“So... Remind me again why I need to go to Sweet Apple Acres, Lyra,” I ask, idly magicking the hood of my cloak up over my head. “I thought I made it clear after we left the spa that I wasn't keen on getting too friendly with all of the bearers of the Elements of Harmony—heck, just being at a party with all of them is more than I'm officially comfortable with.”

Lyra turns her head slightly, peering at me out of the corner of her eye. “Come on, Soren. Just because it's a common stereotype in fan-fiction doesn't mean it's a bad thing for a little meet and greet before the party.”

“Fluttershy didn't you make you eat a bar of soap because you have a terrible potty-mouth.” I spat back, tasting the soap on my words. “I'll be surprised if I don't shit suds later!” Having almost literally ingested a whole bar of soap, that isn't too far off, right? Seriously, who knew that swearing was right behind bullying her friends on the list of Flutter-rage triggers? I'm going to have nightmares about Fluttershy and soap now.

“She said she was sorry after she got a hold of herself, didn't she?” From the angle of her head, I can just make out the upward tug at the corner of her mouth. Speaking of her head, why do her ears look more pointed than normal? “Regardless, I've gotta go see the Apples this afternoon.”

I stop in my tracks, staring at her. “Why?”

Stopping in her tracks, Lyra turns to face me. “Well...” Oh god, she's blushing. Either she's about to tell me something embarrassing, or she did something bad. Both are viable choices knowing Lyra's track record lately. “I was supposed to go to the marketplace and pick up a bushel of apples for Bon-Bon, but we sorta got sidetracked by the spa. Since the market's closed at this hour, it means we have to go to the source for apples now.”

“What?” I make an effort of covering my disapproving look with one hoof. Looking up into her eyes, I groan. “You could have said something!”

… and out come the puppy-dog eyes. “I just wanted to do something nice for you. You needed to relax, and I wanted to take your mind off the party for a bit.”

A pang of pity hits me. Of course she was trying to make it up to me. Still... There's helping a friend, and then there's attending to one's duties. “Lyra, we humans have a saying,” I respond with a slight smile. “The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.” Recognizing her expression changing to one of hurt, I quickly add, “I appreciate the sentiment, but you can't just shirk your duties on my account.”

The remainder of the trip through the streets of Ponyville is met with absolute silence. It’s not that there’s not a lot to be said; there actually is so much I should be saying. I’m not a clever pony though—or even a real pony for that matter. Anything I say would only dig me into a big hole. The best thing I can do is give her time.

Still, it’s nice to actually get a chance to look around Ponyville as we walk in the general direction of the Apple family’s orchards. When I was running away from Pinkie Pie, I didn’t look at anything beyond ‘Can this help break line of sight?’ Now though, I can actually take in the charming nature of the almost medieval designs of their homes. Honestly, they remind me of something out of an Elder Scrolls game what with their thatched roofs and timber frames. That much is a bit nostalgic for me.

All of the ponies just look so friendly, too. As we cross the town square from the spa—making our way around the curvature of town hall—I don’t think there is a single pony that hasn’t waved, called out a hello, or given a polite nod. It is even amusing when a few call out a ‘Hello Lyra,’ while looking at me, only to have Lyra reply. Even if we’re keeping quiet, we can still share amused looks, right?

As we move further out of town, the first apple trees come into sight. I rack my mind, trying to recall the last time I was on an orchard. Immediately a feeling of disorientation washes over me as two conflicting memories come to mind. On the one hoof, Lyra was here seemingly only a few months ago for some vague reason. On the other hoof, I personally haven’t set foot in an apple orchard since about 2000. How fucked is it that I’m having two distinctly different memories of the same one-answer question?

It’s when the farmhouse comes into sight that I hear the laughter and chattering of children filtering through the orchard off to the left. Somewhere, out there, the Cutie Mark Crusaders are up to something. Lord only knows it’s probably going to result in them ending up covered in tree sap and pine needles. Part of me is curious to find out what they could possibly be up to this time, but the desire to keep up with Lyra is too great. After all, I don’t even know where her home is yet. If I got separated from them, I don’t think I could find my way any further back along my path than the Boutique, never mind the library.

Then I can clearly hear two of the fillies counting down. I hear another cry out, “I changed my mind!” This cry is quickly followed by a distinct sound of something thick cutting quickly through the air and screaming. That doesn’t make any sense though, the three of them were off to my left; the screaming is coming from above me.

I look up and quickly feel my gut cramp up. Hurtling through the air towards me in a high arc is a ball of grey, pale rose, and pale mulberry closely followed by a separate speck of light green that I can only assume is a helmet. With a groan I realize it’s Sweetie Belle, and whatever they were doing resulted in her helmet strap coming undone.

No time to consult Lyra! While I could probably slow her fall with magic, there’s no way for me to completely stop her descent with magic alone. I need something to catch her in! I sweep my eyes across the treeline. To my relief there’s a large apple basket sitting empty at the bottom of a tree. I grab it in my telekinetic grip, and hoist it above me and then focus on Sweetie.

There’s no way I’ll be able to grab her while she’s falling. My telekinesis—levitation, Lyra’s memories chide me—has improved incredibly with the onset of more of Lyra’s memories, but it’s still nowhere near refined enough to catch a moving object. My gut tells me that it isn’t what I need to do at any rate. Instead, I imagine waves of air thrusting upward contrary to Sweetie’s arc. Sure enough, she appears to be slowing down as though being buffeted by an updraft.

Sweating, I continue forcing the air upward against her while tracking her trajectory with the basket. It’s clear to me now that this isn’t something somepony of my level of experience should be trying on a whim—separating my attention between two different iterations of the same spell, particularly one that requires pulsing instead of a continual stream of magic applied to something infinitesimally small like the air itself—but I don’t care. All that matters is that I can make a difference, right?

The closer the filly projectile draws to the basket, the more I begin to feel a burn in my horn and a pounding in my head. I realize that though Lyra’s shouting something, I can’t even hear her. Even as I watch the filly land safely in the basket, my legs turn to jelly. I slump to the ground, with my mind still locked on the levitation spell applied to the basket, slowly lowering it to the ground.

Taking a deep breath, I make my miserable attempt at steadying my adrenaline enhanced pulse in hopes of easing the pounding of blood in my ears and the rest of my head. I’m certain Lyra’s probably scolding the filly, but I can hear nothing over my own pulse. It takes a few moments, but when I feel I’m steady as I’ll ever be, I push myself back to my hooves.

The filly is staring at me from the basket with a grateful—albeit confused—expression, but she isn’t saying anything. She seems just as shocked by the whole ordeal as Lyra is. Clearing my throat, I ask dryly, “Are you alright, Sweetie Belle?”

“Y-yes, Miss Lyra,” she offers weakly, as though afraid of reproach. Hasn’t Lyra scolded her?

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding in. “That’s a relief,” I say calmly. “I’m not Lyra though. I’m just borrowing her body for a while.” I nod toward the awestruck human behind the filly. She looks up at Lyra, and then a look of recognition crosses her face. Clearly Sweetie has at least seen Lyra in my body before. “Call me Soren.”

“Thank you for saving me, Miss Soren,” Sweetie replies a bit stronger. It’s not quite what I had in mind, but it’s probably as close as I’ll get without completely confusing the filly.

I’m about to ask her what in the nine hells the three of them were up to when from out of the treeline dart two equally familiar fillies. Crowding around Sweetie Belle, Apple Bloom and Scootaloo begin pouring on apologies and hugs. That’s when I notice something common to all three fillies; they’re all wearing oddly shaped knapsacks. Surely those aren’t...

“Why didn’t ya use yer parachute?” Apple Bloom asked, as though noting the basket, and adding up the presence of a full-grown unicorn to figure out what happened instead.

“I was too scared and my helmet—”

“What in the hay were you three thinking?” I ask, my tone firm and angry. My glare darts from each of their faces. “How did you even end up in the air like that?”

“We were just trying to get our pony cannonball cutie marks!” Scootaloo blurts out almost immediately. “Honest!”

I raise my eyebrow, incredulous, and look at Lyra. “I knew these three were reckless, but not this reckless Lyra.” I look back to the three fillies and ask again, “How did you do it.”

“Well, we were gonna use a cannon,” Applebloom begins. “Nopony is gonna give three fillies access ta a stunt cannon, though.”

“So then I had the idea that we might be able to build a substitute!” Scootaloo exclaims, missing the gravity of it all. “Sweetie found this book in the library that had the design for something called a tre... treb...”

“Trébuchet,” Sweetie whispers, completing the word for her friend.

“Yeah, that!” Scootaloo laughs. “So we built a small one, tested it a few times, and then drew straws.”

“I drew the shortest...” Sweetie frowns. “If you hadn’t saved me, I don’t think Rarity would have let me live, even if the fall didn’t...”

I momentarily cover my face with one hoof. I mean, I’m all for the three of them finding out who they are, but the unattended dabbling with medieval siege weapons is fucking insane! If they’d only been launching rocks, I might have even looked to help them understand the safety behind it, if nothing more than to be something close to adult supervision, but launching each other with such a thing is too going too far. Sweetie could have been killed!

With a deep breath, I soften my glare, but make sure to retain the reproach in the look. “You three...” I shake my head. “Girls, I know this isn’t what you want to hear—heck, I’m not sure I have any right to judge your activities in your quest for your cutie marks having only gotten to Equestria today—but you three went way too far today.

“The lot of you seemingly get yourselves into danger on a regular basis, and it needs to stop. Surely your cutie marks aren’t worth the lives of one of your friends!” I say firmly, looking at each of them in turn. “This is almost worse than any of the times you’ve gone gallivanting off in the Everfree. Not only could Sweetie Belle have been hurt, she could have been killed.”

“You’re not our mother!” Scootaloo shouts out. “What right do you have to talk to us like that?”

“Yeah!” Apple Bloom adds in quickly.

I point a hoof towards where Sweetie’s helmet had landed a few yards away. It is nothing but a shattered wreck of hardened green plastic and internal padding. “That could easily have been her head. I know your families know you get yourselves into trouble, but I honestly don’t think they have any idea just how badly your crusading requires adult supervision!” The three fillies tremble in fear at my verbal onslaught. It’s finally clicking in that they’re in serious trouble, and still Lyra’s silent. I just hope that she gets her voice back soon.

Finally, I sigh and look down at the ground. “Lyra, do you happen to know Scootaloo’s family?”

“I—Yeah,” she says. Her voice sounds hoarse, as though she’s been shouting. I realize she probably was during Sweetie’s descent. “Why?”

“I want you to take those two up to the farm,” I say, pointing towards Apple Bloom and Scootaloo. “After getting your bushel of apples from AJ, explain to her just what happened today, particularly the bit about them constructing and playing with medieval siege weapons unattended, and then take Scootaloo home. Make it clear that the three families need to meet and find some way to ensure the fillies get some form of supervision.”

The three fillies look back and forth between my face and Lyra’s—or is that Lyra’s pony face and my human face?—for some idea of what’s happening. “What about you?” she asks, crouching down behind the three fillies, placing her hands gently on Scootaloo and Apple Bloom’s backs reassuringly.

“I’ll take Sweetie Belle back to the boutique myself,” I say softly, slowly raising my eyes to meet Sweetie’s. “I might not have had the best opinion of Rarity in the past, but I honestly think I have a better chance of her listening to me when I say I don’t want them severely punished. I did save her little sister, after all.”

Sweetie Belle’s eyes light up a bit hearing that I didn’t want them punished. The other two don’t seem wholly convinced, and their facial expressions match it. There’s just the slightest bit of accusation in their eyes. Can I really blame them? Some stranger inhabiting a familiar pony’s body has just told them she’s going to rat them out for doing something they knew they probably weren’t supposed to be doing in the first place, and now she says that she doesn’t want them punished. I’d be fucking suspicious too.

“So...” Lyra asks, “Do you want your bag?”

“Yeah...” I glance at Sweetie again. “Could you spare a few bits, too? I spotted Sugarcube Corner on one of the streets we passed on our way here, and I figured I could wait for you there.”

As Lyra removes her coin purse from her cleavage—why didn’t Rarity give her any pockets or anything she could hang the thing off of?—I give Sweetie Belle a quick wink. The filly might have been doing something stupid with her friends that required reprimand, but she also almost died. I think that deserves something, right? I watch as Lyra tucks a few bits—one silvery and two coppers—into a side-pocket on my bag, and tosses the satchel gently. “The silver ones are worth ten copper, just so you know."

Author's Notes:

Re-edited 11 July 2017