment they spent together, however brief, along with ever trial he had overcome for her, every obstacle, all to see her again, to undo unjust fate.  He was unaware he was crying, sobbing, and also unaware he was slowly gliding backwards. Only a few more steps, that’s all it would take, and he would truly see her again, finally stare into those eyes once more...

        His slow backwards glide began accelerating.

        “No,” he said, eyes still locked upon that sharpening blur.  Faster, now.

        “NO!”

        The disk shrank before him, the cavern receded, he was flying back through its mouth now, faster and faster, and soon the gaping hole was a spot in the distance, the tallest mountain became a tiny hill.

        When he finally looked back up, the vision was gone; around him was the library, the ground still littered with destroyed books.  He was exhausted, too drained to express his frustration, too tired to even wipe his tears.  But he could still think... and there was much thinking to be done.

        He picked up the book once more.  It felt warm in his hooves.

        That was undoubtedly the Spring of Magic I just saw.  So it is real.  Then what is the next step?  Perhaps the book explains how to find it—

        The thought was cut off by another, more powerful thought, one originating from deep within his mind and soul.

        That was her.  That was her, and she was there, and so was I.  For a moment this thought flowed through his mind like a river through a meadow.  There used to be fear—fear that his obsession had eclipsed his love, that he would bring her back only to discover that things had somehow changed between them... this fear was washed away, and the reassurance was exhilarating.  For the first time in years, Thade felt truly happy.  Then another part of his mind began to speak.

        “Don’t be stupid,” that other half said.  “That was merely a vision from the book.  It wasn’t really her.  It was the book’s projection of what you wished to see.”

        Thade frowned slightly.  Even so... it may have been merely a vision, but it proves I still love her.  If I can love the vision of her, surely I could love her true self even more.

        “Yes,” the other half replied, its voice taking malicious pleasure in this wicked thought, “but could she still love you?”

        Suddenly the book jumped out of his hooves and fell to the floor.  Thade staggered backwards in surprise, then stepped cautiously and curiously towards where it lay open on the ground.  Its pages flipped hastily, glowing slightly with the full prismatic spectrum.  He stood just over it, peering closely at the ruffling paper, waiting for them to stop.  They did, finally, but before he could read anything, he was thrown back with a powerful thrust, landing on a pile of books and book ashes.

        He slowly got to his hooves, rubbing his aching jaw, and turned once more towards the book.  The blow had been strong, and it took a moment for his vision to clear.  Then he saw that, floating in the air above the book’s open pages, wavering slightly as though with great heat, was a single word.  It was written in an unfamiliar language, with characters he had never seen before.  Still, he understood it perfectly.  The temperature in the room seemed to have gone up; it was uncomfortably hot, almost unbearably so.  Thade thought he heard voices, though that may have been the wind outside; if there really were voices, so many spoke at once that it was impossible to follow any individual speaker in the midst of the low, chant-like chatter.

        In the corner of the room, a rustling.  He somehow forced his attention from the floating Spell and entered a fighting stance, prepared to ward off—

        The bird.  With incredible vitality it hopped as nonchalantly as a bird could possibly hop, across the floor, then up out the window with an indignant ruffle of wings.

        Thade watched it go in amazement.  Then he turned back to the word in the air, staring with an intensity that could have meant either fear or reverence or both.  The longer he stared, however, the more uncomfortable he became; his head began to ache, he heard a ringing in his ears, stars began clouding his vision.  He turned away, violently shook his head to clear it, and turned back.  The word was gone.  All was quiet.

        Legs shaking, he approached the open book.  Cautiously he lifted it off the ground with his hooves—he feared touching it with magic.

        The page that greeted him was inscribed with only twelve lines.  He recognized them from his youth, but as he read, a new meaning dawned upon him.

        Thade began to read aloud:

“To the paramount Spring

        A relic you must bring …”

***

        “Pinkie, are you sure this is a good idea?  Ah have a bad feeling about this...”  Applejack glanced nervously to the enormous mixing bowl, then to Pinkie, then to Rainbow Dash, who hovered above the giant bowl holding an equally-gigantic wooden spoon.

        “Of course it’s a good idea!” Pinkie giggled.  “Haven’t you always wanted to break a world record?”  She looked up to Dash, who smiled and adjusted her safety goggles.  “Ready?”

        “Ready!” Dash replied, taking a sprinter’s running-line stance in mid air.

        “Great!”  Pinkie turned back to Applejack.  “Now, when I give the thumbs up, you start throwing in the chocolate, and then Dash will start mixing.”

        Applejack sighed.  “Well, if you say so, I don’t see why—wait, what did you just say?”

        “Dash will start mixing!”

        “No, before that.”

        “You’ll throw in the chocolate!”

        “No, before that.”

        “When I give the thumbs up, you guys will start!”

        “‘Thumbs up?’ What the hay does that mean?”

        “Don’t worry about it!  Ready?”

        Applejack shared a confused shrug and a grin with Dash—sometimes it was just best to let Pinkie be Pinkie.  “Ready!” she said.

        “Same here!” shouted Dash.

        “Now!”

        Applejack began tossing apple-sized chocolate chips into the bowl, first throwing them in one at a time, then bucking in two or three at once.  Meanwhile, Dash swooped down with the spoon, spinning around the top of the bowl, faster and faster, until she was nothing more than a blue blur amidst a hurricane of batter and chocolate.  After almost a minute of this, Applejack ran out of chocolate chips, and Dash slowed to a stop, panting heavily, but smiling crazily.

        “Perfect!” Pinkie said, hopping up and down in that strange way of hers.  “Now I’ll add in the final ingredient!”  She reached into a bag and brought out a large jar of vanilla extract.  Carefully she climbed a ladder to the rim of the bowl, where she prepared to pour the liquid.

        “Not too much,” Dash warned.  “This is a huge bowl, but that stuff is strong.”

        Pinkie stuck her tongue out in concentration, and slowly removed the lid.  Then she leaned over the edge of the bowl, tilting the jar slightly.  The first drop nearly fell...

        But the jar flew out of her hooves.  Not into the bowl, but down to the ground, where it began rolling around crazily.

        “Ah!” Pinkie yelled in surprise.

        “Catch it!  Quick!” shouted Applejack.

        Pinkie jumped down off the ladder and tackled the jar.  “I got it!” she cheered victoriously.  “I got—” The jar fought from her grip, almost getting away.  She started sliding slowly along the ground, holding onto the flailing jar as tightly as possible.  “Guys, help!”

        “Pinkie, hold on, I’m coming!”  Applejack shouted.

        Suddenly the jar grew incredibly hot.  She let go with pained surprise.  Then she woke up.

        With a gasp, she glanced around in confusion.  “Guys?”  After a moment, everything came back to her.  She sighed dejectedly.  After Applejack left her, she caught sight of a butterfly and decided to follow it.  It led her deeper into the woods, but then, amazingly, it managed to bring her right back to the clearing where Applejack had left her.  When she first realized this, she was incredulous.  “Are you joking?  I can’t even get lost properly in the woods?  How am I supposed to find the Spring and meet up with my friends if I can’t even get lost in the woods?!”

        This realization, along with all the walking, had made her tired (and hungry), and she dozed off.  And now here she was, after a most curious dream, all alone... even the butterfly was gone now.

        Suddenly, a familiar (and detested) voice began speaking out in her head.  Maybe they tricked you.  Maybe they didn’t split up at all... maybe it was just a ploy to get you out of their way.  And you fell for it.  They’re probably all together right now... laughing...

        “Oh, you shut up,” she said aloud.  She thought about how Applejack had left her, how she had asked her to remember Gummy’s after-birthday party, and how her friends would never abandon her.  She grabbed the apple that Applejack had left for her and took a bite.  “You shut up.  You know as well as I do why we all split up, and I’ve got enough problems without you bothering me.  So go away.”  And, amazingly, the voice was silent.

        Encouraged, she got to her hooves.  “Well, enough sitting around!  I’ve got a Spring to find, and some friends to meet up with!  What did Applejack say, again...?  ‘The Rose will lead you there,’ or something like that.  I guess I should—hey!  Hold on a minute!  Where the hay did that thing go, anyway?”  She glanced around desperately in search of the Rose fragment, growing more frantic every second.  It was nowhere to be found.

“Oh, no!  This is not good!  This is the opposite of good!  This is almost certainly the worst possible thing that could possibly possibly happen!  Oh where did I have it where did I have it... I dozed off... but it was in my hooves when I dozed off, I’m sure it was...”

Thoughts of her friends reuniting somewhere near the Spring.  Thoughts of them  wondering what happened to her... and then forgetting about her.  Thoughts of them saving the Princess and fixing everything without her and then laughing and hugging and the Princess would probably commemorate them and the whole time Pinkie would be lost forever in this forest all because she was so stupid that she had to lose her Rose piece and maybe it was a good thing that her friends will never see her again because it’s not like they needed her to save the Princess or—

“No!  I said shut up!”  She rubbed her forehead with her front hooves as if to push the thoughts from her mind.  In that moment of silence, she heard something.  A rustling.

She gasped, then slapped a hoof to her mouth, listening intently.  Silence... and then there it was again.  Almost directly in front of her.  She lunged forward, looking around wildly.  The rustling again, closer this time.  She honed in on the noise... and snatched her green Rose fragment from where it was flailing about in the underbrush, right at the edge of the clearing.

“There you are!” she shouted in triumph.  Once it was in her hooves, it seemed to take on a new energy, glowing and shaking about even more, always tugging in the same direction.  Its pull became so strong that it began dragging her forward.  She thought back to her dream and grinned, then gasped in surprise when it grew extraordinarily hot in her grip.  She dropped it, keeping a close eye on it so she wouldn’t lose it again.  It pulled itself along across the ground, hopping occasionally to pass over a rock or fallen log.

With a happy hum and a light bounce, she followed the shining fragment out of the clearing and into the forest, already thinking about how wonderful it would be to see her friends again.

***

Applejack wasn’t certain what to do.  Hopefully Pinkie understood the message, and realized that their separation was only temporary.  But there was that other side to Pinkie... that unpredictable self-loathing.  What if Applejack left her and that other side took over?  She weighed her options.  She doesn’t go back, and Pinkie turns out fine.  That’s the best ending.  But if she doesn’t go back and Pinkie doesn’t turn out fine?  Then Pinkie’s alone and depressed in the woods, and there was a chance she’d never motivate herself to find the Spring—which is why Applejack now sat on a log in the forest, biting her lip and torn between two very bad options.

Going back would mean facing Pinkie again... and she knew that if she went back now, she’d never be able to leave her friend again.  It was hard enough the first time.  If she went back now, neither of them would be lost enough to find the Spring.  It would all be over, and the other four would meet up and wonder what happened to them.

Ah can’t go back... Ah have to trust that she’s okay.  She can do it, she’s stronger than she looks.  If Ah go back now, Ah’d be doubting the strength of our friendship.  Ah know she’ll be fine.

This thought didn’t ease her mind as much as she had hoped.  Even so, she hopped off the log and headed off once more, walking several paces, then stopping suddenly.

Ah can’t.  Ah have to at least peak in on her.  Just to make sure she’s okay.  Ah won’t even let her know Ah’m there.

She knew the way back; when she left Pinkie, she took care to remember how to return—she must have understood subconsciously that she’d decide to go back.  After about ten minutes of trotting past memorized landmarks, the edge of the clearing came into view.  What if she’s not there?  What if she left?  Ah didn’t even think of that!  Ah suppose she’d be lost, then... hopefully her Rose would be guiding her already...

Her thoughts were cut off when she heard a slight snoring coming from the clearing.  Ah’d recognize that sound anywhere, Applejack thought with a smile.  

Suddenly the snoring became a shout.  “Guys, help!”

Oh no!  She’s in trouble!  “Pinkie, hold on, I’m coming!”  She charged for the wall of shrubs and branches that created the wall of the clearing.

“Guys?”  a surprised-sounding Pinkie said from the other side.

Applejack halted, stopping herself just before she broke through the edge of the clearing.  Between two branches she could make out the form of her friend staring glumly at the ground.  Thank goodness!  She was only dreaming!  She continued observing Pinkie carefully and with concern.

There were several minutes of silence as Pinkie sat alone.  A variety of expressions swam across her face, from sadness to surprise to an anger that frightened Applejack.  Then, suddenly, she spoke.  “Oh, you shut up!”  She took a bite of Applejack’s apple.

She must be talkin’ to...

“You shut up.  You know as well as I do why we all split up, and I’ve got enough problems without you bothering me.  So go away.”  From her hiding spot beyond the clearing, Applejack thew a hoof in the air triumphantly.  You show her, Pinkie!  Ah knew you could do it!

Pinkie began talking to herself once more, but Applejack was distracted by a sound from the other side of the clearing, which was getting closer every second.  Applejack glanced down from between the branches, trying to locate the source of the rustling.  Whatever it was, in a few moments it would break through the shrubby wall of the clearing and bump right into her.

Pinkie was searching about madly.  “Oh, no!  This is not good!  This is the opposite of good...”

Applejack began to panic.  Ah can’t break my cover... if she sees me, she’ll never let me go again, and I sure wouldn’t be able to let her go, either.  But if she loses her Rose... or worse, if she looks around for it and finds me...

The Rose fragment broke through the wall of the clearing, bumping right into Applejack’s front-left hoof.  Without thinking, and acting upon pure intuition alone, she did the only thing that happened to come to her mind:  she kicked it.  With a thud it landed nearly in the center of the clearing.  Pinkie turned around in surprise at the sound.  Applejack bit her lip nervously as the Rose fragment began sliding towards her again.  That darned thing just don’t give up, does it?  She considered backing away from the clearing’s edge, but realized that would make too much nose; with Pinkie listening intently for the sound of the Rose, she would surely hear Applejack making a ruckus in the bushes.

Instead she stayed perfectly still.  Pinkie began heading towards her, following the rustling sound of the Rose.  Closer, closer... she was a hoof’s reach away now.  The only thing between them was the thick branches and bushes of the clearing’s edge.  Applejack held her breath.  Did she just see me?  Ah swear we just made eye contact...

“There you are!”

Applejack nearly gasped, certain she was caught.  “Pinkie, we can’t get back together!  If we do, Ah know we’ll never be strong enough to separate again!”  she was prepared to say.  Luckily, she hesitated—long enough to realize Pinkie was addressing the Rose and not her.  She began backing quietly away from the clearing’s edge while Pinkie was preoccupied with the Rose.  She moved faster and faster as she got further away, and just as she managed to get behind a fallen log, the glowing Rose fragment burst through the bushes where she had stood only a minute ago.  Pinkie followed in its wake.  

Applejack watched as her friend shrank into the thick of the woods, suddenly filled with the urge to call out to her, to call her back and apologize for ever leaving her... but she knew she had no other choice but to watch her go.

As her friend shrank into the distance, she suddenly felt incredibly alone—just as alone as she had felt in Manehatten; just as alone as she had felt when she got lost picking apples only a few days ago.  It’s true, Applejack was a pony who could normally appreciate solitude.  Some days she enjoyed entirely alone, sitting against a familiar rough-yet-comfortable tree trunk and watching the sun glide across the sky, as she drifted in and out of sleep and gave thanks for such a beautiful world... not to Celestia, but to the trees and the apples and the grass and the blue sky and the clouds and everything beneath them.  But this was different than that peaceful isolation; it’s not even fair to call it that, isolation, because her friends were always a holler away.  This was more.  This was alienation, complete and utter separation.

She thought of her friends, who were all so far away from her, and who were all undoubtedly feeling the same way, and a teardrop fell to the dirt below.

Something twitched against her side.  It was her pack.  She had forgotten she was wearing it.  It twitched again, but from experience she already knew what was happening, and with a smile she wiped her eyes and shrugged her pack off her back and onto the ground.

She followed as it slid across the dirt floor of the forest, in the exact opposite direction that Pinkie had traveled.  For some inexplicable reason, she began to chuckle.  After a few seconds she was laughing, though she hardly knew why, but she was laughing just the same, and she saw no need to question it.  So she kept laughing, while her pack, with the Rose glowing faintly inside it, traced a path through the dirt and to her friends.

***

The last time Rarity was this muddy was either her last mudbath or the Sisterhooves Social.  This was much more unpleasant than either of those, however.  She looked like she had been dipped in a vat of melted chocolate.  That actually sounds quite nice, her mind wandered.  When this is all over with, perhaps I should create that... chocolate baths... it could be the next big thing.  All the benefits of a mud bath, plus the aroma and taste of the finest chocolate!  This could be the next yellow!  Or was yellow out this year?  Maybe that was orange...

Her thoughts darted every which way.  It was just so boring alone out here in this field, and if she didn’t keep thinking about every idea that flew into her head, she’d get to thinking about how dirty she was, and she’d go crazy—or, even worse: she’d start to think about her friends, all of them alone.... She adamantly detested the decision to break up.  She knew it was necessary, but there must have been a better way, a way to stick together, if only they had thought it through more.  It was too late now, of course.  Now she was alone.  And muddy.

In reality, the mud hardly bothered her.  Yes, she hated being filthy, but even she knew that there were times when one simply must get dirty, when a little grease or mud or dust is necessary for a pony to meet her goal.  But preoccupying herself with her appearance—even if there was nopony around to see her—was comforting somehow.  It helped her pretend that nothing had changed, that everything was as it should be, that Princess Celestia was at home in Canterlot and Twilight was in her library (probably studying, that bookworm, Rarity thought) and Fluttershy and Rainbow and Applejack and Pinkie were all at home and at peace.

She trudged through the grassy field, unable to enjoy the magnificent view because she was alone, and what good is a beautiful view if it can’t be shared?  Goodness, I am muddy, she quickly thought—for a moment there, her mind had accidentally ventured dangerously close to The Thought again, that Thought of being seperated.  Muddy, muddy, muddy...

Suddenly she stopped.  She had spotted something in the distance.  Finally! she thought, and began trotting even faster towards her new destination: a distant pool of water.  Minutes later she was there.

It was almost perfectly circular and had the diameter of a wishing well.  The water was a flawless blue, though she couldn’t determine the depth; it could have been up to her tail, or it could have been deeper than three of her stacked on top of each other.  Either way, she was a confident swimmer (she loathed swimming, but her parents had forced her to take lessons when she was a filly), and the mud was beginning to dry and get crusty and itchy.  With a splash, and not a second thought, she jumped in.

The water went only up to her leg joints, but with majestic skill she did a swift roll, submerging herself for a moment and scrubbing off the caked mud in the process.  The water was cool and refreshing, sweet tasting.  She finished and got back to her hooves.  Good as new!  She lifted a hoof to get out.

Something was wrong, though.  The hoof wouldn’t lift.  It was as if a powerful grip was holding her back.  She grunted with effort, and tried to lift her other hoof.  Stuck as well.  In a flash, part of her realized: she was stuck, she was caught, she would be trapped for hours until somepony came along and helped her.

Now now, let’s not panic, she thought, panicking.  I’m sure if I just relax and loosen up, I’ll be out in no time.  She became perfectly still, closed her eyes, and exhaled gently.  Then she slowly and tentatively began raising a hoof up to leave the shallow water.  It lifted almost an inch, but then the downward pull overcame her efforts and the hoof would budge no more.  The sand beneath the water had sucked her down, and all four hooves were trapped, submerged almost four inches.

        Rarity frantically searched the filing cabinets of her mind, scouring for advice, instruction; something, anything about her predicament.  Surely Twilight must have said something about quicksand at some point.  But she could not recall any such instance.  When I relaxed, I lifted this hoof a whole inch.  If I could do the same thing again, I could free myself.  You’ve been through worse, Rarity—remember those Diamond Dogs?  Those ruffians were far worse than this, and you handled the situation all on your own.  You can do this.  Her confidence bolstered by her self-conversation, she relaxed, loosened every muscle, and cleared her mind.  It was easy—she was a regular at Ponyville’s spa.

        She lifted the same hoof.  Another inch.  There!  We’re on our way out!  Then she noticed something awful: she had just raised her hoof another inch, but it was even farther trapped in the quicksand than before.  With gut-wrenching panic she realized she wasn’t just stuck... she was sinking.  Her state of loose-muscled calmness disintegrated as she panicked and began madly thrashing and pulling with her hooves, pulling to break free, because she was separated from her friends and there was nopony for miles and Ponyville was so very far away and she knew her fate was not to get stuck and starve in some awful pit of sand; she pulled because her friends needed her and she needed them and it was getting dark and what would happen when her friends reunited and she wasn’t there?  So she pulled.  And sank further.

        She stopped, exhausted.  The sand had now swallowed her to her leg joints, and the water was up to her belly.  She closed her eyes for a moment... she was so tired.  Am I really going to fall asleep here like this, alone and stuck in some stupid sand?  Maybe if I do, I’ll wake up again and it will all have been a dream... not just this, but the Rose and the forest and losing Applejack and... splitting up...

…

She dreamed.  “Applejack, that is ridiculous.  You can’t cover apple seeds in taffy and expect to grow taffy-covered apple trees.”

…

And dreamed.  “Mother, I refuse to take these ridiculous swimming lessons.  They’re embarrassing and useless.  What, do you expect me to wake up in the middle of the ocean one day?”

…

And dreamed.  “If there’s any problem at all, send up a flare and I’ll do my best to find you.”

…

        When she woke, the sun was already nearing high noon.  For a moment she had no idea where she was.  She brought a hoof to her eye to rub away the sleep, but the hoof would not budge.  In fact, her whole leg would not budge.  Suddenly, she remembered, and the panic swept back with full force.  To her horror, she realized that she had sunk even further in her sleep—the sand had absorbed each leg up to her body, and the water was halfway to her neck.  Even her pack was submerged, and her pack contained food, and she was hungry...

        Her horn glowed, and she lashed out at the sand with flashes of azure magic.  For one exciting moment, she thought it was working.  She pulled magically at the sand around her legs, digging down to free them.  But every dig she made was immediately filled back in with the surrounding sand, and every time she began to dig in a new location, the last one disappeared.  There was no way to dig everywhere at once.

        She remembered what she had told Twilight before they split up.  How long ago was that?  She had slept through the night... it must have been twelve hours ago.  Please don’t be too late... if she’s too far away...  She mustered up her remaining strength and channeled it all into her horn, which brimmed with a light blue aura that jumped and hopped like electric sparks.  Will this be visible in the daytime?

        She let it loose, straight up into the air.  Any doubts that it wouldn’t be visible were wiped away.  The bolt shot from the ground to the sky like reverse lightning, and for an instant the world seemed to be masked by a blue filter.  Then it was over, and she could only sit and wait for help, if it ever came.

***

        Twilight wandered aimlessly through the field.  It was noon, and she was scared.  Applejack was at the Spring within twenty minutes of getting separated.  Why is this taking so long?  Did we do something wrong?

        She was hungry, and her stomach let her know this as she passed a patch of delicious looking flowers.  But she didn’t feel like eating.

        Her mind kept returning to memories of her first day in Ponyville, when she met her friends for the first time.  For some reason an old saying of her mother’s swam through her thoughts: “There’s a first time for everything, but there’s never a second first time.”  This used to confuse her, but now she understood.

        Suddenly, an idea occurred to her.  I’m not very good at getting lost in real life, but I’m particularly good at getting lost in books.  The pack on her side glowed purple as the flap unsealed and opened.  She felt around for a book and grabbed one at random, bringing it to hover before her eyes.  The Yellow Book of Riddles.  She had finished the Blue and Green editions with ease, and had brought the Yellow edition for the journey in the hopes that it would provide a greater challenge.  She surveyed the field before her, saw no obstacles in her direction of travel, and began to read as she walked.  The book bobbed up and down in the grip of her magic, but she had grown used to this; after years of experience she could navigate all of Ponyville with a book in front of her face, so a field should prove no trouble at all.

        I am big as a dragon though I soar without sound.  On some quiet cold mornings I visit the ground.  A farmer is glad to have me around, though too many of me and his plants I will drown.  What am I?

        Twilight rolled her eyes.  A cloud.  This was so easy it was almost embarrassing.

        The answer to this question isn’t everything except the opposite of what isn’t ‘yes.’

        Trickier, but the answer was “yes”.  Though she thought this was a dumb question that left too much information unaccounted for.

        I have a mouth but never speak—

        Not this riddle again.  A river.  Was there any riddle in this book that was worth her time?  The more challenging questions were at the back.  She flipped to the very last page.

You have made it this far!  Congratulations to you!

But have you really solved all, or is there more you must do?

One last question, I beg, to you my dear reader:

What fun is there really in being a cheater?

Yes, I know what you’ve done,

You’ve skipped to the end!

And in doing so missed the most fun, my dear friend!

Life is worth living, the entire way through,

And by cheating the order, the real loser is you!

So go back while you can; let’s try this once more.

You flip to the beginning,

And I’ll open the door.

        Twilight stopped walking.  That was the last thing she expected to find.  She read it once more, a thoughtful expression upon her face, which then erupted into a grin.  What an interesting little book, she thought.  I suppose it speaks the truth.  I will flip  to the beginning.  I’m sure I could make it to the end fair and square in—

        Just then she felt a tug against her side.  She dropped the book in surprise.  It felt as if a small animal had crawled into her pack and was now thrashing about.  She flung it off, then walked cautiously to where it hopped about crazily on the ground of the grassy field.  Through the gap in the pack’s covering flap she could see pulsating red light.  Of course!  How could I have forgotten?  With an excited (but nervous) grin she began walking after the pack, which was now sliding in a direction to the right of where she had been heading—but first she made sure to grab The Yellow Book of Riddles off the ground.

        As she followed the sliding bag in amazement, a faint blue bolt flashed up into the clouds behind her.  It was so distant, and her attention was so preoccupied with the Rose, that she never even noticed.

***

        Fluttershy dutifully pursued the Rose as it slid through the sand.  When her legs grew tired, she flew.  When her wings grew tired, she walked.  There was no time to think; her entire consciousness was devoted to staying with the Rose, to never letting it leave her sight, to following it through sand and dirt and more sand.

        Because of this dedication, she didn’t notice when the temperature dropped drastically.  Or when the sand began to slowly give way to rougher terrain.  Or when the Rose was no longer melting sand but evaporating snow (if Twilight were there, of course, she would have explained that the snow was actually sublimating).

        So she kept on, drawing nearer to her friends, drawing nearer to Celestia, the cavern, that dark pony, and the one remaining Pillar.

***

        “She’s doing well.”

        “I know.  I’m very proud.”

        “Does she know?”

        “Know what?”

        “Of her friend.  The trapped one.”

        “No.  I don’t think so.”

        “What will happen?  She has the Rose piece, and if she is stuck, the process can’t be complete.  Not if a piece is missing.  Right?”

        “You are right.  But our daughter... her friends have something.  I’m not certain what it is, but it is strong.  It will be alright.”

        “Are you sure?”

        “Their friendship is—”

        “Are you sure?”

        “No.  I’m not sure about anything.  But I have faith.  In our daughter, in her friends, in the ability of the universe to weed out the bad and nourish the good.”

        “Do you remember the night you gave me the Rose?”

        “Of course.”

        “You knew what it really was, even then?”

        “Yes.”

        “Why give it to me, then?  What could I have done with it?”

        “My time with the Rose was through.  I never had to use it, thankfully.  No one has ever had to use it.  And I knew that, if the time ever did come, the Rose alone would not be enough.  The one wielding it would need a certain quality, some unnameable form of love, an indescribable sympathy.  For the Rose must be used to defy the malicious intent of another, but the wielder of the Rose must not hate or fear or despise that other.  The wielder must love that other.  That is what the Rose needs, and that is what I saw in you.  And that is what lives on in our daughter.”

        “Do you feel it?  The instability?  The quaking and groaning?”

        “Yes.  The tethers are already snapping.  Our world is drawing nearer to theirs.  In their world, in the Spring, the tethers are seen as Pillars.  Only one remains.  And it grows weak.”

        “But they can do it?  They can use the Rose in time?”

        “I do not know.”

        “You said you knew.”

        “I said I have faith.”

         “I have faith, too.  Our little filly... I’m so proud.”

        “I am, too.  She got it from you, you know.”

        “Her strength?  Don’t be silly.  That’s from your side, not—”

        “No, not her strength.  Her spirit.  Her sympathy and love.”

        “She’s so brave.”

        “She is.”

Next Chapter: Part Eight: Promises Estimated time remaining: 1 Hour, 27 Minutes