“Aaand up towards the sun!” Pinkie chanted, stretching her arms in the direction of the sky above. A few all too puffy clouds drifted harmlessly in the sea of blue but the sun took dominance, illuminating the grass of the school’s field so it almost looked emerald. She took a few deep breaths and held her position, her cheeks expanding as they filled with air.

“Then doooown to my toes!” The girl swung towards the ground, her fingertips wiggling as they almost reached her white trainers. The rest of her kit was simple: blue shorts that cut off at the knee and a white tank top.

“Ya ‘bout done stretchin’?” Jack called, a small figure in the distance from the woman. “We’re ready fer ya here.”

“Coming!” After a few more timed breathes and stretches, Pinkie was jogging her way towards Jack.

“Okay, here!” she said, before taking a swig of flavored water from her sports bottle.

“Alright.” Jack wiped a sort of sappy, off-white resin from her hands onto her pants. From behind, both of them heard a small gasp of horror from Rarity, but they ignored it for the time being. “I got a dueling seal slapped onta the ground—ya know how these work?”

“Nopey dopey!” Pinkie replied, shaking her head.

“Come here then,” she instructed. “An’ listen. This is serious, Diane, alright?” Jack turned, marching a bit away, where a ring about thirty feet across made itself shown on the ground. “What I smeared onta the grass here. It’s a sorta, uh… suppression, I guess. Basically makes non-living material not kill ya. I dunno the details: I’m sure ya ain’t too keen on how spells an’ the like work either.”

Demonstrating, she stepped inside the ring and pulled out a dagger from a side sheath. Gritting her teeth, she shot it forward, plunging it squarely through her right hand. Turning her palm, she showed the exit wound to Pinke, then grasped the handle. With a sickening wet sound, Jack pulled it free. Blood and a small indention in her palm was the only evidence of the grievous injury and, after a moment, the indention filled out, returning her skin to a more natural appearance.

“Hurts like hell,” she warned, wiping at the sweat at her brow, but flexing her hand in demonstration. “It’s how we learned live combat with Will.”

“If it wasn’t for the extreme pain, that’d be kinda funny!” Pinkie offered, pointing at Jack’s palm. “You were kinda like putty for a bit.”

“I don’t like ta think ‘bout it,” Jack remarked. “‘Specally if ya get hit in the heart or brain. Shuts ya down fer a bit.”

“Oh.” Pinkie went silent, looking down at her tank top. “Can I have some gear, please?”

Jack nodded by Rarity, where a chest sat. “Pads an’ the like in there. An’ what ‘bout a weapon? Given thoughts on ‘em? God willin’, ya won’t even touch it while we’re doin’ all-a this. God willin’, none-a us will. But...”

“Well, let’s see whatcha got…” She waltzed over to the chest and, with a grunt, opened it right up.

“Could get Gilda here, show ya the ropes on a bow or crossbow. It’d be safer. If anythin’, I’d almost prefer it over ya havin’ ta work close,” Jack said it to Pinkie, but during all of it, she glanced to Rarity.

“This was both of our ideas, Jack. I don’t like the thought of having to do it, but if I must, I’d rather fight to where I’m close by,” Rarity remarked. “Someone has to be able to drag you away if something were to happen.”

“I don’t want ya ta like it, sug. It ain’t you. But…”

“I’m never going to be helpless again,” Rarity tersely answered. “Sometimes a silver tongue won’t cut it.”

Jack thoughtfully looked down at her hand. “Ya weren’t helpless. Yer never completely helpless. Jus’...”

“Didn’t have the right skillset?” she offered with a wry smile. “I’ll accept that answer.”

“Hm… this is a confuzzling conundrum…” Pinkie said to herself, staring at the weapons on offer. Some of them flew right by her eyes, her hands working by themselves to juggle a variety of blades; two knives, a small axe and even a shortsword. She handled each of the weapon’s different weights perfectly, throwing them and catching them time and time again without injury.

Taking her eyes off her juggling, she stared at Jack. “What do you think?”

“Thought ‘bout a war hammer? A mace? Somethin’ ta use a lil’ muscle?” Jack offered.

Rarity looked between the two. “I’m no expert, but I think Pinkie might do well with throwing knives or axes, personally.”

“Only if she can hit a target nine times outta ten. Bouncin’ that stuff along ain’t gonna do a lick-a good when somethin’ is pissed and runnin’ towards her an’ she can’t hit it.”

Pinkie stopped her juggling, throwing each weapon into the ground so it got stuck blade side. “We can never know until we try, Jackie!”

“Guess that’s true. We can start ya off on a stationary target.” She moved away and returned with a spear, which she jabbed into the dirt. After a moment of considering what to use, she looked over to Rarity. “Got twine or anythin’?”

“Why did I guess you’d need something like that today?” Rarity pondered out loud, reaching towards the purse at her side and tossing a needle and thread Jack’s way.

The farmer made a quick run to the weapons, grabbed a small cudgel, and made a cross with the spear, giving several runs of the thread across the two sticks to brace them together. Then, without pause, she unbuttoned her shirt and threw it over the creation, turning it into almost a makeshift kite.

“Wish I woulda known we’d be doin’ somethin’ like this. Paintin’ a haybale woulda been a lot less work,” Jack said, crossing her arms over her bra. She turned to Pinkie. “Throw. Maybe from ten, twelve feet away. See how many go through the shirt.”

“Please tell me you’ll throw it away after she’s done ruining it,” Rarity bemoaned.

“I could. But I’d be lyin’,” Jack replied with a quick smile. “Jus’ think of it as doin’ a favor fer yer best customer when ya get around ta sewin’ it up.”

Pinkie took a few sharp knives with her, going back a few paces. Narrowing her eyes, she focused on the shirt and only the shirt. She flipped a knife in her hands, getting a feel for its weight. She had to concentrate yet in the fray of a fight, there wouldn’t always be time for that. So she simply lined up the shot, then threw all her knives in rapid succession.

They flew across the field and ripped into the shirt, with the exception of one that landed behind it. They teared through its fabric with ease, leaving nicely sized holes. They were a little all over the place but at least, were the shirt being worn by a real person, they would’ve likely hit vital organs.

“Again,” Jack said neutrally, crossing her arms as she observed Pinkie. “While yer movin’ side-ta-side.”

“Already?!” Pinkie whined, going over to pick up the knives.

“Again,” Jack agreed with a nod.

Pinkie spared a glance at Rarity as she pottered back to her throwing spot. “Your wife is a harsh mistress.”

“And you see her in a good mood right now. Imagine what I deal with when she’s upset.”

Pinkie shivered, standing back in place. Getting back into the right frame of mind only took a few moments and before she knew it, her legs were moving side to side for her. She threw the knives, getting more bolder with each throw, to the point where she was jumping. More knives missed their mark this time, but the shirt still received some fresh new holes.

“Not good enough. Again,” Jack instructed with a bark.

Pinkie growled, tightening her fists and almost stomping back to the knives, performing the dreary task of gathering them all up again. She got back into position and repeated the cycle, her throws a lot harder than prior. By now the shirt was nearly in tatters, ravaged by the ire of a woman without much patience.

“How many ya hit with?” the farmer asked suddenly, watching Pinkie.

“I dunno! I wasn’t counting!” Pinkie cried, then swiveled towards Rarity. “You know?”

“Six. Four misses,” Rarity answered.

“Those four misses could be life or death. How many misses do ya think ya’d have in an actual fight, Diane?” She marched towards the shirt and gave a slap at their makeshift dummy. “People—monsters—can move. If yer missin’ almost half yer tosses on a stationary target...”

“But you were the one telling me to move about all crazy! Who does that when they’ve got a perfect shot lined up?” Pinkie protested.

“When they’re tryin’ ta avoid perfect shots. Think yer gonna always have range advantage over someone?”

“Jack,” Rarity started, looking towards the woman. “You don’t need to—”

“This is serious. Ya gotta think ‘bout this sorta stuff. If ya don’t, yer jus’ gonna get hurt.”

“Well of course it’s serious,” Rarity snapped, crossing her arms. “But easing her into it would help a lot more than brushing everything she’s done right so far to the side. You weren’t like that when I wanted to learn.”

Jack’s frown broke. She looked at Rarity with surprise. “Of course not. That’s because yer—”

“What, Jack Apple? Delicate?”

“Yer strong.”

“Then what? A soul-folk?”

“No.”

“What? Because I’m a lady?”

“Because yer my wife,” Jack said, as if the answer was obvious. “I ain’t gonna browbeat ya when yer jus’ wantin’ ta know the basics.”

“That doesn’t matter here,” Rarity replied, pointing a stern finger Jack’s way. “I don’t necessarily like this. However, I want to learn it just as everyone else learns it. So treat me like Pinkie.” She glanced over to the woman in question, pausing for only a moment. “I wish to duel her.”

“What?” Jack asked, taken aback. “Rare—”

“No. You and Dash have done it, have you not? Why can’t I?”

“I don’t wanna see ya hurt.”

“And I don’t wanna see Jack see me hurt you!” Pinkie said, crossing her arms over one another to point at both women.
Rarity said nothing, staring defiantly up at Jack, she moved away, entering the ring. “Sounds like a challenge to me, Diane. I’ll show you I’m not a delicate flower when necessary.”

“Rare,” Jack said. “Why ya doin’ this?”

Rarity rolled her eyes, stretching an arm over her head. “Shouldn’t the answer be obvious to you?”

Jack stepped forward; Rarity glared harshly at the woman, freezing her in her tracks.

“You’re fighting the winner and judging this one. Do I make myself clear?” the soul-folk said with authority.

Jack hesitated, but finally relented, rubbing anxiously at her neck. Finally, she looked towards Pinkie. “Go easy on her,” she instructed.

“Go all out!” Rarity called in return.

“Goddamnit, Rare,” Jack said to herself, nervously swallowing. She stared at the woman like a mother might watch her child’s first bike ride. “Diane,” Jack said to the girl next to her. “Yer call. Even if she’s pullin’ this… hissy fit, ya don’t have ta fight her.”

“Jack,” Pinkie began, placing both her hands on Jack’s broad shoulders. “Rarity’s had more training than I have. If anything, you should be telling her this. Silly.”

“Maybe,” she admitted, but made no move toward the tailor.

“Are you about ready, Diane?” Rarity called out in a sing-song tone. “I’d also consider armor if I were you.”

Pinkie went over to the leather armor pieces, getting strapped into a large chest piece. “Can I put it on first?” she asked, plonking a helmet on her head. Next came the fingerless gloves, following by the knee pads and shin guards. Her weapon of choice was the war hammer. Not an especially graceful thing, she gripped it in one hand, grunting as she put another on it to help accommodate with the weight.

She slung the hammer over her shoulder for support. “This takes me back to the days on the farm. Good thing that gave me experience in heavy lifting!”

Rarity glanced over as Pinkie armed herself and, with one small twirl of her palm, Rarity gestured a finger down at her feet. Instantly, a set of translucent boots came to life. She trailed her finger up, creating greeves, knee guards, thigh and codpiece. A belt sparked to life and a sheath filled a slot at her waist, housing a noble looking saber. As the rest of her ensemble formed at her torso and pauldrons came into existence, she withdrew her sword, giving it a small flourish to get used to the weight in her hand. Finally, a helmet appeared on her crown and she looked over at Jack briefly before pulling the near translucent visor down over her face.

Pinkie took one glance at her shabby armor and another at Rarity’s. “I’m starting to think this is one sided.”

Rarity didn’t hear her, Jack was already at her side like a hawk.

“Now, ya gotta make this quick,” she instructed. “Ya know yer magic don’t last too long when focused like this. An’ one thing I’ve noticed—”

“Let me handle this, Jack,” Rarity said. “I know you mean well, but please.”

She looked towards the tailor before slowly nodding. “Alright. I was jus’... alright.”

Rarity sighed. “Just make sure neither of us step outside of the circle, darling.”

“Watchin’ y’all like a hawk.”

She stepped back, looking between the two. “Alright. How we normally do this is either first ta fall three times, or when ya... “ She thought of her words and decided not to mince them. “Kill the other, technically.”

“Very well,” Rarity said, watching Pinkie evenally. “Let’s see how you do against a moving target, after all.”

The woman forced a smile on her face. “Yep! Haha, should be fun. Fun in a bun!”

“It might be a welcome exercise,” Rarity agreed. “Don’t worry, Jack,” she said without looking at the woman.

“Hard not ta,” the farmer admitted with a sigh. Raising a hand, she looked at both the woman, then brought it down in a chopping motion. “Begin!”

Pinkie tightened her grip on her war hammer, narrowing her eyes at Rarity. She tried to ignore the cold drop of sweat that rolled down her face and the way her legs were shaking by themselves.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Rarity encouraged. “My sword can’t even chip a nail. Your hammer can’t technically hurt me either. Not that it will feel… pleasant, but…”

Pinkie brought the hammer over her hand, using both hands to swing it down at the ground with all the force she could muster. She stumbled a little, but mostly kept her balance and the weapon hit the ground with resounding force. A big thump resounded, kicking up dirt and grass into the air.

“Er… yeah…” Pinkie agreed, lifting the hammer from the ground.

Rarity extended her saber out, lifting her free hand behind her and turning her body to the side. “Let’s dance.”

“You go first,” Pinkie quickly uttered.

Rarity took a step forward, a small hop, and thrusted her blade slowly towards Diane, judging the other’s reactions.

It seemed that Pinkie did indeed have very good reactions, for the very second Rarity moved an inch, the woman swiveled around and started running across the field, screaming her lungs out.

“P-Pinkie?” Rarity stammered, frozen like a statue as she watched the woman have a panic attack. She looked to Jack, Jack looked to her with an unsure shrug and Rarity sheathed her weapon. “Diane, darling. It’s fine. You’re fine.” Rarity approached her, her hands held peacefully at her sides. “Don’t be scared.”

Before anyone had any say in the matter, Pinkie stopped fleeing and had spun around, the flat side of the mace being thrusted right towards Rarity’s stomach at high speed.

It connected with a loud thump, cracking square into Rarity’s stomach. Two things happened at the same time. Rarity slumped over onto the ground, gasping for air, and Jack stepped towards the two.

Jack was furious, scowling and trembling, her fists clenched so tight she could feel a raw ache in her bones. “What the hell are ya doin’ ya stupid bi—”

“Jack,” Rarity wheezed out. She rolled her head to the side and wryly smiled. “Not easy just watching, is it?” With a grunt, she rose to her knees, then pushed herself up, nearly falling onto her back. “S-sometimes, it hurts more than getting hit yourself.”

Jack’s anger flicked off like a light. She stared at the tailor.

“Do you understand why I’m doing this now? Why I want to learn what I can?” she asked. “It’s not for just my sake. I want to be there when you…” She trailed off, rubbing at her gut and shaking her head.

Reluctantly, Jack stepped back, letting Rarity catch her breath for a moment as she stared down Diane.

“That was a mistake,” Rarity said, gritting her teeth. Unsheathing her blade once again, she assumed a fencer’s pose. “The only one that’s going to happen today.”

“Sorry if that seemed sneaky,” Pinkie said, sparing a split-second glance at Jack. “But I thought about some of the monsters from story books, and some of them are really sneaky and mean.”

“It’s fine,” Rarity neutrally answered. “I hope you have more in you than a cheap shot, however.”

“I guess we’ll seeeeeee!” Pinkie sang, pivoting around on one foot, turning clockwise towards Rarity and bringing along her mace, powered by the momentum.

Rarity long-stepped backwards from the blow, then launched herself forward, thrusting her blade directly for Pinkie’s heart.

Pinkie let out a fast gasp, ducking down and crouching so that the blade barely went past her head. She dropped her hammer for the time being, grabbing some throwing knives attached to her belt and throwing them for Rarity’s legs.

Rarity gave a gesture from her palm and a burst of air erupted, throwing the knives feebly to the sides. She clenched her fist and twisted it, pulling it towards her. Pinkie felt a hard tug from her armor, as if it were being magnetized towards Rarity.

“Magic’s no fair!” Pinkie grumbled, reaching out for her weapon but only just missing it, the tips of her fingers feebly touching the handle. She dug in her feet into the ground, hoping that would somehow stop the force upon her.

Rarity grit her teeth, straining against Pinkie’s resistance, a part of her wishing she had been as diligent on her magical study as Twila was. An idea came to her and she threw her palm out, reversing the woman’s polarity, throwing her backwards.

Her gambit worked, throwing Pinkie along the floor like a discarded plaything. She bounced and tumbled along the ground, making high-pitched noises of pain and discomfort in the process. When she finally stopped, she put a hand to her head and slowly stood up, swaying slightly.

Rarity charged forward, her eyes like a hawks as she lunged for Pinkie during her moment of weakness, thrusting several pokes towards the woman, before one deep thrust. It was over in seconds, the strikes puncturing Pinkie’s armor like a kitchen knife through paper. Her face consorted in pain and after the last hit, she fell to the ground hard.

“She, uh, out?” Jack asked. Rarity looked down at her, giving a small poke at Pinkie’s shoulder.

“Ooooooow…” Pinkie wailed, clutching at her chest. “Mercy. Uncle. Give me a white flag.”

“Guess that decides it.” Jack pointed down at her. “I know it ain’t yer…”

“Yes, yes,” she replied dryly, gesturing down her body to dispel her ethereal armor. “Administer endorphins so she stops hurting quite as bad.”

“Thata girl.”

Rarity gave a small gesture with her ring and middle finger, before pressing them against Pinkie’s temple. A small wave of pleasure settled through Pinkie's body, drawing her mind away from the aches and pains the faux-injuries gave her. They still sat in the back of her mind, but, at least, were a few miles away, as opposed to right beside her.

She sat up, blinking a few times. Grabbing her helmet, she removed it and threw it off to the side without looking at the thing. “That was garbage.”

“What was?” Rarity questioned, blinking.

“Me,” she responded, heaving herself up and going over to collect the war hammer.

“You just need practice. Perhaps Jack and myself were too zealous having you fight. Jack ran through dozens of drills before entering the ring like this.”

“She’s right,” Jack agreed. “Yer jus’ now gettin’ used ta the feel of yer weapon. I never shoulda tossed ya to the wolves so quick.”

“Uh-huh,” Pinkie muttered, chucking the hammer over to the other weapons. It landed with a clatter.

“Come on, sug. Don’t be like this. Don’t suit ya.”

“But I’m supposed to be an earth-folk,” she replied, staring at the three colored balloons on the back of her hand. “All tough and stuff. This should just come naturally to me. At the very least I’d be able to take a beating, like a pinata.”

“Ya don’t jus’ pick that up.” She turned her cheek towards Pinkie, showing the scar line that made her mouth turn into an almost sickening grin that stretched to near her earlobe. “Know what I did when I got this?”

“Probably something real tough and brave,” Pinkie said, looking down at Jack’s own mark.

“I howled. It hurt so bad I thought I was goin’ nuts.” She swallowed. “Mighta done jus’ that if I hadn’t had Rare ta take care-a.” Looking to the sky, she gave a tilt of her head. “Ya don’t jus’ come outta the womb tough as an earth-folk. Jus’ like how them sky-folk ain’t all ‘bout speed like Dash. Ya learn how ta be tough, sug.”

“Maybe.” She hummed thoughtfully, looking back at her mark. She flexed her fingers. “But if you look at my family, all of them are super tough. And they got rocks for marks so you know it. I love my balloons but you can’t have balloon rocks. They’re totally the opposite things! And don’t even think about putting a rock inside a balloon.”

“Ya know what happens when ya squeeze a rock hard enough?” Jack suddenly asked. “Crumbles, don’t it?”

“Not without damaging what crumbled it back,” Pinkie pointed out.

“How ‘bout with a balloon?” She looked over to Pinkie. “Ya twist some an’, sure, they can pop. Those that don’t? Ya can make ‘em anythin’ ya want ‘em ta be. A dog, a horse, even a carousel. Changin’ that much? Gotta be tough somehow, don’t ya think?”

Pinkie shook her head. “No, just flexible. Even the most complicated best balloon animal out there would still pop easily to just one pin.”

“Flexible can be tough an’ strong too. Rare couldn’t lift half-a what we do on a given day, I bet. More than she used to, goin’ by the muscle I’m seein’ on her now. But muscle ain’t all she is. She’s flexible. She’s strong in her own way. Yer strong in yer own way.”

Placing her hand down to her side, she turned to Jack. “But not in a way that can save me from a big bad monster. Not in a way that can save Spike, like you can with Rarity.”

“Yer right there. But…” She raised a hand, letting it fall. “Guy still might need savin’ in a different way.” She put her hands on Pinkie’s shoulders. “Things weren’t always good fer me back when I was in school. But ya gals… helped me pull myself together. That might be the kinda savin’ I’m meanin’.”

“Maybe. But from what Celestia said…” Pinkie gazed back at the school. “This is going to be a whole different kettle of fish. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Y’know?”

“Well, yeah. It ain’t gonna be easy, sug.” Jack stared at the school too, crossing her arms. “I believe in ya. I believe in ya an’ Rarity with everythin’ I got in me.”

A small smile found its way across Pinkie’s lips. “That at least makes me feel a little better. Thanks, Jackie.”

“Yeah. No problem. An’ sorry if I came across rough. Ya jus’ gotta know this ain’t no game is all. Nothin’ against ya, sug.”

“I know that. But that doesn’t mean we can’t fun along the way.” Pinkie put her arms behind her back, puffing out her chest. “Morale’s important too!” she announced.

“She’s right there,” Rarity agreed. “Motivation, inspiration, you throw that out the window and you’re left with nothing to your art, be it quill, needle, or blade.”

“Alright, alright,” Jack agreed, forcing a smile to her face. “I got some things ta learn when it comes ta leadin’ too.” She clapped, turning her attention back to Pinkie and Rarity. “So let’s take it from the top, girls. What ya say?”

After the sparring, Jack retired to a place she knew she wouldn’t be disturbed.

The dusty building, a borderline shack still stood just outside of the school yard, a sight that pleased her. Inside still housed a boxing ring, punching bags, and a set of weights.

She gave a nostalgic smile to the place. Back while she was still at school this was one of her favorite spots on campus. Isolated, quiet, and filled with things she could understand compared to the theories and formulas of the schoolrooms. It was perfect for her.

Moving to one of the punching bags, she gave it a small push and listened to the chain that held it to a loop on the ceiling creak in protest.

Behind her, the door opened. It came as a bit of a surprise to her—though there were jocks every now and again, it was rare enough that it tended to give her pause. She turned, catching sight of who walked through the doorway.

Iron Will entered, ducking his head to make it through the door. The Norfolk walked wordlessly to her and took a spot he had many times during their conversations; he sat down on the mat of the boxing ring, resting his meaty arms on the ropes.

Jack joined him, hopping up and all but mirroring his pose.

“Glad I found you,” he said. “Had a feeling you might of been here.”

“Thought I’d jus’ check out the place, see if anyone’s been messin’ with it.”

“You’ve seen some of the wimps: you really think they’d come here to throw a punch or lift anything bigger than their lunchbox?” Will asked, like usual, a cocky grin on his face.

“Well, most-a them,” Jack agreed. “Though considerin’ what a few did ta me, can’t dismiss ‘em all.”

“That’s true too. Can’t dismiss ‘em all.” He cracked his knuckles and his grin turned to a warm smile. “I hear you were training a few people earlier today. Planning on replacing me soon?”

“An’ have ta deal with Dash an’ Gilda? Sorry, yer on yer own.”

Will chuckled. “Figured that’d be your answer.”

He kept quiet and looked down towards the floor.

“Were ya needin’ somethin’, Will?” Jack asked, bringing him back to attention.

“Nah, Apple. Just checking up on you.”

She raised and lowered her hands. “Better than the usual times we chatted in here.” Glancing over to the man, she then looked forward, saying nothing more.

“Something’s on your mind,” Will said. He pointed a meaty finger to her face. “Your left eye twitched a bit.”

“The what now?” Jack asked, tilting her head. Will flashed a thumbs-up.

“Simple. When you hesitate in just about anything, your eye flinches. How else can I predict your feints?”

“‘Cause you’ve been ‘round the block?” Jack replied. Will laughed again.

“No, Apple. Part of fighting isn’t reflexes. Part of it is planning. You’re…” His brow furrowed. “I don’t want to give you a big head; that’s how good men end up dead. But I’ll say this: you’re fast enough now that just reflexes only let me dodge the occasional blow. What I have to do against you is about body language. The angle of your feet, how clenched your fist is, your eye. It tells me how you’re coming, how to anticipate it.” He snorted. “And it tells me when you’re not saying something.”

Jack mirrored the action with a bemused snort of her own. “Jus’ thinkin’. Thinkin’ that I have no idea how ya handle a lot of this shit.” Will stared at her so she continued, “how ya can handle the bodies, how ya can handle us, how ya can handle a-all of it.” The earth-folk gestured towards the door. “Tried ta teach Diane a bit an’ it didn’t work out fer me.”

“Not the best student?” Will guessed.

“She was good. Might even have a better knack at it than me. Problem was I was too harsh on her. Made her run drills over an’ over again, but gave Rare a free pass.”

“That’s a good sign.”

Jack blinked. “It is?”

“A good leader always questions how well they’re doing. I’ve lost a lot of sleep thinking about you, Dash and Gilda.”

“Why? Yer a great leader.”

“Better than the princesses even, right?” Will asked, throwing a thumb to his chest. Jack looked at him, unsure what to say as he again laughed. “How’s that for a loaded question?”

“Up there with the ones Rarity asks,” Jack admitted, looking plainly to him.

He raised his finger up. “Ronnel, as usual, Jack.”

Ronnel. The Norfolk had some interesting philosophies, that was one of them. The word itself simply meant ‘wheel’ in their language, but also described a set of beliefs most of Will’s race held between them. The ability to continue along the path that had been laid out for them, traveling along it with a sense of stoicism and acceptance.

She wryly smiled. “Ronnel.”

Will leaned to the side, giving her shoulder a small push. “You don’t need much more advice. Or at least the advice I can give.”

“That ain’t true.”

“Of course it is. I’ll always be around to give you advice, but you don’t need it now, aside from some of my barks about combat.” His gaze softened further and he turned to stare at her. “It’s… I see you, Apple, and, even though I’ve only known you for a few short years, I can say that I’ve trained stronger, quicker and sharper students, but none had your heart. That’s why you’re my personal protege.

“Dash and Gilda are coming into their own, but you? You’re going to be the one that leads ‘em someday when I’m dead or out of the business.” He moved closer and smiled at Jack, reaching to tuck one of her bangs behind her ear. “I’m proud of you. You remember your ancestor’s face and carry their lineage with pride, Apple. If I had a child half as impressive as you...” he trailed off, giving a half-smile to the woman.

Jack gave a small quirk of her lips. “Ya gotta promise me somethin’: ya ain’t gonna die or retire too quick on me.”

“I’m too dumb to die, Jack. Something we got in common.” He hopped off his usual perch. “You’re gonna have to promise me something too: even if it’s hard, you need to do the right thing. You got the strength and training to do just that. But, more importantly…” Reaching over one more time, he tapped at her heart.

The earth-folk hopped down herself and nodded. “‘Course, Will. When do I take the easy way out?”

He smiled paternally to her. “You don’t, Apple. You’re almost as bad as me.”

“There are worse people to be,” Jack said.

A bespeckled man pushed the glasses he wore up his brow as he skimmed over a listing adorned upon a scroll. Satisfied, he gave a look over to Celestia and Luna, who sat upon their thrones within the mythical hall of Camelot, Luna resting her head upon a fist, nearly asleep, Celestia herself bored as she finished the last of a goblet of wine.

“Frederick,” Luna addressed, not bothering to open her eyes. “Art thou done with thine notes of today’s events? I feel a hot bath and an elderberry ale is within order, if mine duty is complete.”

The man nodded. “Yes. No—” he paused, pointing a finger at a line towards the center of the page.

“Princess Luna, may I inquire once more to your trip to the Norfolk lands? I see there’s a discrepancy of about eighty bits on the paperwork you submitted. Did you forget to fill out a receipt?”

Luna sighed, leaning onto her fist even harder, looking very much like a slug as she didn’t even bother to open her eyes. “Back in the days of war, we cared not for every bit within our coffers. ‘T’was a far better time despite the violence, methinks.”

“Is there anything remaining for me that needs discussed, Frederick?” Celestia interrupted.

Frederick blinked, then looked over the listing. “No. Smooth sailing on your end. You at least know how to mark down personal finances. Your sister could learn a lesson from you.”

The Nightwalker groaned audibly, slumping deeper into her chair as Celestia maneuvered past them, a taunting smile on her face as she found blissful freedom within her grasp as her heels clicked on the marble flooring. At the pearl-white room’s massive doorway that lead away from the castle’s throne room, she put a hand on the golden gate and pushed, opening the massive door without much strain. Stepping through, she nodded at the guards that stood at attention on either side and they did much the same.

Walking through the hallway, she turned, heading down and taking a right, then out another, more humble door, where a guard sat reading a novel. She caught Celestia out of the corner of her eye and snapped to attention, all-but throwing the book to the ground in a panic as she offered the Daywalker a shaky salute. Celesia laughed, returning the gesture before stepping through the door.

Though she had half a mind to return to her quarters to sleep and prepare for her trip, she decided that a moment’s time alone in the air would do her good. She stepped out onto one of the many balconies overlooking the sweeping majesty of the castle-town of Camelot and took a breath of air, holding in the scent sweet of the snow-tipped peaks of the mountainside the castle held itself flush to.

Giving a bit of a cautious glance behind her, Celestia leaned over to check the other balconies that littered the side of the castle, at one point tools of defense that held bastilas, now decorated, refined pieces of architecture. she smiled.

Not a guard around.

With a familiar tingle, she felt the magic within her spine spark to life and two majestic white wings appeared behind her in a glow of soft light. She gave a curious flex of them; though magical in design akin to sky-folk, they tended to be at least slightly more within the physical realm, holding substance and texture that the sky-folks wings did not have.

Satisfied at their weight and appearance, she gave a slow leap upward.

Her wings fluttered, catching her weight, then began to move her, gliding her through the air with ease. Though the guards would sometimes have a conniption fit when she flew without supervision, Celestia ignored their pleas, instead focusing on herself for this single piece of entertainment that she held not ran by committee.

She looked over the cable-cars at the end of the city, mere red dots from where she flew, like small insects dithering to-and-fro from the ground up to the mythical City-Upon-The-Hill.

With a flex of her wings, she darted forward, heading to the cars, intending to distract herself from her more pressing issues for the moment.

It was strange. Even after all these years of reigning over the people below her, she felt like she was still a mere shade of her father. He always seemed to hold in his heart what the best course of action was, there was no room for hesitation. Every action was a calculated response that strived to better the lands, no matter what the cost to him personally. He was the quintessential man with the weight of the world on his shoulders and Celestia wanted to grow up to be much the same. To hold the men, women and children below her walking in the streets, to cradle them in her hands, make their lives as easy as she could.

That didn’t always happen. She wasn’t naive enough to believe that there would ever be complete peace, that there would be no suffering here, but stopping as much of it as she could personally lifted her heart to a far better place.

Her thoughts turned to Twila, a relationship she was still trying to step through.

She had trusted the woman. Had trusted her statement that she saw Celestia for everything, good and bad. That alone made her breath a sigh of relief.

There was also a few considerations of her own regarding herself. Celestia had never considered women as potential mates. During her time, it wasn’t simply dancing that two women were virtually unheard of. You would on occasion hear the rumors, of course, but never anything so brazenly obvious as within the dance hall at Cloudsdale. Never someone such as Jack married to Rarity. Those things were just something that didn’t happen. Now, however…

As she flew down the market square she was assaulted by the scents of meats, sweets, and dozen other treats. Her mouth watered involuntarily and she half considered stopping to get a bite, before deciding that flying seemed better for her right now.

Yes. It wasn’t something that happened then, but now, now she could pursue that sort of relationship if she wished.

Do you wish? she questioned herself.

The answer didn’t come for a long moment, not until she came towards the edge of the castle-town, the massive walls that separated it from the earth below creating a sanctuary high above the clouds.

Twila was a beautiful woman. Vibrant, full of life. Celestia could see her eventually coming to care for her. It wasn’t necessarily a feeling she shared at the moment. True, she cared for her as one would a friend. As she did her own sister. But as a romantic partner? That was yet to be. But there was hope in her that something such as that would happen, and if there was hope, there was a want. It never hurt to try.

That settled in her mind, she traveled towards the cable-cars. She made it to the side of one and did a quick scan inside, shutting her eyes and letting magic look for her.

Her eyes changed, instead of looking at the world as how she normally did, it became an odd, dark thing, with the only color within emanating from the magic coursing through the veins of the people and of the layline buried within the earth below.

As she expected, she sensed within the cable-car one soul-folk, one earth-folk, and a smaller presence. A child earth-folk of about six or seven, going by its size. Judging by the way their veins were positioned, only the child was paying attention, observing the night sky with a sense of wonder.

There could be a lot to be learned by children. Their ability to see beauty even in something as miniscule as a plastic bag, the sense of joy they held, their trust. They were all admirable qualities, ones adults should hold more within themselves.

So with that in mind, she decided to do something childlike.

Canceling the magical sight she used once she saw where the youngest was looking, she swooped in low, creeping towards the window. Then she sprang up, putting her fingers into her mouth and stretching her cheeks out. For added flavor, she went crossed-eyed.

The boy flinched at first from surprise, then, seeing her expression, he squealed in delight, clapping his hands and pointing toward the window just as Celestia took off again, gone before his parents could react.

Grinning, she flew to the next cart, ready to do the same to the single solitary passenger riding within the car. When she saw who it was, however, she paused, the prank forgotten.

He was a young man, no older than thirty, with blue hair and a shield graced his cheek in the form of his mark. The coat her wore was decorated with badges, all from campaigns he served in and, later on, lead, and he held himself with a pride that would seem haughty for others, but for him was a simple extension of the grace both him and his sister held.

Lewlin Shields. An up-and-coming general of the Cabelian military. The man and his sister seemed destined for greatness. Twila with her ascension into becoming an all-folk, Lewlin for his advanced ability to lead and plan battles on-par with Luna herself. Though their expertise lay away from one-another, when they worked together, there was no puzzle they couldn’t solve.

Knocking at the door, Celestia had clearly startled the man; he had already rose, a spell gathering strength in his hand, until he saw who it was. The princess offered a friendly wave to him in response to the brief fright. Raising a brow, he walked over to the cable-car’s door and tugged it open, letting Celestia step in.

“Odd place for an evening stroll,” Lewlin commented after shutting the door behind her.

“Can you think of one place aside from the castle that isn’t odd for a princess to be in?” Celestia countered, taking a seat.

“Point taken.”

Lew returned to his seat and relaxed a hair, tilting his head back in thought.

“What brings you to Camelot?” Celestia questioned, “Weren’t you traveling with the guard to France?”

“My division departs in three day’s time. Twila requested to see me tonight. She said it was urgent.”

“Twila’s here?” Celestia asked, surprise on her face. “She never said she would be.”

“You know how she is. All those lists, but forgets about the people aspect. It probably slipped her mind. In between the news of her responsibilities.”

“You seem nonplussed by the news,” Celestia remarked. Lew shrugged.

“I expected her to reign eventually, your highness. It was just a matter of time. At least this way she can maybe work out the kinks that come with commanding the country.”

“And do you suppose that’s why she requested your presence?”

He shook his head. “I think it’s several factors, your highness. Tension over her upcoming trial, wanting to visit with me. And I hear rumor that she might have found a boyfriend. She has a lot to talk about.”

Celestia bridged her fingers together. After a minute, the all-folk smiled. “Did she say much on the matter of a boyfriend?”

Lewlin once again gave a shake of his head. “Nope. But it’s a big brother thing. I can tell. Just the way she spoke to me over the phone.” Giving a cheery smile, he brushed his hair back, the loose ponytail he held leaving a few errant strands free to form around his face. “He better just make sure that he doesn’t hurt her. You might not know, Celestia, but big brothers are the protective type.”

“I can imagine.” Looking out to the night sky, her smile slowly faded. “I’m sure he’ll do his best with her, if what you say is true. Twila’s quite the special woman. Whoever has her would be a lucky person indeed.”

“Damn right she is. And they better treat her with respect.”

“I’m sure with time they will.”