“... oren.”

What was that?

“Soren!” a voice calls out. I can vaguely tell that somepony's gently shaking me.

“No.”

“Ugh... Wake up you idiot!” Lyra insists. There's something odd about her tone, but what is it? Embarrassment? “You wanted me to wake you up if you had a visitor. Well, you do! The doctor wants to speak with you before he releases you.”

“G'way...” I mumble, rolling over. Wow, that was kind odd... The bed beneath me feels really damp. My thigh feel all sticky and gross, too. My eyes snap open as I cry out in disgusted frustration. “FUCK!”

When I initially throw off the blanket off of me, I'm convinced that I pissed the bed. A familiar odor that floods the air as soon as the cover is drawn back, dashing that thought almost as soon as it has risen. The sheets are sticky and damp, but it is definitely not urine. “Oh god, oh god! This is is not happening.” I drag the blanket back over the damp spot and my lap just as the door opens, admitting the doctor and an unfamiliar nurse.

I look at Lyra, aghast at my situation. She's just sitting there, her face close to that shade of baboon's-arse red, trying to avert her eyes. There's the vague impression floating in the air that she knew what I was going to find beneath the sheets. I'm almost sure of it, but there's no opportunity for me to sling such accusations with the doctor and nurse present.

The doctor, to his credit, has decided to remain a respectable distance from me. The nurse, much to my displeasure, isn't as worried about my earlier outburst. With an eyebrow raised and nose crinkled at the odor wafting from beneath the sheet, she begins fussing about my personage. She checks the tightness of a bandage around my head that I hadn't noticed before, and then checks on a compression bandage around my left foreleg where Romulus bit me.

Finally, she prods a ball of cotton taped to my forearm. I honestly hadn't even noticed they'd done any of this when I first woke up—not the bandage around my forehead, not the compression bandage, and certainly not the drawing of blood—but I suppose none of that is surprising. This is a hospital, after all. Satisfied that I haven't buggered anything up since they were last here, the nurse turns and nods to the doctor.

“Well, Mister Soarin—”

“It's Soren. Say it with me, Zuu-ren.” I grunt. I really dislike when people don't say my name properly. “Soarin' is the Wonderbolt.”

The doctor gives me a non-committal look before continuing. “Right, well...” He looks terribly uncomfortable. I suppose I can't blame him. I did bite him, and now the room reeks of arousal. “Soren, we've treated most of your injuries—psychological ones not withstanding—to the best of our abilities. You've some bad bruising on your head and forearm, but compared to the underlying injuries that we treated, you'll live. I should note, however, that your body is a fairly undernourished for having been in a different world from Equestria for such a short time. I can only imagine that this other world doesn't possess the same ambient magic within everything as it is here.”

“That might also be because I haven't eaten much.” I admit sheepishly. I don't make eye contact with Lyra, the nurse or the doctor, but I don't have to in order to understand the disapproving looks boring into my hide. “I haven't really been all that hungry.”

“That may be, but you really should take care of your host's body,” the nurse offers softly. “If you don't eat properly, you could be pretty uncomfortable at this point in her estrus cycle.”

My eyes widen in shock at her words, eliciting a girlish giggle from Lyra. That's exactly what I didn't want to fucking hear. Foreign body, check. Brain injury? Check. Losing my mind? Double check. Oh look, something new to add to the 'My Life is Shit' list: Going into heat! Better add a gigantic fucking check mark there.

“As far as the headache from the node in your brain is concerned, we've prepared a prescription for a mild pain relief potion that should help ease the pain.” He offers up a kind smile. “I'd prescribe something more useful, but I cannot be sure what effects it might have on the spell.”

“Thanks Doc...” I reply with a weak sort of smile. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry about the whole biting thing. I didn't break the skin did I?”

“Thankfully, no.” He shakes his head. “Well, if you're ready to go, we can process you and let you go on your way. Your pack and garments are all at the foot of the bed.”

Apology not accepted, I note. Oh well, what was the phrase? ‘Shit happens, and then you die’ sounds about right. “Can I have just a few moments in private to gather my things and consult my host?” I ask putting on my best ‘I’m not going to cause trouble’ smile. “There are a few things I’d like to discuss with her before I go anywhere.”

The doctor looks like he’s about to protest, but an ornery look is all it takes for him to fold. “I understand.” He nods to Lyra as he backs out the door. “Just remember to stop by the front desk to check out and pick up the prescription before the two of you leave.” With that, the doctor and nurse turn and leave, pulling the door shut as they go.

The door has barely clicked before I round on Lyra. “You knew!” I whisper accusingly. “Not just about the estrus, but the dream!”

After a few moments of blinking dumbly, Lyra bursts into laughter. “Oh, that is what you’re angry about?” She wipes the back of one hand across her forehead whilst futilely fighting to rein in her amusement. “... and here I thought I was in trouble!”

“This isn’t funny! You sat there with that knowing look the whole time they were in here, and didn’t speak a word in my defense, or in order to dissuade them that we were having some sort of illicit relations on the hospital bed,” I hiss, knowing my own face is probably a shade of scarlet beneath this fur. “How did you know?”

That red glow returns to her cheeks and she looks away. She stays quiet for minutes as she stares at the curtains over the window billowing in the chill breeze. “You were moaning in your sleep,” she murmurs. “It was all very sexual, and you kept calling Bon-Bon’s name.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” I say defensively, interpreting her gaze as accusatory. “I’m pretty sure that was one of your memories... what with the peeping Crusaders. That’s too specific for me to dream up.”

Without making eye-contact, Lyra wordlessly shrugs, allowing for her clothing to shift around her form. I realize it’s the first time that I’ve actually paid much attention to her beyond her face and body shape. She looks like she just came from some college toga party, wearing some garment made from a rather flimsy aquamarine material. Much to my chagrin, my gaze is drawn to her—my—chest. What draws my attention isn’t just the small pert forms rising and falling beneath that flimsy cloth as she breathes—barely concealed by the half fallen top of the toga—or the way her nipples are drawn erect by the way it dances across her skin; it’s the realization that she has something I’ve yearned for, but could never actually have.

Staring, I find myself not just jealous, but also aroused and slightly hurt. I’m confronted again by the realization that my deepest desire and biggest fantasy has come true, and I’m not even in my own body to enjoy it. My burning jealousy makes me want to cry out in frustration, but that degree of arousal makes me worry. What if I moan instead? Furthermore, why am I so suddenly concerned about how immodest her garb is?

“Why are you wearing a bed-sheet?” I ask in a husky voice, finally tearing my eyes from my body. “You had clothes last I checked.”

“They were rank!” she snorted. “I swear that bathrobe has a week worth of body odor soaked into it!”

No comment, really. “What about the clothes you had Rarity making! Are you even wearing underwear?”

“Hello? The whole sex change thing came up rather sudden,” she said in a disbelieving tone. “Rarity wasn’t all that amused to have to revise her plans with new measurements... but she seemed somehow happier about the whole thing. Between you and me, I don’t think she’s used to making clothing for boy,” is her only reply. If she dodges the underwear inquiry, does that mean she’s going commando?

“Now that I can believe...”

Not wanting to continue that line of conversation for fear of ragging on Rarity, I levitate my bag, hat, and ‘cloak’ from the floor. I glance at Lyra again just in time to catch her shiver in the breeze. Wow, if I think that breeze from the window is chilly, she must be frozen. Silently, I open my bag, and pull out my rolled up blanket and levitate it over to her.

“What’s this for?” she asks, eyebrows raised as she accepts the rolled up blanket.

“Unfurl it and wrap it around yourself, dummy.” I nicker softly. “You’re obviously cold.”

“But how—”

“It’s your nipples, okay?” I say with a hitch in my voice. I have no doubt that I’m blushing like a moron. “They’re poking through that sheet, looking like two diamonds ready to cut glass. You’re obviously cold. Just remember, I want that back. I sleep better if I have familiar bedding.”

Grudgingly, she unfurls the blanket and wraps it around herself. At least she looks a bit warmer now. “Thanks...” she says softly. “I was sure with the way I’ve been behaving, you’d hate me. You should—”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Nobody would blame me either way.” I shrug, magically affixing my own blanket to my personage in all its cloak-like glory.With a raised eyebrow, I catch Lyra glancing at my blanket cloak and beginning to fuss with her own blanket. “Hate isn’t a feeling I use with any zeal. Anger and rage, certainly, but rarely ever hate. Spend your whole life allowing hatred to rule you, and what do you have to show? Wrinkles, high blood pressure, and an empty heart? I’m already alone, I don’t need to drive away potential friends by being a spiteful dick.”

Only a moment’s thought is given before I levitate the hat over and plunk it down onto Lyra’s head to play with. It’d fit her better anyway. Let’s limit how much body-heat she loses. “Shall we go?”

Traipsing down a seemingly random street in Ponyville, I can’t help but notice how Lyra is walking barefoot. It’s bad enough she’s wearing only a bed-sheet toga and possibly going commando, but being without footwear is completely unnecessary. “So Lyra...” I say, snapping my attention away from a tantalizing cart of flowers. I don’t want to ask this question, but I don’t really see any other option. “I don’t suppose Rarity is taking care of the footwear situation too, is she?”

The brunette turns to face me and stares in confusion for a moment. “Oh, right... People on your world generally wear shoes, boots or sandals when outside, don’t they?” she speaks in wonderment. “I don’t really mind all that much. The soles of your feet are surprisingly tough yet supple. It’s almost like the bottom of a pony’s hoof!”

“Uh-huh...”

“To answer your question, yes Rarity is making some sandals to go with the dress.” The way she said that gives me the impression that Rarity was making a dress from the start. Ugh, there’s a thought that’s going to follow me to my grave, right up there with Sweetie Belle peering out of... Never mind that! “She was quite fascinated with how dainty your feet became after the change in sex. Then she started going on about something called a pedicure...”

We continue on walking, Lyra rambling, and me only half listening. If I could help it, I’d keep that mare away from my body as much as possible. Even if I did long to be feminine and very female, frou-frou was never part of my designs. Again, I have to fight back a shudder as I imagine the sort of frilly dress Rarity is slaving away at... Well, at least she’s generous enough to do this for Lyra.

The groan of my stomach punctuates my ruminations, and draws Lyra’s attention back to me. There’s a wry smile on her face that I’m not sure I totally like. “You hungry?” I nod weakly, only to take an involuntary step backward as that smile becomes a grin. “You totally have to try a hay shake and some hay fries. Maybe a hayburger to go with it? I swear you’ll love it.”

I don’t know what to think. Seriously, a good portion of my brain is trying to figure out whether or not she’s serious, or if she’s just trying to screw with me. “I’m not actually going to get a say in this, am I?”

“Not really.” She winks at me. “The doctor said that Earth food wasn’t sating your dietary magic intake requirement, so that means you get the triple-hay-whammy. Not only is it good roughage, but it’s a great source of protein and energy!”

“What, the hay?”

“Yup... It is if I order the alfalfa for you,” she says chuckling. She begins leading me toward a cosy little cafe that I could swear I’ve seen in an episode before. “I’ve always wanted to tell a little filly to eat all her alfalfa, but I guess you’ll have to do.”

“About that...” I whisper. “I know that it’s technically an invasion of privacy, but I saw that part of the memory too... How you said you wanted a foal some day.”

Stopping dead in her tracks, Lyra turns and places a finger in front of her mouth in that familiar shh expression. “You can’t tell Bon-Bon... She just doesn’t understand the desire to have children.”

“So I surmised after the whole Cutie Mark Crusader Peeping Toms act,” I reply passively. “She did strike me as the type to adopt late.”

Guiding me to a table in front of the cafe, she shakes her head. “I proposed topic of having a foal once and she was completely put off by the whole idea,” she whispers across the table. “She told me that she never ever wants to become pregnant, nor does she want to be around pregnant mares...”

“... and I suppose even if she did agree as long as you bore the child, she still wanted nothing to do with the process, dipping into earth pony superstition regarding magic?”

“Exactly.” She sighs, watching a waiter approach the table. “Even if we were to use a donor, we’d still need to find the right stud for us...”

The unicorn stallion trots up, his slicked navy mane rippling gently in the breeze. He barely pays me and my blanket-cloak any mind as he eyes up Lyra. The waiter has probably heard the rumors about a strange creature roaming Ponyville these days. “What can I get for you misses today?” … or he could just be trying to figure out whether Lyra’s a male or female.

“I’ll have the garden salad and a glass of punch.” Lyra replies smoothly. “She’ll have the alfalfa hayburger with hayfries, and a...” She glances at me. “Strawberry?” I nod in affirmation. At least if I’m going to drink hay, it’ll taste like something. “... Strawberry hayshake.”

Using his unicorn magic, he scribbles down our order and bows. “Alright then, ladies.” Trotting into the cafe, his cream flanks dancing tantalizingly as he goes, he turns back and shouts. “It would be my pleasure to get your order out to you in no time.”

“Did he just—”

“Yes,” Lyra says, blinking curiously. “I do believe he did... but which one of us was that directed towards?”

“I don’t wanna know,” I reply flatly. The flowers in the vase on the center of the table look safe enough, so I levitate one out and pop it in my mouth. Not bad, but I suppose the stem could use a little salt. “I just want some food before I start chewing on the table..”

Author's Notes:

Re-edited 11 July 2017