Winter.

It’s come suddenly this year, the entirety of central Equestria covered in snow almost overnight. Spitfire said over the phone a wild blizzard blew in from the north, and the Equestrian Weather Bureau’s decided going with the flow is easier than cleaning it up. I don’t believe anything like that’s ever happened before, but if that’s the decision, there’s nothing I can do.

Staying indoors isn’t so bad anyway, I’ve come to discover. In fact, I think this is the first break I’ve had in years where I’ve not found myself exercising nearly twenty-four-seven. I’m pretty sure the me from two weeks ago would’ve slapped me raw if she knew I was thinking such heathen thoughts.

Where’d my drive to shine gone? My need for speed? Don’t I want to beat Lightning’s Dizzitron record and cement my rightful place as the greatest stunt flier in Equestria?

It’s all still there, and yes, I still do, it’s just… I’ve found something else to occupy my time. And surprisingly, it’s just as enjoyable. I see Soarin and Spitfire and the rest of the gang at the Academy every day, so it’s not like I’m giving them the feather if we don’t meet up in my off time. If anything, I’d be giving this guy the feather if I did.

“…And that’s Anita,” he says after swiping across and holding out his phone for Spike and I to see. “Taken right after she slipped from the boat and fell in the river.”

Another human, not unlike Philip, climbs onto a wooden pier with a smile. Her white shirt and black shorts are drenched, as well as her long, dark hair, clinging tightly to her body and dripping generously. She doesn’t look all that dissimilar from him.

“When you said ponies, err… people back home have different skin colours…” I muse, turning my head to the left and meeting his eyes, “how much variation are we talking about? Because, to me, you and your family look almost identical.”

“Oh.” His brows rise for a brief moment in surprise, then crease together in a reflective frown. “You mean, uh… that’s not how genetics works here?”

“It’s a little more haphazard,” Spike explains from over both out shoulders. “Ponies can have a coat and mane like their parents’, but there’s often a lot of leeway. Kind of like how family names are optional, which is a bureaucratic nightmare Twilight’s been trying to fix for as long as she’s been a princess.”

I snort and smirk. “She’s been trying to force family names on ponies?”

“All I’ll say is that she’s been making pitches to the Sisters.” He shrugs. “But honestly, if they haven’t given in by now, I don’t think they ever will; it’d just create more confusion and uproar than its worth. Equestria’s just too set in its ways.”

“Well, yeah. The kingdom’s lasted for a thousand plus years by doing basically nothing, so it’s not like anypony’s eager to change. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You have a bone to pick about this?”

“Nah,” I shake my head, “just stating the obvious.”

He snorts as well, and in the short silence that follows, I pick up the steady beat of music playing on the stereo Philip had grown so attached to, set atop his room’s bookshelf. If I recall correctly, he called it a ‘lo-fi jazzy hip-hop mix’, whatever that’s supposed to mean. Nothing about it stands out, really, but I suppose that’s the charm of it — something to fill the void when conversation patters out.

Currently, we’re sitting on a small pile of cushions, facing the bedroom’s only window and the late morning sun lighting the world beyond. The snow-covered hills marking the northern border of Ponyville contrast nicely with the bright blue, cloudless sky. I’d be paying the sight more attention if I hadn’t already seen it on my flight here, and I weren’t so comfortable with my attention being paid elsewhere.

“Anyway…” Philip continues, returning to me, “yeah, back home, if someone’s not the same skin colour of their parents, or a blend, there’s usually a lack of faith going on.”

“Oh.” I wince and grit my teeth. “Hope that doesn’t happen a lot.”

“Not a lot, but it happens.” He looks at Spike neutrally. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this place has it far worse.”

The dragon guffaws, glancing away with a slight sense of embarrassment, almost rocking completely backward with the force of the initial chuckle. “Well, uh… I can safely say I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t doubt it, considering your stash of Rarity memorabilia.”

Spike angles his head at him and lowers his brows, giving a short, unimpressed, smoky huff.

“Hey,” Philip lifts a hand in his defence, “I’m just saying you’re dedicated, if nothing else.”

“There's more to me than just a crush.”

“Whatever you say, Spikey-Wikey.”

Spike’s eyes narrow, his expression turning shrewd and scheming. “I could incinerate you, you know. Right here, right now. And I’d just sweep the ashes under the rug.”

“Oh really?”

He slowly nods.

Philip squints at him like it’s a standoff, then glances to me. “Well then, you ought to leave no witnesses, shouldn’t you?”

I baulk and point to my chest. “What, you think I’m against this?”

His smirk turns to stunned betrayal. “Fleety…”

“Burn his arse.”

Spike grins nastily and rises on his rear feet, cracking his knuckles, flexing his forelegs and unfurling his wings, small trails of smoke wafting from flared nostrils. “With pleasure.”

Philip flips over onto his backside, propping himself on the elbow of the arm holding his phone. He holds a hand up defensively, legs tense and ready to scamper away. “Okay, okay, take it easy, big guy. We’re all friends here.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Are we?”

“Yeah.” He switches to me with an awkward smile, relaxing somewhat. “I mean, I haven’t known you guys as long as Anita, Mum or Dad, but… sure, I’d count you as friends.”

My brow remains high as I ponder the notion in silence.

Were we really… that?

I can’t imagine what else we’d call ourselves if we weren’t. Acquaintances, maybe, but that’s too… dispassionate. And we’re definitely beyond that point; a proper acquaintance would be Nurse Redheart, whom I’ve only seen twice. That was a fortnight ago, and we haven’t talked since, even if I don’t have anything bad to say about her.

This guy, however, I’ve gone out of my way to see. Visiting the Castle of Friendship has happened practically every day for the same amount of time, and it’s barely felt like two weeks because of it — because of him, Spike and Twilight; good food, good company, good conversation.

If that’s not friend material, I don’t know what is. I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.

“Besides, one of you puts up with me all day every day, and the other saved my life. Really, it’s not that hard to feel at least a little appreciative.”

“Getting sappy, are we?” Spike teases, easing back to his haunches. “Or are you just saying that to spare yourself?”

“No, I mean it.” He shimmies rearward a bit and sits up properly. And then he lowers his gaze to the right and thinks. Not pensively, it seems, judging by his expression, but not exactly in fond remembrance either; as if he’d struck upon a sobering realisation. “Like… if we’re getting real for a moment here, I… never thought I’d be comfortable with… this.”

“This?” I query.

“A fresh start,” he explains, his smile waning to something more subdued and thoughtful. “I mean, I still want to go home, of course, but… my stay here hasn’t been all that bad, all things considered.”

“You expected something different?”

He shrugs and shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have known what to expect. Certainly not meeting a dragon and a talking pony, that’s for sure. Or a land full of myths and magic come to life, yet somehow full of technology like mine.”

“Yeah.” Spike chuckles and glances over to the stereo. “You just hit the right parallel universe, I guess. Luck of the draw and such.”

“I guess,” Philip agrees absently, looking down to the picture on his phone and slowly swiping through a few more. “Just a shame I can’t tell everyone back home I’m safe.”

My brows furrow and my lips press together in sympathy, and leaning over, I give his knee a gentle pat. “I’m sure Twilight’s doing all she can.”

“She is,” Spike assures, nodding emphatically, then pats his chest with a fist. “Stayed up all night the day before yesterday talking with Celestia. Haven’t burped up that many scrolls since, uh… Discord, I think. When he was evil.”

“And you’re still not allowed to say what they said?” Philip asks, returning to him with a glint of hope in his eyes, despite his tone.

The dragon shakes his head with puckered lips. “Rules are rules, dude. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He sighs. “It just…”

“Sucks, I know,” I finish, slowly nodding. But simply acknowledging the problem isn’t enough, I feel, so I decide to offer some consolation. “It’s not the same, but in the Wonderbolts, we take applicants from all over the place, even overseas — more so since some ponies have taken to living abroad. And they often have to leave a lot behind to train at the Academy; jobs, friends, family… a lot.”

Philip watches me with the same straight, unreadable face he always has when reserving judgement. There’s never an negative air about him when he does, just a sense of… quiet observation, I guess. I’m not sure how I feel about his lack of expression, as if he’s assessing me from behind a glass wall, but I’ve come to accept it as just a quirk of his. Like me and my contacts.

“Again, it’s not the same, but you’re not exactly alone either.”

He remains silent a little while longer, then nods in turn and lowers his gaze for a moment. “Thanks, Fleet, but—”

“There’s also the Pillars,” Spike exclaims, glancing between us, knowingly or unknowingly interrupting him, though his gusto implies the latter. “Starswirl and the gang. They were trapped in Limbo for a thousand years, so when they got back, everypony they knew was gone, so they all had to make fresh starts as well.”

Philip raises an eyebrow.

“If you want, maybe we could organise a meeting with one of them — tell you how they dealt with the brand new world. I know Somnambula’s down in Saddle Arabia, and she’s all about helping ponies find their inner peace.”

“Through yoga,” I remind, adding a hint of scepticism.

“Hey,” Spike shrugs, “if it worked for Pinkie when she had her Cheese Sandwich phase, maybe it’ll work for him too. You never know.”

I’ll just have to take him at his word on that; I won’t pretend to know the Bearers any better than whatever Dash tells me, and what she’s said of Pinkamina Diana Pie is as concerning as it is hilarious. Dark forces assist her, she swore, they’re just too scared to say no.

“What do you think?” he inquires, going back to Philip. “Would that be something you’d want to look into?”

Philip, for his part, continues to appear unmoved, slowly switching focus from Spike to me to Spike again, as if we’re somehow interrogating him. Perhaps we’re putting him on the spot, but before I can open my mouth to offer some kind of reprieve, he angles his head, lowers his gaze, widens his eyes and scratches his scalp. “A thousand-year old pony yogi,” he mumbles, and then shrugs and gives us both a sudden, surprising, yet altogether clearly genuine grin. “Sure, why not?”

Spike blinks. “Really?”

“Yeah. Beats waiting for the worms to crawl.”

His brows crease. “What?”

“Never mind.” Philip glances away with a small sigh. “Anyway, yeah, send her a message. No harm in asking, right?”

“Excellent.” The dragon claps and rubs his palms together, looking about. “Now, if only I had a quill and paper…”

“What, you mean right now?”

“Of course. No time like the…” he drifts off, staring ahead blankly.

“Spike?” I wave a wing to grab his attention. “Something wrong, bud?”

“…Excuse me for a second,” he quickly says, before tilting his head back and belching green fire, in which materialises a scroll bearing the royal seal. It falls once the flames die and he catches it with practiced precision, the unsinged parchment resting comfortably in his foot with room to spare. “Sorry, can’t control it.”

“Speak of the devil,” Philip muses to himself, watching the scroll with a sense of wonder. But then he exchanges awe for curiosity and returns to Spike. “Doesn’t that make you feel used at all, being someone’s personal fax machine?”

Spike shrugs as he breaks the seal and carefully unrolls the document. “I’ve grown used to it. Sure, maybe I’m being exploited when a phone would do just fine, but… I wouldn’t be as useful an assistant if I weren’t.”

“In my world, we call that Stockholm syndrome.”

I burst out laughing.

Philip looks at me inquisitively, but then quickly realises what’s so funny. “Don’t tell me…”

“Yep,” I nod, pounding the cushions, “it’s a thing here too!”

“Oh, for…” He looks away and shakes his head with a bemused smirk. “For crying out loud, is there anything original here?”

“Doesn’t seem like it!” I wheeze through the cackling, then left my forelegs and hug my chest, falling sideways and rolling onto my back. We’ve made a game out of finding similarities between our worlds, and nearly everything, it seems, is basically the same. Why this detail’s making me wind up with stitches, I don’t know. Can’t bring myself to care either.

“…Alight, so, anyway…” Spike says dismissively, unravelling the scroll and reading it.

The disappointment in his voice just makes me laugh all the harder.

“Okay, it appears we’ve broken Fleetybee,” Philip mutters, after which I hear a soft sigh. “So, what’s it say, Spikey-boy. Anything important?”

There’s a pause. This’d be a good place to calm myself down, because if it’s something he’s allowed to disclose, why shouldn’t I get to hear it firsthoof? So, I face the ceiling, close my eyes and focus. Cackles becomes giggles, giggles become chuckles, and chuckles become short, sharp breaths through the nose and a poorly contained, idiotic grin.

“Spike?”

My ear twitches, and with a throaty cough, my laughter ends. I open my eyes again and prop myself up on my elbows, a small, open-mouth smile lingering as I look between the two of them, hoping I’d somehow misread the mood. Unfortunately, it appears I hadn’t.

Philip sits a little more upright, head angled to the side with an eyebrow raised at Spike, who continues scanning the scroll with an increasingly serious look; brows creased, lips parting.

My smile fades. The air’s changed.

This isn’t good.

“What’s wrong?” Philip asks.

The dragon shares his expression with him for a long moment, glancing at me too, then shuts his mouth and looks to the message once more. “I, uh…” he begins, but quickly drifts off, lost in the words in his claws. “This… is addressed to Twilight, but… really, I don’t think she’ll be telling you anything this doesn’t already say.”

“…Which is…?”

He takes a deep breath in, then out, rumbling softly in the way dragons his size usually do. And then he returns to Philip with a sorrowful look. “You’re moving to Canterlot.”

“What?”

He gives a disheartened shrug. “Celestia’s orders.”

“Why?”

A flutter of some indiscernible takes root in him, making him straighten himself up somewhat, and he quickly skims through the scroll yet again. “To ease Twilight’s burden.”

Philip squints. “Burden?”

“Yeah.” The dragon returns to him, his gaze a little more hardened, but still unmistakably understanding. “Don’t get me wrong, I like you. Twilight doesn’t think you’re half bad either. But… your presence has disrupted the flow of things. The Castle of Friendship was old news before you showed up, and now journalists crawl over themselves for a slice of the pie.”

I blink.

I feel… something…

…Am I supposed to say anything?

“You haven’t been outside in close to a fortnight because of them. The palace in Canterlot’s better equipped to deal with this kind of thing, and frankly, so are the Sisters. I’m pretty sure they’ve been through far worse than this.”

“How long?” I wonder absently, blinking again, but finding nothing to really focus on. Not even Spike’s slitted, emerald green eyes feel like points of interest.

He looks at me with a troubled frown and hesitates. “Indefinitely.”

…And still, nothing really changes — I feel neither worse nor, heavens forbid, better. Just…

What?

…Numb, I guess.

But I don’t want to feel numb, I want to feel… angry, or betrayed, or something. Sad would do just fine, because that’s what this is; sad, sorry news any normal pony would feel would feel sad to hear. Except, I’m not. And that’s disturbing me more than the news itself.

…Now I think I know what he meant when we were drinking cocoa by the fire. I envied it then, but I don’t anymore. I’m normally too emotional to not be sure how to react to things.

“Well then,” Philip murmurs, by lowering his eyes, raising his brows and pursing his lips together, “that sucks.”

Something about his response… disappoints me. As if I were expecting something more… grandiose, for lack of a better term. Showy. Spontaneous. For him to be the one to pick up the slack and shout and kick and scream and moan and whine and plainly and simply bitch. Complain as much as I want to right now. Help me feel like I’m not the only one who doesn’t want this happening.

But no; true to form, he’s as subdued to shocking news as ever.

“Yeah.” Spike nods, looking to the scroll sullenly. “It does.”

Silence creeps in. The stereo’s not being much of a comfort, playing a tune that doesn’t quite fit what we’re all feeling: regret. Regret that something good’s finally coming to an end. Regret over something none of us can change.

For me, it would’ve officially ended after today regardless, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t sneak away from Cloudsdale for a few hours if I knew nopony would miss me. Just a quick little visit here and there, see how he’s going, catch up. That sort of thing. Less invested than now, but that’s only fair with work on the line.

Even if I couldn’t change the fact, I’d have still been in control.

If he’s all the way in Canterlot, however…

I sigh.

What a note to end things on.

“Anyway, I’d, uh… better get this to Twilight,” Spike says quietly, slowly standing up and backing away on three legs, the fourth holding the scroll. “You two… do something, I guess.”

“Sure thing,” Philip replies, nodding softly. “Take your time.”

The dragon offers a small, brave, but altogether feigned grin, then turns and heads out the open doorway, the padding of his feet and clicking of his claws fading as they’re slowly drowned out by the sound of mellow hip-hop.

And then there’s another long silence. At least, it would be if it weren’t for that blasted stereo. I’d turn it off right now if it didn’t mean getting up and drawing his attention, because the last thing I want to do right now is make a scene. Even though I’d really just be…

I droop my head and sigh again. It’s always so simple, and yet it’s not. And I can’t tell anymore if it’s me or society as a whole that’s the problem.

“So…” he begins, being the first to break the ice as always, “don’t suppose you could swing by Canterlot for a few hours every day, huh?”

My ears try to lower, but they’ve already found themselves as low as they naturally go. “It… wouldn’t be every day,” I mumble, turning to him apologetically. “And it wouldn’t be for a few hours.”

“Oh.” He licks his lips and looks away. “Damn.”

“Damn indeed.”

Silence once more.

Faux hip-hop instead.

I give the stereo a warning stare.

May as well see if smashing something makes me feel any better.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t make the most out of today.”

I switch back to him and raise an eyebrow.

He shrugs. “Maybe we could play a boardgame, or something. There’s that Dragon’s Trap in the library, or whatever it’s called — with all the coloured squares and the volcano in the centre.”

I vaguely recall it, and a story Spike told about that unicorn who used to live here as well, where she and her friends played a life-sized version of the game. Things got even crazier when Discord wanted a go, and insisted they made it a live action roleplay, with him as the storyteller.

But I doubt it’d do the trick. Playing something’s only good if you have a neutral state of mind, and while mine’s not far off the mark, it’s still not where it needs to be for me to be fully immersed. The fact this is the end would hover over me and just…

It wouldn’t be fun.

“Or?”

“Or…” He looks about, then shrugs again. “Maybe we could just chill? Sit back, read some junk. See if we can’t piece together Equestria’s hidden past bit by bit.”

He’s trying his best, I can tell, but it’s not enough. Inactivity leads to thinking, and I don’t want to think right now unless it’s to think of a solution that doesn’t involve me leaving before sunset. The reporters thin out by then, usually, and it wouldn’t hurt staying just that little bit longer. Heck, a sleepover would be nice.

If only it weren’t for that stupid…

I heave forward, get to my hooves and start heading for the stereo.

“Fleetfoot?”

“Sorry, I just… I can’t concentrate when that thing keeps playing this crap.”

I can practically hear him raise an eyebrow behind me. “You think it’s bad.”

“No, but it’s not great either, and it’s ruining everything.” I reach the device and rear up, steadying myself with my forehooves on top of the bookshelf, searching for a button to change the channel. I’m not familiar with this design, though, so it’s not easy. “I need something to sing along with, bob my head to. Remember the motions for…”

And then it hits me.

“Fleet?”

It… might be a bit forward of me, and I certainly don’t want to be making any sort of implications, but… if I want to distract the both of us, it’s worth a shot. I think it is, at least.

“Philip…”

“Yeah?”

I hesitate for several long moments, steeling my nerves, wings tensing at my sides, as well as my tail. But I finally angle my head and look at him from the corner of my eye. “Were you serious when you asked about learning ballroom?”

His brows rise, genuinely taken aback. “Uh…” He blinks and shakes his head to himself. “Well, I mean… Is… is that an offer?”

I drop from the bookshelf and face him side-on, forcing a casual shrug. “If you have music that’ll work, I, uh… don’t really see why not.”

He blinks a few more times, then squints. “Is it even possible? Like… you have four legs.”

“And I can dance on two,” I respond with a slight sense of indignation. “I know the difference between bipeds and quadrupeds, Philip. We get minotaur and Abyssinian ambassadors all the time at the Grand Galloping Galas nowadays.”

“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.”

I pause for a second, then sigh and shake my head. “It’s okay. But the point still stands: do you have something at least marginally more befitting a Triple G than… this?”

He pouts at me in silent disapproval, but soon lowers his gaze to his phone and swipes and taps through a few menus. “One or two,” he says distractedly, slowly scrolling down a list. And then he taps an item and returns to me. “How’s this?”

I don’t know my instruments well enough, but jazzy hip-hop cuts out and a squeaky trumpet of a sort takes its place, quickly followed by some woodwind, all sounding like they were recorded on vinyl, or shellac, or one of those primitive formats.

“The White Cliffs of Dover, Glenn Miller.”

A foxtrot, by the sounds of it, but I can adapt it to something less complex. I nod and start trotting back. “Yep, this’ll do just fine.”

“Sweet, first try.” He smiles as he stands, then puts his phone in his pocket and tosses as many cushions as he can onto the bed. Some fall short, some overshoot, and one threatens to topple the nightstand’s lamp.

Good thinking for clearing the dancefloor; there’s only one cushion I need to kick aside by the time I arrive.

When done, he returns to me, arms spread slightly. “Okay, so… what now?”

Well, I certainly appreciate him not making this out any weirder than it needs to be, namely not at all. But indeed, better to get straight to the point, and knowing songs like this, they always end way too quickly. So, I rear up again and steady myself on his shoulders.

We aren’t too different, height-wise. So close, I can smell his skin a little clearer, and his hair, and the faint, pungent undertone to his breath. That’s okay, I guess; mine probably isn’t much better. Good to finally meet his eyes at proper eyelevel too.

“It’s usually the taller pony who takes the lead, but since I’m teaching you, let’s pretend you’re shorter.”

“Alright.”

“Hoof on my withers.”

He cocks an eyebrow.

I roll my eyes. “The point between my shoulders.”

“Ah, right.” He nods once and obeys.

His hand’s neither warm nor cool against my fur, just there. Which is good. I shift my left hoof down to his free hand and bring it up. “And you keep this one loose, but always push against me if I push into you. And since I’m not as adept on my hindlegs as you, I’ll probably be doing that a lot. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Now comes the awkward part, where I watch as I slide my free hoof under his arm, around his side, and down to the small of his back. I meet his gaze again, feeling an anxious flutter in my chest, but keeping it hidden as best I can. “Still good?”

“Yeah.” He glances to our intertwined limbs, and then watches my eyes carefully. His nose and my snout are maybe only a single hoof’s width apart. “So… now what?”

I count the beats.

The singing’s already started.

“Now… we do this…”

Next Chapter: 14 | A Surprise Not Unwelcome Estimated time remaining: 13 Hours, 11 Minutes