At the corners of my dizzy eyes, scattered, glassy diamonds of color seemed to appear out of the broad, clear sky, as I lay breathing on my back. Like Celestia’s intervening ministers all in flight, coming down. And around me on the earth, the Temerity’s ruined engines and its wreck, and the trunks of narrow, sooty trees, where the harsh gas fires had flared and died. Under these, on the periphery of sight, wildflowers grew, even now attracting butterflies with cat’s eye patterns on their wings.

Minutes passed, with me looking dizzily into the sky. The remaining fires of the wreck cast flickering light over the wildflowers, until finally Wile came running, and found my forehead hot to the touch.

“Wile,” I said, still looking up at the glassy, widely cast colors overhead, on the periphery of sight. “They’re almost here.”

Wile shook her head, not needing to look to know no helpful spirits were descending. “Listen, drink this,” she said, giving me water. “Here. You’re in shock, that’s all. It’s just shock.”

Slowly, tears were falling now, down my face, sticking in my eyelashes. “Where are we going?” I asked, and at last, Wile looked back superstitiously, as if she’d felt a shadow falling on her from behind - as if something was there that she could not see, but that my wet and happy face was staring into: speaking to.

“Where are we going?”

I was still resting there come midday, on a simple mat in the shade of one of the Temerity's wings; waking with just the top of my head warm under the bare, clear sun. Over distant hills, I saw clouds of the cleanest white, crashing down on themselves like quiet, wintry avalanches. And watching them then, I thought I saw two fine white lines bolt out from behind a cloud, rising diagonally, in perfectly coordinated flight. Contrails? I watched the white lines of exhaust extend in parallel.

“Wile?” I said, sitting up and finding even this difficult. “Come look.”

And Wile, elsewhere in the crash site, had been listening for my voice, and came quickly to my side. “Wonderbolts,” I said.
And following my eyes, Wile scanned the high, blank air for any movement.

“Lemony,” she said, carefully. “There’s nothing there.”

“No: there," I said. "There.” Signs of civilization, again. Of true rescue after all this time.

But Wile had looked and seen no movement, and spoke almost harshly then:
“Listen, Lemony, you know as well as I do there’s nothing there.”

Saying nothing to this, unoffended, I continued to watch the contrails, until they winked out into the blue.

You might have felt this way before. After moving quickly from one place to another, busy in some cloud of thought or trance, and then coming to your senses, looking around. What brought you here; what were you doing? Weren’t you just somewhere else? Now in the same way, where was I?

I felt frightened, almost - like I’d been shocked awake from a long and sleepy flight, only to find myself falling wildly, out of nowhere, toward nothing. Hot, salt tears appeared on the brims of my eyes, but who was I crying for?

“You’re coming around again,” Wile said, with her cheek brushing coolly against mine. “Just breathe evenly.”

I looked around at the wreck of the Temerity. We were on a hillside, somewhere under pure, blank skies. My face was wet. I was tasting the salt of my own tears, and the natural, grounding taste seemed almost to calm me down somehow.

“There,” Wile said. “You’re back, at last. How do you feel?”

“Funny,” I said. My hooves kneaded weakly at the ground. I'd had some kind of slip, mentally, and Wile had had to take care of me. I felt like I'd wet myself, but when I opened my mouth to start saying I was sorry, even before I could speak: Wile forgave me.

“It’s alright,” she said. “It’s over. We made it, is all that matters.”

“And Perigee?”

Wile shook her head. And at that, I sat up urgently. Or tried to, as pain went forking down my back at the effort.

“No, no,” Wile said, lowering me back onto the ground. “I’m sorry: I only meant she isn’t here. Not in the crash site with us, I mean, which is good. She still had her wings, remember? So, if she did fall out when the ship started to come apart, it was probably for the best. She's probably already looking for us now.”

I nodded and breathed out, gratefully. Then, I tried to look down at my body. “Am I badly hurt?” I asked her, for the pain had started to prickle up again as I tried to move.

“You’ll need a little rest, that’s all,” Wile said. “We’re somewhat low on food, but quite well off here otherwise, for loot. Stealthbucks, ammunition. I even managed to forage some medical kits off of the remaining walls of this wreck. You’re already well dosed up on healing potion, in fact.”

“I do feel a little loopy,” I nodded.

“That may just be you,” she said, smiling fondly at me.

I looked up at her face, and it seemed more familiar, somehow, than ever it had before.

Who was I being reminded of, now? What does an infant feel toward the large, loving faces that relieve its fear and hunger? What does it think its mother and father are? Who was I seeing a part of here, above me, in Wile? A figure I knew, yes. But from how long ago? Who had carried me high over the ground, as a foal? Who had played with my ears as I was falling asleep? And weren't they still with me in a way, whenever I felt safest, whenever I was being saved from fear? Whenever I felt most at peace, and grateful? Weren’t they a part of the flowers and cloud, and a part of Wile - with me always, whether or not I was able to see it? In every particle of light, in every breath. The hum and tremor of an unfailing Love. Not just the spirit of my parents, but the spirit of Life itself, which had passed from them to me.

I’d been showered in gifts all my life, and my gratitude for them seemed to come all at once now. Yes, I’d been grateful often, for water after thirst, for my father once, and for Wile. But grateful to who? To the water and to my father, and to Wile, yes. But even more, to whatever gave me life, and arranged it around me still…

Within an hour a soft, sudden rain had woken me, and put out the last fires of the Temerity’s wreck on the hillside. Wile had sheltered me under what was left of one of the ship’s stubby wings, from beneath which I could see movements of smoke, and the now pronged, ruined points of tree trunks. I seemed able to sit up, or at least to turn over and lie on my belly.

The lowlands below our crash site were now a blur behind veil after veil of rain, and our crash site seemed far removed, suspended safely there. Silently, Wile came and sat down with me, looking over the hills into dark country uncrossed, that no lantern gave even the shortest shout of light.

Yes, it was evening and raining, but I felt an absence still. Where was the rush and shake of travelers’ torches under-hill, from wood to wood, or in the shadow of some distant, rigid, rain-dark structure? Where was the life passing overland, frightened and quick under the rain? Where were any, or even one, of Celestia’s children, carrying inside them her guiding light, her calming breath, giving witness to the landscape?

Still, with Wile the whole nature of this unknown country seemed nicely changed, just by her being in it. It seemed safer and smaller with her sitting near me, or creating a little current, getting up and sitting down, going out to investigate creaks and noises from the wreck. As my head got gradually heavier against her side, the rain let up, and stars came out fluttering like distant flags. I could feel I was falling back to sleep.

“Lemony,” Wile said, to my slight breaths in and out. “You know, my life felt very dry, before you. Until you came like rain into it." She didn’t look down, but ahead, as I slept against her then, half-conscious. “Suddenly,” she said. “I wasn’t worried only about myself. I felt there was some better part of me, which wanted to intervene in what I did. In how I treated you. And I was grateful to have it intervene, when in the past I’d only seemed to drain, desert, and leave worse off whoever I met. When the wasteland had seemed bleak and bland, and I’d assumed that, since I’d grown out of it, I could only be as bleak and bland myself. That a pony’s spirit had no option but to starve, under those conditions.

“Now,” she said. “With you instead, in every lining of the clouds there seems to be a message. Not saying much - only that there’s more to this life than I’d assumed. That if I’m lonely, and desiring love, well, that must just mean it’s really out there, for me to find. That there must be an end, to this desire of mine...

“To be really known and felt - not as a fake, but as an actual creature alive in the world. To be discovered by a partner, finally, beside me: seeing me, and proving me. As if I wouldn’t be there, unless she observed me. That’s all I’ve wanted. Some reassurance that I’m a creature, too. A created thing. As much a natural, intentional part of this planet as a diving hawk, or the filigree of a flower. Or you…”

My heavy head started to fall against her. “Yes,” I said. “Beautifully.”

Wile sighed. Her warmth made it seem almost like the two of us, along our edges, and even then only slightly, were joining or shading into each other. She leaned over and kissed me on the head. To which I smiled in my half-sleep, encouraging her to do it twice again. And the sound was like two more drops of rain, falling alone there under the shelter of the wing.

There went the balmy waters leaving lather on the sand, and the shining crests of waves, seen from the beach. To me at first the dream felt like sulfurous Tartarus, and the stars above seemed like cracks of daylight let in through a high, high ceiling. Worse, the beach was long and losing its fiery color ahead of me, as night fell: with my apparent path to safety becoming darker, smaller. It almost made me sick, the clapping and rushing of the eager waves. Yet even in that darkened place, I could feel Celestia’s protection around me. I was being well taken care of, still. I had within me, behind me, a patient, protective guide. A Giant, much older than I was. Closer to me always than my poor, blind eyes could see.

Still, on turning around, I found no one. I seemed to be alone on the beach. What should I do? It was hard to think. And for some reason, tears were freckling my cheeks. Frustration at my own failure to concentrate came in a few weak sparks.

“Wile?” And now my tone was soft and searching, changing automatically. Wile? I had always seemed to ask it as a question. “Wile?”

I knew she must be here, as she wouldn’t have abandoned me. So, I started to walk, as humid breezes and the foam of the waves vied for my attention. I knew I couldn’t afford to lose momentum in this place. The truth was I was afraid. I didn’t want to face any danger alone. I wanted to be with Wile. Yes, my secret was out. I was a small pony, who wanted a lovely big pony like Wile to lead me always, as my guide.

I went weakly along the beach, already needing rest, wanting to give in to what now felt like a corpse underneath me; a stack of meat walking forward, which wanted to fall. Equestria, if this was Equestria, once meant for the living, seemed lonelier than a tomb now. Our species’ once secure position on the planet had grown lighter and lighter, lifting off. Now, one heavy wind could mean our race went out like a film of flame from off the surface. Never to appear again.

I pressed on, sails sagging, losing heart. Now the sea lay flat and cold beside me. The beach stretched level and quiet: absorbing the lonely signals of my snuffling nose and light hoofsteps. What if Wile wasn’t here? What could I do? The only answer I could grasp for was to walk. So, I continued forward, mindlessly.

My back was sore. My face felt strangely numb. Still, the fine red veil of evening lifting slowly, slowly off the sand ahead made my physical complaints seem small and temporary.

To be alive in a body, joined by a mysterious bond to this beach. To all beaches, to all mountains. To the material world. How could there be no purpose in that? To speak and laugh with other created beings, all gathered here, materially. To find Wile, and sit close to her. What greater purpose? I didn’t need to ask for any more strength now; it came to me.

Well ahead of me on the beach, sunlight was still brushing the sand, and as high, quick, shadow-casting clouds passed, the light would fade and brighten across the sand, almost as if it were signaling to me. I walked down the beach toward it, crossing the dim remainder in an effort to reach this brighter sand, with my expectations high.

The beach went rolling away and away, as I attempted this last drift forward toward what looked, to me, like release at last. My stamina seemed spent now. My breathes came short, as I walked the endless strait. I knew now that this could not be real: that I was not on a natural beach, with natural limits, but in a dream.

Still, I followed each step with another, and before long I had started to run. Faithfully, down the beach. Towards, it now felt like, the nearest door out of this dream. Towards reunion with every friend I had in the actual, natural world – with every leaf and flower of creation.

Somewhere not far from me, where I actually lay sleeping, wildflowers were growing and attracting butterflies too, I knew, with cat’s eye patterns on their wings. All of them good company. There alive with Wile and I on the hillside, and all as good as gifts, unasked for. And there as well were we, we two, like all created ponies, unasked for. We all woke up, once, for whatever reason. We all were woken up.

I came to - but after what effort, and how long? What had I been dreaming of? Whatever it was, I felt relieved now, as if at the end of long traveling. The details of the dream escaped me: the kind of memory that one can feel is there, but which evades capture. Like a name I think I know, but when asked for, I cannot seem to give. Where does this kind of memory move, when it moves out of our reach?

I had no answer. But I wondered if in the same way then, we might catch glimpses of Celestia’s reassuring ministers too, on the periphery of life, always just escaping our notice. Just out of reach, but whose friendly presence we still suspect somehow, like teasing memory. Or laughter, almost heard. For weren't they around us, always: wasn't it some spirit of friendship that held every atom to its neighbor?

I lay there in the Temerity’s crash site, now awake but lying still, listening to two friendly voices speaking:

“Legend has it that on the longest day of the thousandth year, the stars will aid in her escape,” Perigee was saying. “And Luna did return, on that day. So, surely that's proof enough, that prophecy is possible?”

"Listen," Wile said, disinterestedly. "All I'm saying is I personally don’t believe in it.”

“Well, you don't have to,” said Perigee. “To see how it’s useful for other ponies, to believe in.”

“Oh?” Wile said, dubious. “How is it useful?”

Perigee paused for a moment to think. Below us and the Temerity’s wreck, where the land flattened out, I could see the small, thirsty tributaries of a stream (mostly dry mud now, but with tresses of water that still shone hot and gold), and trees on the banks that creaked tall and dry, seeming almost to ache for wildfire and relief. Still, the view of this dry, unfamiliar country looked broader, brighter and happier behind the figures of my friends, and I was content to listen.

“How I’d put it,” said Perigee. “Is that a hopeful enough prophecy presents a golden thread in time, leading forward, changing this long, empty post-war period of ours into something that seems to actually be, you know, progressing. It presents the hope that we’re really moving toward something. That there’s something to prepare for, at the end of all this.”

To Wile’s thoughtful silence, Perigee continued: “Among the pegasi of the Shy, for instance, it’s said a certain mystic dreamed of a day, after certain conditions were all met, that a Lightbringer would unfurrow the clouded brow of heaven, and reveal Celestia smiling openly again on her country.”

“Hm,” Wile said. “Well, I will say this: there was one night, in the privacy of my own room… when I also had a dream.”

“Go on,” Perigee said with sincere interest, as Wile allowed a pause.

“I hesitate,” said Wile. “For fear of being ridiculed. This dream was a premonition, you see. And the fact that I was sent information about the future, ahead of time… well, that puts me in a sensitive minority, you understand, as a potential prophet.” Now, what Perigee still didn’t seem to notice was the huge sarcastic charge involved in every word Wile was busy saying. “If I reveal my dream," she said. "You may very well decide to persecute me, after the fact."

“Please,” said Perigee. “I’ll listen with an open mind. I won’t think any less of you.”

“Well, I guess I’ll tell you,” Wile said. “In the aforementioned dream, a wide variety of snouts and noses were there, all around me. Moving around, going places. Just snouts and noses, but all with different personalities. Some bulbous and red like a drinker's nose. Some male and proud, some feminine. But all of them, it seemed, preoccupied. With somewhere else to be, I mean. Or with a schedule to keep. I was on a busy street, it felt like, of noses. And I kept getting in their busy way, upsetting them.”

“And the bearing of this dream?” Perigee said. “How could you tell it was prophetic?”

“Well,” said Wile. “The next day I smelled terrible.”

After a moment to review, and to realize that it had all been an elaborate joke, Perigee booed, while Wile laughed almost maniacally.

And I found myself laughing too, throatily from there on the ground like a toad. Surprised, Perigee looked over at the sound. In the peachy light of morning, her face was slightly flushed, and bright thread of hair swept away from her cheek. A healthy, living cheek. And it occurred to me for the first time that she must be younger than us two.

“Oh, thank the ministers,” she said, to me. “You’re awake.” And to my surprise, she came down and greeted me fondly, touching cheeks, touching foreheads.

It felt so nice. More often than not, I took myself for granted as a living thing. But now I felt the warmth behind Perigee’s face, as she felt the warmth behind mine, and I knew we each were living, growing things. Each little points of heat, here.

“You’re feeling better?” Wile asked, as Perigee stood back. And I nodded happily.

“All the same,” said Wile. “You should probably rest a little longer.”

“You’ve been very kind to me all this time,” I said. “I haven’t thanked you.” Wile shook her head, seeming embarrassed. “It feels like we've been on a trip,” I said. “Just here in the crash site, I mean. Like we were traveling."

"So, now that it's over, are you in a new place?" Wile asked.

I nodded again. “Yes,” I said. “I am.”

A new place. All doubt was gone. All despairing thought, gone. I would have difficult dreams again of course, and encounter doubt, but all I had to do was hold fast and be patient, and eventually the trouble would clear, unveiling this great, steady framework underneath me, always there, and always secure. The mesh, or the grid, that held the stars in their loyal orbits, and hemmed the seas back at the beaches. The ties of friendship, fundamental to our world. Our very bindings, here.

In the Stable, I didn’t think I deserved days that were full and good, or to ever feel at home in other ponies’ company. I'd led myself down a winding, self reflexive way. Without a place to stand, it seemed, and without security. As if I was somehow unnatural or out of bounds, or not as much one of Celestia’s creatures. But it was alright now. I had somewhere I felt I belonged. That I was bound to.

Wile and Perigee, my friends, had changed me - were changing me now, even after all this time. And I wanted, sincerely, to be changed.

Footnote: Level Up!
Perk Added: Lifegiver: Additional 4 Hit Points on level-up.