Chapter Eight

The Moth and the Flame

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” Fluttershy ensured that there was a note of faux-reproach in her voice, but in truth, she was touched. As they neared the end of the two days’ worth of washing up, she felt that Trixie’s willingness to lend a helping hoof, in spite of her weakened state, was gratifying.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” returned the unicorn, a small, shy smile crinkling the white gauze that still covered the cut upon her chin. “After a breakfast like that, it’s the least I can do.”

The timid mare felt the bridge of her nose flush pink, as it was prone to do whenever Trixie paid her a compliment. She returned her focus to the dish clutched between her hooves, perhaps a little too intently to be quite convincing. “It’s my pleasure,” she mumbled.

Trixie’s appetite had been undiminished from the previous night, which was hardly surprising considering the weak, malnourished condition in which Fluttershy had found her. Tea, toast, tomatoes, scrambled eggs and mushrooms had all vanished without a trace, and to the pegasus’s relief, Trixie seemed in a far better state than she had the previous evening. She could hardly be described as glowing, but there was colour in her cheeks again, and in an odd way, her fur seemed to fit her a little better.

“Fluttershy, I…” Trixie was still looking at her, idly drying a china cup with a magically-grasped towel. The pegasus met her gaze, ready to deflect more of Trixie’s apologies, but to her surprise, none came. The unicorn smiled, as if reading her mind. “I know there’s no point in saying sorry again for all the trouble I’ve put you through; I know you don’t want that, but…” She sighed, although the sound was by no means an unhappy one. “Thank you. For everything.” She fell silent for a few moments, as if struggling with a concept she found difficult to put into words. When she finally spoke again, she sounded almost frustrated. “I just want to help you. It’s… it’s not so I can repay you; you’ve already done far, far more than I can ever hope to repay you for.”

Fluttershy blushed again, and opened her mouth to protest, but Trixie cut across her. “It’s just… it seems like you spend your whole life being kind. You help ponies, you help animals, and you don’t even expect anything in return. I think you need somepony to help you, and… and if I’m staying here, I…” she tailed off into silence, awkwardly breaking eye contact.

The pegasus looked at the unicorn for a few long moments. “I’d like that, Trixie,” she murmured at length. Her voice was so low that it was scarcely audible, and the tone was quite unlike the one she usually employed. Then, more to break the sudden, strange silence than anything else, she changed the subject. “Anyway,” she said, smiling at the sapphire mare, “it must be nearly midday. We’d better get out sooner rather than later, if you’re still feeling up to it.

Trixie nodded. “Sounds good to me.” Clearly concentrating hard, she magically maneuvered the final plate onto the stack teetering upon the draining board. “That’s the last of them,” she added, as she began trotting towards the hallway. In the doorway, she turned. “Thanks again for the breakfast,” she smiled appreciatively. “You really are the best chef I know.”

Fluttershy giggled at the hyperbole, trying her utmost not to blush again. “Well then, I guess you don’t know many chefs,” she replied playfully.

“You have me there,” Trixie conceded with a small shrug, her eyes twinkling as she turned to go back upstairs.

Fluttershy watched her go, a little surprised at how bright the unicorn’s mood was. She winced internally, remembering Trixie’s earlier admission, and the way she had responded to it. “How can you not know?” she repeated under her breath, a little disbelieving at how she could have been so tactless.

Why not offer to help? She thought, angrily to herself. Why not sympathize? Asking it like that… it would have made her feel like a freak. In truth, though, the revelation had taken her by complete surprise. As far as she knew, cutie marks appeared when a pony discovered their calling in life. It was common enough to see foals, or even adolescents, trying desperately to uncover their talents, but try as she might, she could not envisage a situation in which a full-grown mare did not understand the meaning of what was undoubtedly the turning point of her youth.

This is Twilight’s area, not mine, she thought resignedly, shaking her head as she cast a final glance over the remarkably clean kitchen. Maybe I’ll visit her later.

No, snapped an irritable, if reasonable, voice at the back of her mind. You’re not going to go telling other ponies about this. You should feel honoured that Trixie’s willing to trust you with something so personal.

But if it helps her…

It’d hurt her a lot more. If you let her down after what happened with Rosemary, she’ll never trust anypony again.

“Ugh,” she groaned quietly, shaking her head. Why is doing the right thing always so complicated?

Fluttershy trotted upstairs after Trixie, doing her best to push the worries aside. She found the unicorn waiting in the bedroom, looking out of the window over the white-blanketed forest that had been her home for so long. Thankfully, the snowfall had abated during the night, and the thinning storm-clouds had exhausted themselves and dissipated.

“You are okay with me borrowing some of your winter clothes, aren’t you?” Trixie asked without turning, still gazing pensively at the Everfree.

“Of course,” Fluttershy insisted, pulling the wardrobe doors ajar. “I’ve got more than enough; my friend Rarity likes to make sure we’re all well wrapped-up in the winter, but… well, she can be a little overenthusiastic.”

Trixie turned, smiling at the expansive collection of hats, scarves, coats and boots that stocked the wardrobe. “You don’t say,” she replied, obviously impressed. “Rarity…” she half-raised a hoof, obviously racking her brains. “The name rings a bell.” She looked suddenly concerned at the amused expression on Fluttershy’s face. “Oh dear. What… what exactly did I do to her?”

Fluttershy raised an eyebrow, unable to prevent herself from smirking. “Does green hair ring a bell too, by any chance?”

“Oh Celestia,” Trixie groaned, embarrassedly breaking eye contact. “I really do owe everypony an apology, don’t I?”

“That can all wait,” Fluttershy replied, calmly. She returned her gaze to the wardrobe, examining the garments with a critical eye. “Now, what’s your favourite colour?”

The sapphire mare blinked, taken aback by the sudden non-sequitur. “Huh?”

The pegasus smiled. “Well, you keep telling me you want to find out who you are, but I don’t think it’s as serious as that. You know who you are; you’re just a bit out of practice at being her. Considering what the Great and Powerful Trixie did to you, and all that time you spent out in the Everfree, it’s hardly surprising.” Trixie nodded slowly, and Fluttershy continued, “So, I thought we’d better start with the small things.”

Trixie broke into a nervous smile, meeting her eyes again. “It always used to be purple,” she replied. “But… now I’m not sure,” she added, and her cheeks coloured a little, although Fluttershy could not fathom why.

The pegasus shook her head amusedly. “Well then, this might take a while…”

The air was chill but windless, and the glittering snow crunched pleasantly beneath their hooves as the two mares trekked their way through the hills just beyond Ponyville. Trixie looked happy enough, but her eyes were darting around with the vigilance born of a year spent in the wilds. She had eventually opted for a velvet lilac coat that rested far enough back on her flank to conceal her cutie mark, and wide-brimmed hat of a similar colour, that rendered her face dappled and indistinct. Fluttershy did not comment, but she knew the reasoning behind the unicorn’s choice of wardrobe; with her face in shadow and her mark obscured, there was no chance that a casual observer would recognize her.

“We’re about halfway there now,” Fluttershy reassured her companion. She herself had opted for a simple green scarf and boots, trusting that the brisk trot would warm her up. They had been walking for less than half an hour, but already, Ponyville was lost amongst the craggy hills. The only indication of its whereabouts came from the thin columns of smoke, rising into the sky from its many chimneys.

The mares were walking side-by-side, chatting idly about anything and everything. To her surprise, Fluttershy found herself connecting with the sapphire unicorn, beyond the coincidence of their similarly flawed foalhoods. It was a surprise to her that so kind and sensitive a personality could have hidden behind arrogance for so many years.

At some point, along the weaving, often-precipitous, paths through the hills, the pair discovered a shared love of art, which Trixie had apparently all but forgotten about during these last, turbulent years. The unicorn threw herself eagerly into this rediscovered passion with an enthusiasm that Fluttershy found quite infectious, and they spent a happy twenty minutes, quite oblivious to the cold, discussing the subtleties of their favourite painters. Trixie could not quite see the appeal of the Moneighs that Fluttershy found so sublime, but they both agreed on the wonders of Trotticelli’s finer works.

“It’s the light that gets me,” Trixie all but gushed, as the mares wandered amicably up a steep hillside path that curved around back in the direction of Ponyville, the landscape around them growing less craggy, with patches of grass spearing up through the snow once again. “When I saw his paintings in the Canterlot Gallery, I couldn’t stop staring at the way he captured sunlight.” She giggled suddenly, her earlier tension and vigilance seemingly forgotten. “I must have looked silly.”

Fluttershy smiled, noting the way that Trixie’s left ear perked up when she was excited. “I’ve always preferred the impressionists,” she admitted, “but I know what you mean. I went there after I first left Cloudsdale, and Rainbow had to all but drag me out. I don’t think she enjoyed it much.”

As she met Trixie’s eyes, something unusual occurred to her. Ordinarily, eye contact was something she avoided; even around her friends, she could only meet their gazes for a few moments at a time before blushing and becoming very interested in the ground, but with Trixie, she felt an odd sense of calm. She could meet the strange, intriguing mare’s eyes without blushing, and it felt for all the world as if she were looking into a mirror. Here was a pony who would never mock or misunderstand her.

Of course, she trusted her other friends implicitly, and knew that they too would never make her deliberately uncomfortable, or poke fun at her shyness. Yet, with Trixie, there was a subtle difference that she could not quite place.

Trixie was the worn, damaged mare that Fluttershy knew she herself could so easily have become, were it not for her good fortune of finding her calling away from the sky she was unable to claim. She wanted to be close to the unicorn, to hold onto her and share everything with her, to keep her safe and be kept safe in return.

She knew what Trixie had once been, and was aware of the brevity of their friendship, but it mattered very little. Naturally, she was still learning the mare’s ways, growing accustomed to her little quirks and fears, discovering the hidden messages in her words, in her glances, in the twitches of her ears and her tail. Yet somehow, she felt as if she had known this mare for years. She was uncovering the facets of this mare at the same time as Trixie rediscovered them herself.

Nopony is born wearing a mask.

I’ve never met a pony like me before… The words spun in her memory, and she realized that she was still gazing into the mare’s lavender eyes, a little transfixed at the way the weak winter sunlight lay dappled across her cheeks. The unicorn’s lips were curled in a gentle smile, with no trace of the darting watchfulness that had overtaken her expression earlier. It occurred to Fluttershy, for the first time, just how different Trixie looked when her face was not distorted by that old, arrogant sneer.

The mare’s eyes were still shadowed with a deep-seated tiredness, and despite her smile, the corners of her mouth were constantly tightened as if at an old pain or incompleteness. However, none of these marks seemed to lessen the fact that Trixie was an undeniably beautiful mare.

As soon as the word ‘beautiful’ crossed her mind, Fluttershy felt her cheeks sting with blood, and she looked away.

Don’t lose sight of what you’re trying to do for her, Fluttershy, spoke up that low voice of warning.

I don’t know what you mean.

You watched her fall asleep last night, and you know you weren’t just making sure she was alright. You’ve seen the way she flushes when you hug her; can’t you see you’re starting to make her uncomfortable?

I…

I’m not the one you need to make excuses to. Just remember that you’re caring for her; she doesn’t have any choice but to stay with you. Don’t you dare take advantage of that.

A tiny, frustrated sigh slipped out between her lips, low enough that her companion did not notice. I don’t want to think of her in that way. I’m not like that.

Not like what? You can’t kid me; I know how bothered you get in the steam room at the spa. I know those lovely little dreams you’ve had about Aloe and Lotus.

Stop it. Her cheeks were a furious red, and she buried her face into her scarf, in a pretence of coldness.

Why should I, when I know the reason you borrowed that poster of Spitfire from Rainbow?

Her primary feathers twitched ever-so-slightly before she blushed harder than ever, thanking Celestia that Trixie was looking momentarily away from her, taking in the details of the sun-flooded hillside pass along which they were walking. Alright, alright! You’ve made your point.

I’m not saying it’s wrong for you to feel that way about her, I’m just saying you need to accept that you do, and you need to keep it to yourself, for her sake. Nopony ever said kindness was easy; kindness is all about self-sacrifice.

Maybe it doesn’t have to be.

Suddenly, Trixie let out a sharp gasp of wonderment, jerking Fluttershy back to reality. They had crested the peak of the hill; they had arrived.

Trixie felt her jaw drop a little at the sight that greeted her. The narrow pass had widened out, leading the mares onto a circular hilltop that was almost perfectly flat, white and smooth like a great iced cake. An aged oak tree stood alone, standing guard at the edge of the hilltop, stark and black against the snow, its gnarled, bare branches twisting skywards. Its ancient surface was pitted with dozens of dark knotholes and indentations, and yet, somehow, it did not seem as bleak and forbidding as its silhouette should rightly have made it.

What made Trixie’s breath catch in her throat, however, was the view. The unicorn had been so engrossed in her conversation with Fluttershy that she had utterly failed to notice how high up they had climbed. Below them, glittering in the winter sun, was the valley in which Ponyville lay. The river slid, glimmering through the silvered fields, branching and reconnecting as it wove its way through farms and forests.

The town sat nestled within the embrace of the fields, almost blindingly bright in the afternoon’s glare. Its outskirts halted just shy of the lowering Everfree, as if it were flirting a little fearfully with the forest, without quite working up the courage to reach out and touch it. Far away on the horizon, clinging to the crags of its mountain, its turrets shining even at this distance, stood the city of Canterlot.

Trixie gazed down at the dark Everfree, her eyes dancing between the picturesque sprawl of the rural town, and the hulking mass of the impenetrable forest. She wondered quietly how she could ever have lived in the one, for fear of the other. Her gaze came to rest on Ponyville, as she finally found her voice.

“Celestia, the very houses seem asleep…” she murmured, the quotation springing to mind, although she could not recall its source.

“You know that poem?” Fluttershy’s voice was pleasantly surprised as she stood at Trixie’s side, gazing down over the vista before them. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Trixie did not know precisely to what she was referring, but it did not matter; the view, the poem, and her companion all seemed equally beautiful at that moment. “The river glideth at his own sweet will,” she whispered, almost afraid to break the silence.

Fluttershy smiled. “And all that mighty heart is lying still,” she finished, her voice equally low. Trixie could have sworn that the pegasus moved to lean up against her, but seemed, at the last second, to think better of it. “This was where I first saw Ponyville,” she said quietly, almost wistfully, as if at a memory that she was not sorry to leave behind, and yet still found a little regretful.

As Trixie watched, Fluttershy reached into her saddlebag, extracting what appeared to be a small glass ball, about the size of a cue ball. It was roughly-made and coloured a vivid, ruby red. A strange pearlescent sheen radiated from it, as if it were generating its own light from within. At the unicorn’s inquiring look, Fluttershy hastened to explain. “Twilight invented these last year, and she gave me half a dozen of them because she knows I need to be outside a lot in the winter. Watch.”

Smiling at the look of interest on Trixie’s face, she tossed the orb away from them with surprising force, and it fell into the snow, some distance away. The sapphire mare’s eyes widened; as soon as it touched the snow, the ball began to hiss violently. Clouds of steam started to rise up into the air in a perfect circle, obscuring an area of ground a little more than six feet across. Fluttershy jumped a little, giving a minute squeak that was lost in the loud sizzling sound, obviously not having expected such a vigorous reaction.

After a few long moments, the thick mist dissipated, and Trixie stared in surprise at the result. A perfect circle of snow, large enough for several ponies to sit comfortably within, had been cleared. The grass beneath looked a little crushed and unhealthy due to the winter weather, but was free of so much as a snowflake. At the very centre of the circle, the red orb glowed warmly, looking quite pleased with itself.

Fluttershy grinned. “Come on,” she beckoned Trixie over, stepping inside the thawed circle with an obvious sigh, as if at a pleasant sensation, and lay down on the grass. A little tentatively, Trixie followed suit.

As soon as she stepped into the circle, the temperature of the air rose considerably, and Trixie felt herself let out a low sigh; it was a sensation akin to sinking into a warm bath. It did not feel like summer, and the air still had a wintry breeze about it; it was simply warmer. Trixie lay down beside Fluttershy, finding the grass perfectly dry, and eyeing the glass sphere appreciatively.

“I thought it’d be useful; if we’re going to stay here for a little while, there’s no point in being cold.”

Trixie nodded, half-moving to prod the glass surface with a hoof before thinking better of it and retreating. “That Twilight’s a clever one, isn’t she?”

Fluttershy giggled, pulling off her scarf and dropping it onto the grass. “She’s been trying to perfect trapped spells for such a long time. Each one only lasts for about half an hour, but they’re certainly useful.”

The unicorn swept her eyes, once again, over the vista before them, her sometime-rival’s talents momentarily forgotten. “This really is incredible, Fluttershy,” she murmured. Fumbling with her less-than-dexterous magic, the mare unbuttoned her borrowed coat, dropping it onto the ground beside Fluttershy’s scarf. She kept the wide-brimmed hat on however, to shield her eyes from the glaring winter sun.

The canary mare let out a low sigh, turning to look towards Trixie. “I always knew I had to live on the ground,” she said, quietly. “I couldn’t stay in Cloudsdale, not if it meant being separated from what I’d been born to do. Rainbow came with me; we were always together back then, and she’d gone through some bad times up there. Her family wasn’t exactly…” The corners of her mouth tightened a little, but then the moment passed, and she carried on speaking. “Anyway, she came with me. We both wanted to take a look at Ponyville; I knew it was near the Everfree, so there’d be no shortage of creatures, and Dash had heard about how the town had the best weather patrol in the area, so she wanted to sign up. I mean, she couldn’t stay on the ground any more than I could live up in the sky, so… well, we compromised.”

She pointed with a forehoof at a spot just east of Ponyville. “That’s her house, there. She never could bring herself to live on the ground.” Trixie caught sight of what appeared to be a small, very low-hanging wisp of cloud just outside the town, its details obscured by distance. “So anyway, one day,” Fluttershy continued, “we decided we’d come and see if Ponyville was all it was cracked up to be. I was just getting used to life on the ground, so I asked Rainbow if we could walk along the roads to Ponyville after we came down from Cloudsdale, instead of flying.” She smiled with fond nostalgia. “She wasn’t exactly happy about it, but she agreed. It took us a couple of days on hoof, but then, one morning, we came over this hill.”

She gestured mutely over the scene that lay below them. “That’s what I saw,” she murmured, eventually, turning to Trixie, her expression enraptured. “I knew I’d found where I wanted to live my life. I know this sounds a little trite of me, but it was home.” She broke into a small, nervous smile, as if waiting for the unicorn to pass some opinion on the place. “I… I come here sometimes, if I’m feeling down or confused, and I just look down at the valley. It reminds me that I’m home, that I’m happy… it helps me to think.” She paused, blushing a little as if struggling with a difficult admission. “I’ve only ever come up here alone before now… I’ve… I’ve never brought anypony else with me.”

Impulsively, Trixie edged a little closer to her companion, granted a strange sense of unreality by the hazing warmth, and rested a forehoof over her friend’s silken-furred shoulders. As if yielding to some unknown temptation, the expression on her face suggesting that she was acting against her better judgment, Fluttershy nestled into Trixie’s side, leaning her head into the unicorn’s neck.

“Thank you, Fluttershy,” Trixie whispered. She tried to put a great many unsaid things into the contact between them; she wanted to tell the mare just how much it meant that she was willing to let her share something so intimate and personal with her, she wanted to tell Fluttershy how that trust was reciprocated a thousand times over.

At that moment, she wanted to tell the timid, wonderful pegasus a great many other things too. But she knew that she must not.

Fluttershy’s looking after you. She trusts you, and she’s willing to comfort you. Don’t abuse that; don’t break her trust in you. She’s not Rosemary.

Trixie was all too aware now of how the primrose pony affected her; she knew how hard it was not to outwardly show these most guilty, confusing emotions. She could feel the blush that stained her cheeks whenever Fluttershy reached out to her, and was quite sure that the other mare would have noticed by now. However, whether Fluttershy did not realize what it might mean, or was keeping her silence—so as to avoid embarrassment for both of them—she was not sure.

All she knew was, as she felt the gentle rise and fall of the soft body against her own, it did not matter. This would have to be enough for her. This was more than enough.

“Fluttershy,” she began, slowly. “About my cutie mark...”

The pegasus turned her head slightly to look up at Trixie, still leaning against her neck. “Mhm?”

“I… I didn’t get it until late,” she continued, taking her time with the words. “I was one of the last in my class, and it wasn’t that long before I started out with the caravan. I’d always loved the idea of magic; I loved what it could create… there was something about such effortless power that enchanted me. Like most unicorn foals, I felt blessed. But, like most unicorn foals, I couldn’t so much as lift a toothpick.” She snorted. “I wanted that power. I wanted to be great like the princesses. All of those famous names; Clover, Starswirl… I convinced myself that one day I’d be alongside them in the history books.” She shook her head. “Always the taste for the theatrical.”

“So… you got your mark when you first realized that was what you wanted?” Fluttershy asked, hesitantly.

Trixie shook her head. “No… no. It happened when I put on my first show.” Wondering how best to frame the story, she chewed on her injured lip without thinking, and winced with pain. “At school. There was a talent show; they’d set up an open-air stage on the front lawns, and I wanted to enter. I wanted to show them all that I was headed for great things, so I poured myself into it. My magic was finally beginning to develop; looking back, it wasn’t anything special, but it had taken so long that I felt I could work miracles. So I practiced trick after trick, I painted the backdrop myself, I rehearsed my patter, I even spent all of my pocket money on fireworks.” She tried to smile, but it must have looked more like a grimace.

“How did it go?” the timid pegasus enquired, looking almost afraid to ask.

“Perfect,” Trixie spat. “Better than perfect. They loved it.” She let out a deep groan. “It felt like the start of a new life. All of the fireworks went off just when they were meant to, all the tricks went perfectly, they laughed at my jokes, and half the school put their hooves up when I said I needed volunteers. I… I won.” By the final word, the unicorn’s suddenly-rapid burst of speech had tailed off to an awkward mumble.

“It convinced me. I guess that speaks volumes about the kind of pony I am; I was blinded by my own sleight of hoof. I knew it was smoke and mirrors; I was the one who set the smoke and mirrors up, and deep down I knew I wasn’t great or powerful. But I told myself I was, and with all of that applause, all those near-strangers smiling up at me, it was easy to believe myself. Then, I got off-stage, and noticed this.” She gestured down at the crossed wand and moon emblazoned across her flank. “That was just confirmation. A magical mark for a magical pony.”

She snorted again. “All those years spent convincing myself that I could live up to that wand. All those years trying to practice a talent I don’t even have. Maybe that was where it all started, but I don’t know.” Her voice grew in volume, and she thumped her free forehoof into the grass with frustration and confusion. “I don’t know when it all started, it’s just… oh, I just don’t know!” The final word rippled off into the winter air, echoing off the surrounding hillsides. She stared down into the valley for a few moments, then dropped her gaze, leaning her head apologetically against Fluttershy’s. “But it’s a start,” she muttered.

“I need to know what it means,” the unicorn continued. “What it really means. I spent so many years hoping it was magic, but it can’t be. I’m just no good at it; the only thing I’m decent at is simple conjuration and illusion, and nowhere near enough for it to be my life’s calling. But… something happened that evening, at school. I found what I was meant to do, but I was so caught up in the magic that I couldn’t see it.” She sighed in irritation. “But look at it! My cutie mark’s a wand and a moon. What could that possibly mean, other than magic?”

For a few long moments, Fluttershy was silent. Trixie’s breathing was heavy and ragged, as though she had been running, and the primrose pegasus turned her head to nuzzle soothingly at the side of her neck. “Shh, it’s okay…” she whispered, her warm breath playing across the skin beneath the unicorn’s fur. Unable to hold herself back, Trixie let out a tiny, compulsive moan at the delicate, sensual contact. Hastily, she turned the sound into a frustrated groan as best she could, which was, in all honesty, not difficult.

This isn’t right, Trixie, muttered a sullen voice of warning in the back of her mind.

Thankfully, Fluttershy’s eyes were closed; she appeared deep in thought and did not see the brick-red glow of Trixie’s cheeks. The unicorn would have bitten her lip again, but knew better than to do so. She was suddenly extremely aware of the pegasus’s proximity. A burning sense of anger and injustice, which erupted in her chest whenever she dwelt on her confusing past, was mingling with an equally hot clench of arousal as Fluttershy continued to nuzzle comfortingly at her neck. Although the unicorn’s breathing was slowing down, her stomach felt suddenly full of butterflies, and she shifted uncomfortably in place, surreptitiously tucking her tail between her hind legs.

She wants to comfort you. She’s so innocent; don’t dirty her by reacting like this. Imagine how mortified she’d feel if she knew.

You think I can help it?

You need to be able to; you owe it to her. Besides, she’s trying to calm you down, not make you more distracted.

Eventually, Fluttershy spoke, and her tone was one of sympathy. She pulled back, the better to look at the unicorn, but continued running a calming forehoof through Trixie’s mane. “It’s a difficult one, isn’t it?”

Trixie nodded, glumly.

The pegasus looked pensive for a few moments. “If… if you don’t mind telling me, what did your parents do?”

“Dad was a stockbroker,” Trixie replied, quietly thanking Celestia that the blood had ebbed a little from her cheeks, although an undeniable heat was still tingling treacherously between her thighs. She tucked her tail in a little closer, doing her best to not focus on Fluttershy’s intoxicating floral scent. “He traded on the Canterlot market,” she continued, her voice a little shaky. “He wasn’t exactly a high-flyer, but there was always plenty of money around.” Trixie shrugged. “He wasn’t around much; commuted to Canterlot every day. I think Mom suspected he spent a lot of time fooling around on the side, and looking back, she was probably right. They nearly split a few times over it, but they’re still together. I… I guess they’re happy these days, now that he’s retired.” She shook her head, thoughtfully.

“Mom was an artist. She loved to paint, ever since she was a foal. Dad was in a solid job, so she could afford to do it more as a hobby, but she still managed to sell a few of her works.” She smiled at the sudden memory. “I must have caught her love of art. I had a go at painting when I was a foal, but I wasn’t any good. I didn’t have the eye for colour she had. They both loved me, but it always felt like they wanted me to follow them.

“They knew I was sidelined sometimes, what with Dad spending all his time in Canterlot, and Mom with her own worries. Maybe they felt guilty about it; they always gave me more than I needed, but every present felt like it came with a little apology. I suppose you could say they spoiled me.” She shrugged again. “But none of that matters. The point is, I’ve not inherited any talents from either of them. Passions, yes. Personalities, maybe. But not talents.”

Fluttershy nodded, understandingly. “I know what that’s like. My parents split up when I was seven, and I grew up with my Mom. I always… I don’t know. I always felt like they blamed me, just a tiny bit. I don’t know if they even realized it themselves.” She sighed, looking up apologetically at Trixie. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be dwelling on that right now. This… this isn’t about me.”

“It can be about both of us,” returned Trixie, quietly. She had the distinct impression that, a lot like this hilltop, the pegasus had always kept much of her past locked away inside herself.

“You’ve got to come first today,” Fluttershy said, firmly, the merest trace of a shake in her voice. “We need to work this out. If it’s not hereditary, then… Well, I don’t even know if special talents can be hereditary. Look at Pinkie Pie.”

“Who?”

“I don’t think you met her.” Fluttershy replied, a little absently. “Her parents ran a rock farm, and… well, I can’t imagine her following in their hoofsteps.” She shrugged, smiling ever-so-slightly as if at a private joke. “I mean,” she continued, “the moon and the wand are both magical symbols. I can’t see what they’d be doing there if your talent was nothing to do with magic of some kind. Are you absolutely sure it isn’t your illusion magic? I mean, you said you were good at it, and maybe—”

“It isn’t,” Trixie cut across her, flatly. “I’m no magician, Fluttershy. I stopped kidding myself about that nearly two years ago. I can move small objects like any unicorn, and make some pretty lights and pictures, but I’m nothing more than average. Everypony’s got a few things they’re decent at, but that doesn’t make it a special talent.” She hung her head.

“I mean, surely if I’d been practicing my talent all these years, I wouldn’t feel so… incomplete. I’ve spent my life looking for new lives, I’ve reinvented myself over and over again, but it’s all been built around magic, and I have to admit that it never felt fulfilling. Look at you. You’re amazing with animals, but you love it as well. I can’t see you being able to imagine doing anything else with your life. It’s why us ponies are lucky, next to dragons and donkeys and goodness-knows-what else; everypony has a calling, and we all know what our calling is. Well… almost all of us. I spent so long fighting against mine that now… well, I don’t have the faintest idea. I’ve been waving that wand like a fool for years, and look at what’s happened. Nothing.” She rolled her eyes. “Abracadabra.”

Fluttershy bit her lip. “Trixie, I…” she faltered, and the unicorn sighed.

“I’m sorry, Fluttershy. I don’t mean to get so morose about this, it just doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“I don’t understand it either,” murmured the pegasus, apologetically. Then, quite suddenly, she seemed to brighten a little. “But I do know somepony who might,” she suggested, tentatively.

“Who?”

“Twilight,” Fluttershy said, looking closely at Trixie to gauge her reaction. The unicorn opened her mouth, but Fluttershy hastened to clarify herself. “I mean, I know you probably won’t feel up to facing her yet, but I could go to the library for you. She already knows about you, and she can keep a secret, so it wouldn’t be like I was telling anypony new about you. I could get out a few books on the theory behind cutie marks, and I can ask her any questions you need answering.”

“You’d do that?” Trixie asked, feeling a rush of gratitude, and a flare of something dangerously close to hope. She suddenly felt awkward. “I mean… look, Fluttershy, I know I’m being a coward here, I just… I can’t face them. Not yet. I want to though. I just need to be a little stronger first; I want to know who I am, before I apologize for what I did, otherwise it’s meaningless.” She shook her head almost violently, as if trying to discourage a cloud of flies. “I just need a few more days. I know how stupid and crazy this must be for you, and I hate myself for making you keep me as a secret like this…” She let out a low, frustrated sound. “Just a few more days. I promise.”

She turned to meet Fluttershy’s gaze, and saw that the primrose mare was smiling at her. “You’re a secret I don’t mind keeping, Trixie,” she murmured.

For a few long moments, both mares were silent. Trixie did not honestly know how to respond. Fluttershy looked a little embarrassed, as if she wanted to regret her words, but could not quite bring herself to do so. Then, Trixie sniffed, realizing that her eyes were swimming with tears. “Th-thank you, Fluttershy,” she choked out. She wanted to embrace the timid pegasus, but something indefinable held her back. “Thank you for… for everything.”

Fluttershy grinned shyly at her, holding out her forelegs in a silent gesture of invitation. “Come here,” she said, quietly.

Trixie, her fears allayed, wasted no time in complying, leaning over and catching her friend in a tight hug. Fluttershy reciprocated without hesitation, letting slip a happy little squeak at the moment of contact. For what could have been infinite seconds, or momentary hours, they held each other in silence.

Strangely, despite its intimacy, the moment did not feel at all romantic, and none of the earlier warmth resurged in Trixie’s cheeks, or haunches, as she buried her hooves in the silken fur of Fluttershy’s back. She rested her cheek against the side of her friend’s neck, and felt the mare squeeze her gently closer.

She found herself gazing over the primrose mare’s shoulder, out across the alabaster valley spread out below them, and let out a low, happy sigh.

“You’re right,” she murmured into Fluttershy’s ear.

The pegasus looked up at her, their wide eyes inches apart. “About what?”

Trixie smiled a simple, contented smile. “This does feel like home.”