Sundance’s eyes traveled down the length of his javelin. He had to know. One more toss and then he would head home, because a cup of tea sounded excellent right about now. He hovered in the air without effort, studied the javelin held in his fetlock, and he tested the heft of it. The unknown stranger’s words echoed in his ears, especially that part about bullseyes, and he dared to hope that he could be more than a daredevil pegasus from the city.

His peasants needed him to be a warrior…

The issue, as he saw it, was that he wasn’t raised and trained to fight from birth. There was nothing about him that made him a good soldier. His mark was most certainly not a martial mark. Learning to fight would take time, effort, and sacrifice no doubt, if he wanted to be somewhat good at it. He had no javelin mark, but he did seem to have the natural sense of aim common to pegasus ponies, so maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Of course, throwing pointy sticks at things didn’t make him a warrior, but it was a start.

Not much of a start, perhaps, but as with everything else, he would make due.

With a sudden, swift, almost fish-like motion, he darted through the air, picked up speed with remarkable alacrity, and then transitioned into a smooth powerglide. It felt right, natural, just like the javelin he held in his fetlock. This sort of movement was second nature to him; expeditious flight with minimal effort. His spine was now as straight as the javelin he held, everything from head to tail was a level line of near-perfection. Unseen currents of aether danced along his primaries, and static caused pinpoint motes of light to flash in an almost glittery display. Sundance sank all of his concentration into maintaining a still, straight line, because jerky flight would adversely affect his aim.

As the stump grew ever-closer, his heart raced and blood pounded through his ears. Hyper-reality began to creep into his vision as it sometimes did. Colours gained sharper contrast. His depth perception heightened. Every blade of grass below gained definition. This was just like the time he’d slalomed the smokestacks. Time itself seemed to slow down just a bit and distant horizons dulled as his eyes focused solely on all that was near. Fluffy bits of pollen whirled about in curious slow-motion, butterflies seemed to crawl through the air, and though Sundance was unaware of it, a vapour trail of faint blue trailed off behind him.

Squiggles of electricity arced along the length of the javelin and the stench of ozone permeated the meadow. Like an oncoming thunderhead, Sundance drew ever-closer to the stump, and he readied himself for release, sweet, sweet release. Beads of sweat rolled along his glistening sides, and were sucked into the pale blue vapour trail that billowed out behind him. His eyes took on a fierce blue glow, and vivid blue arcs of static danced along the fine hairs of his ears.

Just before the stump was below him, he released.

There was a deafening thunderclap that almost knocked him from the sky, and this was accompanied by a brilliant flash of eye-searing light that blinded him. Warmth traveled through his body, his limbs, his everything, and he felt his guts boil within him. Thunder pealed through the meadow, echoing to and fro, but it was loudest between his ears. The taste of copper tingled on his tongue, and static tickled his wings.

He was utterly, completely blind, and could not see.

What had happened?

That was unknown.

Where was the ground?

Somewhere below him, though his sense of direction was fried at the moment.

Down might very well be up.

Rather than panic, he hovered. His body could be trusted to automatically right itself in a hover, even if his sense of direction was currently fizzled out. The sensation of a disoriented tumble corrected itself, and he felt everything go still. Little by little, his vision cleared, but motes of dancing blue orbs swam lazily just out of reach. The first pangs of a headache arrived, and his stomach rumbled out a demand for food. He felt depleted, drained, empty. Powerful thirst parched his throat. His muscles cried out, trembled, and every nerve in his body telegraphed distress in jolting bursts.

The first hints of green appeared in his vision—the grass below—but the blue of the sky was indistinguishable from the blue flashes in his vision. For a second or three, he thought he might throw up, but his guts recovered as a powerful sense of euphoria washed over him in soothing waves. As more of his vision returned, he peered around, he squinted, but little could be seen.

When he caught a whiff of smoke, he worried that he might be on fire, or perhaps smouldering. In a near-panic, he whipped his tail around and began brushing his front hooves over his body, trying to reach as many places as possible. Nothing felt on fire, but plenty of things were a bit too warm for his tastes. Even more alarming, he seemed to be sinking—either that, or his brain played tricks on him.

No, he was sinking, of this he could now be certain. No matter how he flapped his wings, he couldn’t seem to catch air. Squinting downward, he tried to judge his altitude, and saw that he wasn’t that high up at all. Raising his wings above his back, he just let go of the air and allowed himself to drop. He plopped into a patch of wildflowers and sent a few startled butterflies on their way.

He was so hungry that he was tempted to eat the grass, wildflowers, and every green thing to be found in the meadow. For the first time, he noticed that his backside was hot, perhaps hotter than a cup of tea. It seemed as though he were branded on both hips, and when he whipped his head around to the right, he noticed a curious electrical glow coming from his cutie mark. Nothing had changed—at least he couldn’t spot any changes—but his mark did have a retina-clenching glow that was rapidly fading.

The smell of smoke got his attention once more. He sniffed, glanced around, and spotted the dull grey whorls of rising smoke. More curious than scared, he stumbled over in that general direction, and as his bleary vision cleared up a bit more, he noticed the javelin protruding from the stump. It was not dead center, much to his dismay, but had struck the edge, and was now lodged in a knotty, knobby root. Little tongues of flame lapped at the rotten wood.

Fire!

Though not quite panicked, Sundance reacted. As the little flames licked the crumbling wood of the old stump, he thought about what to do. The fire needed to be put out before the whole meadow was ablaze. While he worried about the fire, his stomach gurgled in protest of the profound existential emptiness it experienced. A hunger quite unlike any other gnawed at his insides. Unable to fly, Sundance’s solution wouldn’t be found in the clouds, and he had no bucket to haul water.

There was only one thing to do…

One course of action…

Rushing forward, he closed the distance between himself and the stump, stood over the fire, and lifted his right leg. A second later, the fire hissed, fizzled, spat, and crackled as it drowned beneath a foamy stream of musky pegasus urine. Fire and urine, when combined, caused a terrible stench, which Sundance discovered. His nose crinkled from the antagonising aroma. Urine sizzled and steamed on contact with the still-hot javelin, and Sundance allowed himself a birdlike whistle of relief as he emptied his bladder.

“I am the Rainbringer,” Sundance croaked as he wiggled his hips to rid himself of the last few drops. He thought of his conversation with Sweetie Belle, which now seemed so long ago. “Not only have I brought the rain, but today I brought the thunder. Whew!”

With the fire out, he had himself a better look. The shiny steel of the javelin was now blackened. It was still hot, too hot to touch, and so he left it be. As for the stump, it was scorched, and very much looked as though it had been struck by lightning. One particularly bad cramp in his stomach almost took him to the ground, and it was this that finally pushed him into panic territory. He needed food, was unable to fly, and was quite some distance from home. Something was wrong with him, though he had no idea what it might be.

For now, the javelin would have to be left behind—getting home was far more important.

Corduroy set a cup of tea down upon the cluttered table with a muffled clink. Her frown distorted her jowls, which made her look far more upset than she actually was. With the cup of tea now down on the table, she leaned in close, grabbed Sundance by the ear, and began to examine his eyes. He squirmed a bit, but she had a good grip on his ear, which meant that getting away was impossible.

“You’re dehydrated,” she said during her prolonged invasion of Sundance’s equinal space. “So much so that your eyes are a little dried out.” The sudden movement of her triangular ears upset her patchwork beanie, and it slid over her furrowed brows.

When she let go of his ear, Sundance sighed with relief.

“Drink,” the stern nurse commanded while she pointed with her thick paw-finger.

There was no need to tell Sundance twice, and he began lapping away at his cup of tea, which had a welcome warmth. It was sweeter than he expected, and had plenty of milk. Corduroy practically hovered over him, and he felt rather foalish at the moment. Alas, poor Corduroy needed sleep, or at least some rest, but the stoic diamond dog would endure—that much was certain.

Paradox slipped in through the door bearing a wooden tray loaded down with food. Like Corduroy, her face was pinched with concern. She put the tray down, sat down on a stool across from Sundance, and rested both of her forelegs upon the edge of the table as she shoved the tray closer to him.

“Magical depletion,” Paradox said as she got settled. “Happens to unicorns all the time. Happens most when magical exams are due in school. Half the class or more typically drops over.”

“Yeah, but what happened?” asked Corduroy.

“Sundance used magic. Like, a lot of it. All at once. Possibly the whole of his reserves. An uncontrolled surge.” Paradox leaned over the table, intrigued. “Some pegasus ponies generate wind—and not just from their backsides. Wind weavers can generate intense gusts of wind and psychokinetically control them, to some degree. Other pegasus ponies can generate electricity. Princess Celestia has pegasus guards that can deliver a devastating jolt, and some of them can administer lethal shocks. From what little I know, almost all pegasus ponies have magic, it’s just that most of them never develop it. I mean, it is how they fly. And beyond flight, most of them lack the interest to find out what else they can do.”

“Hmm,” Corduroy hmmed while she absentmindedly scratched behind Sundance’s ears.

“Pony magic has two distinct parts. Well, more than that”—Paradox raised her right hoof and held it out in front of her during her pause—“a lot more than that, but for the sake of simplicity, we’ll just say two for now.” She drew in a deep breath. “All ponies are inherently psychic. It is natural for us. A central part of our minds. But it manifests in different ways. A unicorn’s telekinesis is half psychic energy and half magical manifestation. Our horns give us fine control. Now, for pegasus ponies, as an example, and electrokinesis specifically, the brain channels latent psychic energy and a bunch of crazy things happens.

“You get a lot of excited electrons and electromagnetic currents, and the brain interacts with primal forces of nature. But pegasus ponies lack horns… so you get chaotic, uncontrolled bursts that are channeled through the body. Think of a unicorn horn as a fine writing pen, and our magic is like writing. Pegasus magic is more like hoof-painting, or rolling around in paint.”

“That actually makes a whole lot of sense,” Corduroy remarked, still scratching.

“I don’t have a lot of magic,” Paradox continued. “Because of that, I rely more upon the psychic aspect of my mind. Base matter manipulation and various types of kinetic manipulation. I am not a powerful magician, I suppose it could be said, but I am a capable psychic. I control physics more than I do magic. Make no mistake though… I am the Boom-Bringer.”

“So…” This word came out as a sigh from Corduroy. “Sundance needs magic lessons.”

“Uh, maybe?” Paradox shrugged. “Sundance needs magic training. Which is not the same as magic lessons. Magic training is more akin to… uh, potty training.”

When Sundance started to lift his head away from his teacup to protest, Corduroy shoved him down and almost pushed his nose into the frothy brown liquid. Paradox was grinning now, a rare grin that was pleasantly sunny and radiated good disposition. Sundance went back to lapping up his tea, and eyeballed the food on the tray.

“Magic training is important for little unicorns. Just like potty training. You have to learn how to hold everything in, and how to let everything out. You don’t want embarrassing leaks, or sudden blowouts.”

“So it is like learning the difference between farting and shitting,” Corduroy said.

Paradox’s expression turned blank. “Uh…”

“Are you suggesting I just shat myself?” asked Sundance.

“Drink your tea,” was Corduroy’s calm, cool response.

Across the table, Paradox tittered, an odd sound.

“You went to fart sparks and shat thunder, from the sounds of it.” Corduroy resumed her soft scratching while she spoke. “Consider yourself confined to the infirmary for observation.”

“But I—”

“No buts.” The stern nurse adopted a harsh tone. “You are dangerously dehydrated. I am unfamiliar with magical depletion so I’d rather err on the side of caution. Paradox, any advice?”

“Well, the hot shivers will probably set in soon… that usually happens a few hours after. After that comes sleepiness and fatigue. Right now, my best advice is plenty of liquids, and lots of food. If you don’t get enough food and drink now, the hot shivers will be so much worse. Like, unbearable. I know from experience. Remember, I was raised by earth ponies, who didn’t know a thing about this stuff, and I, uh, um, well, I didn’t get proper magic training until I was enrolled in school, which was, uh, well, it was embarrassing. A lot of us, we, uh, we suffered from this, uh, predicament. And now I feel funny for laughing about this.”

“You shat yourself in class plenty of times, didn’t you?” asked Corduroy.

Paradox slumped over. “Oh yeah… I most certainly did. In a manner of speaking, of course. I’ve suffered all the usual wizardly embarrassments, such as premature detonation and arcanile horn dysfunction. Power incontinence. Once, when I was a filly, and I was just starting school, I accidentally fireballed when I went to light a candle. Princess Celestia had to give me a pep-talk. I was so embarrassed, and wanted to go home. She told me that fireballs happen, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“School for unicorns sounds hard.” Corduroy sat down and pushed the tray of food even closer to Sundance.

“It is,” Paradox replied. “Once, during transmutations, I botched a spell and peed banana-flavoured milk for a week. And I know it was banana-flavoured milk because it was tested. The school nurse was more than a little worried.” She turned and smiled at Sundance. “At least with you all you’ve got to worry about is electrical discharge. That’s safe. Mostly.”

“You know,” Corduroy remarked, “one shudders to think that most unicorns in Equestria don’t get a proper magical education…”

Author's Notes:

- Atherwards, he wath a lithle Thor...