The Legend of the Coriks (A Light beneath the Door)

Anypony who’s ever been on a real adventure knows that the hardest part is watching your home shrink into the distance, until it’s so small you’re not sure if you’re really seeing it on the horizon or if it’s just your mind imagining what it has already begun to miss.  But the sadness that comes with the shrinking home is miniscule compared to the excitement that arises from the road ahead, the uncertainty, the peril, the unknown.

None of the six friends were feeling that excitement as they ventured off to the west, Fluttershy least of all.

“Can’t we move faster?” she groaned, landing with a puff of dirt and then lifting up again.  “Rainbow Dash, maybe you and I should fly ahead.  We could get there sooner!”  She had been pacing side to side the entire eight minutes they had been walking, unable to escape from the image of a lonely and injured pony lying in pain, miles from civilization.

“Fluttershy,” Dash explained calmly, “if we leave the group, we wouldn’t have Twilight to guide us.  And, uh, no offense, but I don’t know if you’re capable of keeping up with me for five whole miles.”

Twilight politely nudged past Rarity and Pinkie, making her way to the two pegasi up front.  Her face was buried in a map that levitated before her, surrounded by a hovering compass and pen.  “Rainbow’s right,” she said.  “I’m still working on—thirty four degrees, remember that—pinpointing exactly where he would have landed.  Without us, you wouldn’t know where to go, and we wouldn’t know how to find you if you got lost.”

Dash turned to Fluttershy, nodding in agreement.  Twilight returned to her mumbling.

“Angle of elevation was ten point seven degrees, falling from a height of one thousand six hundred and nine meters...”

Though they had only been walking for a short time, the streetlamps of Ponyville were far behind them; the world was illuminated only by the light of the stars and the glow of Twilight’s horn.  Below them was a neat cobblestone road, which stretched out ahead into the distance until disappearing behind a hill.  For a few moments, all was silent but for Twilight’s mumbled calculations, their own light hooffalls, and the breeze through the the grass that stretched out in a small field to their right.

Then Applejack spoke.

“Ehem.  Dash, I believe you have a story for us?”

“Yeah!” Pinkie said.  “Tell us the story, Dash!”

“It sure would make this journey more interesting,” Rarity added.  “I love a good story.”

“Oh,” Dash said, her voice betraying her nerves.  “Yeah.  You know what, I don’t think I want to tell it anymore.”

“Oh, please tell it,” Fluttershy said, floating back to the front of the group where Dash kicked anxiously at the ground.  “It would take my mind off things.”

“...five point four miles directly west...”  Twilight mumbled, her face never leaving the map.

Rainbow sighed.  “I guess... I guess it couldn’t hurt to tell it... it’s not like it’s true...”  She turned around to face her friends, walking backwards.

“It began with a war...”

***

It began with a war.

Far before the land which we know of as Equestria was named, there was chaos.  And far before that, there was peace—a fragile peace, a peace made of sand in the low tide.

The unicorns of the west were aware of the civilization to the east, known as the Coriks.  The two empires traded goods and exchanged culture and made peace.  However, the unicorns were wary of what they didn’t understand, and it frightened them that the Coriks had no horns and yet built towers that stretched into the sky and commanded giant beings made of cold, lifeless metal.

With every day that passed, the unicorns began to fear that the age of magic was ending, that the Coriks to the west had surpassed the need for magic with their enormous constructs that walked and thought even though they lacked blood and tissue.  However, the unicorn leaders, afraid of igniting animosity from the Coriks, feigned friendship.

They sent the Coriks gifts.  Cloaks of invisibility, baskets of food that never ran dry, lanterns that could light up the night.  To the Coriks they gave their most valuable gems, their most sacred heirlooms, hoping that it would be enough to prevent the expansion of the western power into their homeland.

But the Coriks already had all that—they built such devices on their own, without magic; sometimes their creations were even more effective than the unicorns’ enchanted gifts.  Still, the Coriks appreciated the trinkets, admiring the impressive craftsmanship of their neighbors to the east.

On one fateful day, the Coriks returned the favor.

It arrived in a box.  A small box, slightly thinner than a brick.

To the leaders of the unicorns, read the note upon the box.  We hope that you find it as useful as we have, and that soon we may become connected in peace by this device.  We have enough for your whole kingdom, as well as ours.  May it bridge the gap between our worlds and bring us peace everlasting.  

P.S.,

Don’t get it wet!

The loyal subjects of the king watched in a mixture of fear and curiosity as their leader tentatively opened the box and pulled out the object inside.

It was rectangular.  It was cold, and hard, and fit neatly within the king’s hoof, as if designed to do so.  It was black.

The king could see through it, though only just—through the translucent material he could see only a shadow where his hoof should have been.  It was perfectly consistent, built in the proportion of the golden rectangle.  No carvings, bumps, or lines blemished its surface.

To the king, it appeared that he was holding a black gem, carved flawlessly to fit into the shape of his hoof.

“Well, it’s pretty,” the king said in a gruff voice.  “But what does it AHH!”

He dropped the device to the ground.  It had beeped, the sound seeming to emit from inside the immaculate artifact.  Within seconds it was surrounded by royal guards, who aimed their spears at where it lay, their horns glowing in preparation of attack.

“It made a sound!  Did you hear that?”  The king backed up, nervously eyeing the gift.  It lay innocently upon the floor, surrounded by threatening spears.

“Yes, my king!” sputtered the closest royal subject.  “I heard a sound, yet I sense no magic within it!”

“It’s one of their cursed creations,” the king muttered.  “But what in the Blazes of Al Dayr—”

“THE BLAZES OF AL DAYR,” the device spoke, “WERE MYTHOLOGICAL FLAMES THAT WERE SAID TO BURN WITHOUT FUEL.”

The royal guards jumped back, doing everything in their power to distance themselves from the blasphemy on the floor before them.

“It spoke!  It spoke!”

“Somepony do something!  Somepony destroy it!”

The bravest of the guards expertly hurled his spear from across the room, striking the device with enough force to impale twelve soldiers.

With a feeble dink, the spear fell to the floor, useless.

“A SPEAR IS A POLE WEAPON CONSISTING OF A SHAFT, USUALLY OF WOOD, WITH A POINTED HEAD.”

A translucent image of a spear appeared above the device, slowly rotating as diagrams, arrows, and bullet points floated as if by magic, noting each component.

“THE HEAD MAY BE THE SHARPENED END OF THE—”

“AAAAARRRRR!” the king roared in a frenzied rage.  “BEGONE!”  His horn glowed a furious red, and the device glowed with it.

“MAGIC IS THE SOURCE OF ENERGY USED BY THE PRIMITIVE CIVILIZATION KNOWN AS THE UNICORNS, WHO—”

“AHHHH!” the king screamed, lifting the device in an incredible aura of magic and flinging it across the room, where it landed with a mighty splash inside the ceremonial reflecting pool.

Everypony in the room fell silent and listened.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then:

“CAUTION: DEVICE IS NOT WATERPROOF.  CAUTION: KEEP AWAY FROM WATER.  CAU—BREEEAKKDKDA—TION: KEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeePPPPPPP awaaaYYYYYYYYY frommmmMMMMMMMMmmmmmm!!!!!!”

With an anticlimactic sizzle, the device fell silent.

Still, nopony moved.  They waited for it to speak again.

It did not.

Satisfied, though fear still coursed through their veins, the royal subjects turned toward their king.  He looked to each one with the gaze of a proper king:  undaunted, unafraid—uncompromising.

“My loyal subjects,” he declared, “today we have witnessed the Coriks’ greatest folly.  What they call a peace offering is nothing more than a declaration of war—war against our culture; war against our history; war against our way of life.  This... this... monstrosity that they have sent us was birthed in their factories and labs, their places of industry, where they make still more terrifying and powerful constructions.  These constructions threaten our natural right to exist on this world.

“We have no other choice:  now, we go to war!

His subjects cheered.

“War to defend our land!”

They cheered again.

“War to defend our kingdom!”

They cheered once more.

“War to defend our mares and fillies and our very way of life!”

They cheered louder than ever, pumping their hooves into the air and bellowing.

“WAR! WAR! WAR! FOR THE KING!”

======

It was devastating for both sides.

The Coriks suffered heavy losses in the first battle, a surprise attack upon one of their outlying cities.  It was completely and utterly unexpected; until then, they had considered the unicorns to be peaceful, if not their allies.

In the burning embers of their fallen city, the Coriks planned their revenge.

Days later, one of the most populous trading cities of the unicorns fell to the giant walking machines of the Coriks.  A hasty teleportation brought most of the mobilized warriors of the unicorns to the city’s defense, but the force was too little and too late.  The unicorns retreated, licking their metaphorical and literal wounds as they scoured the city for survivors.

The back-and-forth losses continued for months.  Occasionally there would be a week of peace, and the inhabitants of both kingdoms would hug their loved ones close and hope that it was all over, that the empty chair during dinner would soon be filled again by a returning soldier.

But those moments of peace didn’t last.  One city would fall, and then another, and then the weaponized magic of the unicorns would level an enemy base while the mechs of the Coriks would destroy a shrine.

Soon, the unicorns realized they were losing.  The Coriks could simply build more fighters made of metal and wire, while the unicorn army fell in number one by one.

Something had to be done.

And so the unicorn leaders assembled and came up with a plan.  A risky plan.  A plan that some called impossible, too likely to fail, too dangerous.

But the unicorns had no choice.

They began constructing an enormous fighter of their own, but not one made of iron and steel.  They built it out of the ruins of their cities, the crumbled clay of their houses, the wood of their burnt forests.  They built it larger than any of the Corik’s machines.

And then they gave it life.

Not artificial life, like the monsters built by the Coriks.  Real life.  Life drawn from the very source of magic, the Spring of Magic, accomplished by a spell designed by the king’s most talented wizards working together.

It took every one of the nineteen unicorns in the royal league of wizards to channel that much magic.  Every drop was pure, tapped from the Spring itself.

Days, it took.  Days of tirelessly pouring magic into the enormous, straw warrior.  For two of the king’s ponies, it was too much.  They pushed themselves too hard, channeled more magic than they could.  Those two died; the rest took a day to recover their spent strength.  Then they reconvened to admire their creation.

The High Wizard of the court stood atop a balcony, staring directly into the giant lifeless eyes of the paper-mache warrior.  With a tremendous glow of his horn, he unleashed all the magic that had been stored within the towering figure, releasing it from within its heart made of mud and ash.

Magic coursed through every wooden beam and clay wall, every straw filling and marble reinforcement.  More magic than had ever been used at once in the known history of the unicorn race.

And then, with a mighty roar, it breathed life.

The Coriks could do nothing against the monstrosity.  Their machines failed, their courage fled.  The artificial warriors were swept down one by one like trees in a typhoon.

Magic had triumphed over metal.  The Coriks ran, long and far, until the colossus that had destroyed their cities and burned their villages was nothing more than a legend told among a dying community.  Far from their homeland, the Coriks dwindled in number, unable to rebuild their society without the factories that had once sustained them.  They disappeared from the planet, never to be heard from again.

“Hold on there for just a minute,” Applejack said, breaking the spell of the story.  “Are you gonna tell us that the pony Twilight saw fallin’ from the sky is one of those long-gone Coriks?”

“Nope,” Dash said, shaking her head.  “And stop interrupting the story!  If you let me finish, I could explain.”

“Well, go on, then,” Rarity said impatiently.  “I want to know what happens!”

“Okaaaaaay,” Dash said in frustration.  “I can finish it if nopony interrupts me!”

“Duly noted,” Applejack said, nodding respectfully.

“Now, where was I... Oh, yeah.  Soon after their victory, the unicorns began having problems.”

***

Soon after their victory, the unicorns began having problems.

Their way of life had been secured.  Their land had been defended.  They had disassembled their monstrosity, so that it could never be used against them.

But their magic was failing.

All throughout the land, unicorns everywhere were trying desperately to levitate bowls, to open doors, to complete all the mundane tasks that magic had assisted them with since the beginning of their existence.

But they couldn’t.

When they tried to use magic, they were no longer greeted with that comforting feeling of infinity, of that stockpile of power that never dwindled even as they constantly borrowed from it.  That feeling of cool liquid running through the horn was replaced with a dry scraping, an emptiness, a nothing.

It was as if the magic had run out.

Throughout the kingdom there was panic.  The king bawled in his private room, mourning the loss of thousands of good ponies who had died in defense of his land, in defense of magic... only to have the magic run dry after their sacrifice.

The kingdom nearly erupted into anarchy, thwarted only by the unicorns’ devout loyalty to their king, who day after day promised a solution would come, the magic would return.

A lie that—though the king didn’t know it—would actually come true.

For one night about a month later, the sky erupted in light.

Unicorns everywhere stepped outside into the streets of their crippled villages to witness the event.  It was as if a star itself had fallen from the sky and down to earth.

The ground shook, the heavens burned, and the night was lit like brightest day.  An enormous point of light billowed ravenously toward them from the sky, trailed by flames of light and sparks that showered down like fairy dust.

And then it was over.

And from the dimming star fell a pony.

Slowly it drifted to the ground, where it was quickly surrounded by hundreds of civilian unicorns.

“Is... is that a unicorn?”

“Is it still alive?”

“Look!  It has no horn!”

“That must mean it’s a Corik!  This is their revenge!”

“No!  Everypony, step back!  It’s not a Corik!  Give it room!”

“Look!  It’s moving!”

The smoldering blue pony began getting up... but couldn’t.  Its arrival had drained it of energy.  Helplessly it lay upon the ground.

“Everypony stand back!  It needs help!  Here, drink this.”  An elderly unicorn had stepped forward, and began tilting a mug into the eager mouth of the mysterious hornless unicorn.

It drank without shame, and everypony gasped as it slowly began getting up.

“Thank you,” it said quietly, facing the elderly unicorn and kneeling down into a bow of respect.

“Please, don’t thank me,” the unicorn said.  “Especially because you need help yet.  Can you walk?”

“Not quite,” the  pony breathed.  “I’m... sorry.  I’ll explain... later... Thanks...” then it collapsed to the ground once more.

“Everypony step back,” advised the elderly unicorn.  “I will have to carry him.”

“Don’t touch him!” shouted out a pony from the crowd.  “It’s a Corik trap!”

“That’s not possible!” shouted another.  The crowd erupted into a barely-civil quarrel.

All the while, the elderly unicorn pushed the limp blue pony up onto her back.  He was far lighter than she had expected.  As if he were hollow.

“...Thanks...” he breathed into her ear.  Then he was still once more.

“It’s nothing,” the unicorn said to herself.

As she began walking through the crowd, the unicorns around her stopped yelling and turned to watch.  Soon their arguments simmered into a quiet murmuring of speculation and appreciation for the elderly unicorn who had reacted so peacefully to the mysterious newcomer.

The crowd followed her as she carried the blue pony all the way back to her house.

When they got there, the front door burst open and balloons spilled out into the street!  Then everypony started dancing to music that came from the rooftops!  Then—

“Pinkie, let Rainbow tell the story!” Applejack nudged Pinkie with her elbow.

“I’m sorry,” Pinkie said, “but this story is so... sad.  I thought it could use some cheering up!”

Rarity sighed.  “Yes, it is pretty sad.  But let Rainbow finish!  I want to know what happens.”

“Ok,” Dash continued.  “When they got there...”

When they got there, the crowd backed off, allowing the unicorn to carry the blue pony into her house.

“Do you think he’s dangerous?” some whispered.

“What a kind thing to do,” others said.

Inside, she laid him down upon her bed.  He was fast asleep.

The next day, he awoke and gave a message to the unicorns:

“Hey everypony!  Just dropping in to say hello.  Thanks for having me!  Goodbye!”

“Rainbow,” Twilight said, glancing dubiously at the pegasus, “are you sure that’s how the story went?”

“Um,” Dash said, tapping her chin in thought.  “Essentially.”

“I liked the part where the unicorn helped that poor blue pony,” Pinkie said.

“Um, speaking of that,” Fluttershy edged her way to the front where Dash had just told her story.  “Are we there yet?”

Twilight turned to her map, staring intently at it for a moment.  “Actually, yes,” she said.  “According to my calculations, this should be around the area where he landed.”

They all looked around.  They were in a field, just as Twilight had predicted.  The sky to the east burned bright red as the sun peered up from behind a distant mountain.  Around them were several sparsely distributed trees, the precursors of the forest that grew thick just to the west.

Fluttershy looked every which way, then hopped up onto Applejack’s back.

“Oof!  What’re ya doin’ up there?”

“Getting a better look!”

“Fluttershy... you can fly.”

“Yes, but this is saf—ohmygosh look!”

They all turned to where Fluttershy was looking, off into the distance.

“I don’t see anything,” Pinkie said.  “Unless you’re talking about the trees.  Because I do see those.”

“No,” Fluttershy said as she hopped down from Applejack’s back.  “Look!”  She indicated toward the ground with a hoof, and the other five followed her gaze.  “Do you see it?”

They saw it.  Just up ahead, only a few meters away, the grass glowed dully, pulsing with yellow light.  After getting a closer view, they discovered that the sources of light were clusters of little golden specks, burning yellow and then red and then white.  They covered the ground in patches like golden flour.

Dash reached out to touch one.

“No, Dash!” Twilight warned. “What if—”

“Ouch!”  Rainbow pulled her hoof away quickly, licking the burn.  “Thapt’s haw,” she said around her hoof.

“It makes a trail,” Rarity observed.  Following her gaze, they realized that she was right.  The little yellow-golden specks trailed off along the field, nearly out of sight.

Fluttershy squinted.  “I think it ends at that tree.”

Dash followed the trail with her eyes.  “That tree way out there?  That little one?”

“Yeah,” Pinkie added.  “I think Fluttershy’s right.  It ends at that tree way over there.”

Now they moved quickly, following the golden trail even though they could see where it ended in the distance.

“What... a curious... material!”  Twilight noted between breaths.  “I should... collect some!”

“No time,” Applejack said.  “Later.”

Within minutes, the friends found themselves approaching the tree, panting and gasping for air.  It was much larger than it had first appeared, and cast a long shadow even in the dim morning light.  At the base of the tree, however, the shadow thinned; here, the trunk was alive with shimmering and sparkling yellow, which illuminated the entire base of the tree so that it appeared almost as though it were submerged in a glowing golden ocean.

“Look,” Fluttershy breathed, “behind the tree!”

Simultaneously, the six friends stepped around the tree to the other side.

There, leaning up against the tree, was a pony.  Fast asleep.  She was a brilliant shade of yellow, so yellow it was as though white and gold had joined forces, creating an immaculate coat that seemed to shimmer in the night air.  Her tail protruded from beneath her, bright white, with traces of her yellow coat mixed in.  She breathed slowly and peacefully, though her face was anything but peaceful; her wariness drifted off her like a scent.  Her brow was furrowed even while she slept, and her mouth was turned down into a frown.  Her hooves and lower back were covered in dirt, as though she had crawled through the field.  Which, Fluttershy realized, she probably had.

“Everypony step back,” Fluttershy said, slipping easily into the position of control.  This was her talent, this was her gift.

Her friends obeyed, creating a radius around the yellow pegasus as she approached the sleeping pony.

“Hello?” she whispered, placing a hoof gently on the mare’s shoulder.  “Can you hear me?”

“Mmmmph,” the golden pony murmured, turning her whole body toward Fluttershy’s voice.

“Everything will be alright,” Fluttershy whispered.  The pony shifted toward her once more, but her eyes remained shut, as did her mouth.

Fluttershy turned back toward her friends.  “I think she’s just sleeping.  Stand back further.  I’m going to wake her up.”

“Why don’t we take her back to your cottage and wake her there?” Pinkie asked.  “You have all your supplies there, don’t you?  And a warm bed?”

“Because it’s scary to be woken up in a place you’re unfamiliar with,” Fluttershy said.  “Though I don’t know how familiar she is with this place...”  She turned back to the sleeping pony, who now lay almost sideways against the tree trunk.

“Here I go,” Fluttershy breathed.  Then she gave the pony a soft nudge on the shoulder.  After receiving no response, she pushed again, slightly harder.

The pony’s eyes fluttered.  Then they opened.

“Don’t be afraid!”  Fluttershy said quietly, stepping back to give her room.  “We thought you might be injured.  We’re here to help.”

The tired thing looked from pony to pony, eyes wide in surprise, if not anxiety.  Then she slowly and weakly got to her hooves, grimacing as she did so.

“Are you hurt?” Fluttershy asked.  “Where are you hurt?”

“Not... hurt... just... tired.”  Her voice was labored but soft, forced yet somehow calm.

Twilight slowly stepped toward her.  “Fluttershy, I think I might be able to get you two back to your cottage.”

Fluttershy was silent for a moment, her mouth turned in doubt.  “I don’t know, Twilight.”

“I know I can do it.  Just hold on.”  She stepped between Fluttershy and the golden yellow mare, who now stood on shaking hooves, eyes closed and panting heavily.  Fluttershy moved closer, allowing Twilight to wrap a hoof around both her and the tired mare.

“Applejack, take that map and guide them home.  We’ll see you soon.”

“You got it, partner.  See you soon.  Be careful.”

Three things happened almost simultaneously.

Twilight’s horn began to glow.

The panting mare noticed this.  Her eyes went wide and she let out a little gasp.  Then she turned and fought to escape Twilight’s grasp.  Twilight was unprepared for this, and the mare easily escaped from under her hoof.  Then she turned and dove, as if to escape a projectile or an explosion.

She turned and dove.

Directly into the tree.

She collided head first, and a terrible dull THUD escaped into the field.  Fluttershy and her friends gasped all at once, and the yellow pegasus ran immediately to the injured pony’s aid.

“Are you okay?  Oh, why would you do that?”  She gripped the unconscious pony and rolled her onto her side so she wouldn’t choke.  Gingerly, she stepped over the mare, inspecting her forehead.  A large bump emerged directly from the center, as though she were some sort of terrible half-unicorn.

“What in the hay just happened?”  Rainbow Dash asked.

Rarity stepped forward to get a closer look, grimacing when she saw the lump and what might have been a small trickle of blood.  “I think she... ran into the tree.”

“Oh no,” Fluttershy groaned.  “She may have had a concussion.  We need to get her back to my cottage right now.  Oh, why would she do that?”

Twilight stepped back.  Too many thoughts ran through her head; normally her mind operated like an efficient machine, where everything took the shortest path and arrived at the right place quickly and easily.  Now her thoughts were jumbled, too much input and not enough output, while she tried to piece together what she had just witnessed.

The pony had seemed fine—tired, but fine.  She saw that.

She had wrapped her hoof around the pony’s shoulder, and the pony was fine with that, too.  She could see that.

Then she started the teleportation spell, and the pony had panicked.  She fled... and in doing so, ran directly into the tree behind her.

Clearly it was Twilight’s magic that had caused her to react so... so powerfully.  Twilight wasn’t sure why, but she was sure that they now had a very injured pony on their hooves, one that needed care immediately.

“Fluttershy, hold on to me.  I’m going to teleport us three back to your cottage.  Help me grab hold of her.”

Dash landed in front of Twilight with a huff, stepping forward aggressively.  “Are you kidding me?  You saw how that pony reacted to your magic!  And now you want to try that again?”

“Well, she’s unconscious, so she can’t... overreact... again, can she?”

“Yeah, but maybe she wasn’t overreacting.  Maybe she was just... reacting.  Maybe there’s a good reason you shouldn’t touch her with magic.”

Now Twilight’s temper began to flare.  This pony needed care fast, and Dash wanted them to walk all the way back?  “Oh, yeah?  Well, what makes you think that?  Your book of fairy tales?”

“Well...” Dash faltered.  “Well it may be a book of fairy tales, but it explains everything you saw.  Just... just don’t use magic near her.  Maybe she had a good reason.”

“Dash is right,” Rarity said, stepping between the two heated ponies.  “Did you see the way she panicked?  That was real fear, and she must have had a reason for it.”

Powerful gears turned in Twilight’s head.  “Fine,” she said.  “But I only capitulate because you all seem so sure.”

“Ah don’t care why you camipulate, s’long as nopony gets hurt... more so than they already are, of course.”

During this exchange, Fluttershy had been working her own type of magic.  She smeared Milk-herb atop the cuts on the mare’s forehead, applied cold soil to the diminishing bump, disinfected and cleansed the tender cuts and bruises with dew from the grass.

After she had utilized the full extent of the natural medicines around her, she bent down next to the pony and spread a wing beneath her warm, motionless body.  Then, with an experienced upward motion, she rolled the pony up her wing and onto her own back, extending both wings to keep the mare steady and balanced.  Finally, she stood up slowly, testing her own balance as well as the mare’s on her back.

The pony was lighter than she had anticipated, far lighter.  Her head rested just upon Fluttershy’s shoulder; she could feel her deep breaths repeatedly warming her neck.

“Everypony, we need to start heading back now.”

Her friends stopped their discussions and turned to her in surprise, amazed that she had done so much in such a small time, and also a little embarrassed that they had done nothing to help.

“Back to Fluttershy’s place, then?” Rarity asked.

“That’s the plan, if we can’t teleport,” Twilight said.  “Let’s go, everypony.  We have no time to lose.”

And so off they went once more, traveling back they way they had come.  The journey back was much quieter than the first trip; the only sounds were those of the early birds, their own hoofsteps, and a rare groan from the yellow mare upon Fluttershy’s back.

Eventually, as the sun melted from the early red of dawn into the yellow of midday, Fluttershy’s cottage appeared in the distance.

As it grew closer, she turned to her friends.  “Everypony, I’m sorry to say this, but I’d like you all to leave.  I need to do this alone.”

“You sure, sugarcube?”  AJ glanced to the still-unconscious mare upon Fluttershy’s back.  “Do you want me to carry her the rest of the way?”

“Thanks, Applejack, but I think I’ll be okay.  She’s light... very light.”  She stopped with her friends at a fork in the road, one way leading to her cottage and the other back to Ponyville.  “I’ll send for you all some time tomorrow,” she said.  “I think she’ll be awake by then.”

“Okay, if you’re really sure, Fluttershy,” Rarity said.

“Yeah,” Pinkie said, “you sure you don’t need any help?”

“Really, I’m fine.  See you all soon.”  She began her way up the short cobblestone path to her home.

“Fluttershy!” Twilight called out.

Fluttershy turned, a difficult maneuver with the mare upon her back.

“Thank you for doing this.”

“Thank you for finding her,” Fluttershy called back.  “I don’t know what would have happened without you.”

“Good luck,” Twilight said, turning back around and following her four other friends up the path to Ponyville.

“Oh,” Fluttershy said to herself, glancing sadly to the hoof that hung limp across her left shoulder, “I’m not the one who needs luck.”

***

For the remainder of the day, Fluttershy went to work on the pony, icing bumps, soothing bruises, salving cuts.  She smoothed out knots within the mare’s back and washed out the dirt that soiled her coat.  Nothing went unnoticed, and even the tangles in her gold-and-white tail were removed, even the pressure within her joints was alleviated, pressure that Fluttershy could not feel yet knew was there.

She hummed softly to herself while she worked, an old song her mother used to sing while cleaning or tending the garden.  A sweet song, but also a little melancholy—it had always reminded her of autumn, of colorful leaves but wilting flowers, beauty in death.

It was while she was humming and picking out splinters from the mare’s forehead that her eyes opened.

Fluttershy was immediately struck by those eyes, those bands of gold and white and yellow, that peered up at her in innocence and confusion.  They gleamed like stars, and Fluttershy watched as they focused upon her, as the mare’s eyebrows rose up in a question.

“Wh... what... where...”

“Shhhhh,” Fluttershy whispered.

“Who?” she asked, then shifted on her stomach.  She was lying down upon a bed, positioned that way so Fluttershy could access her injured head.

“My name is Fluttershy, and I’m helping you.  Please, don’t try to move.”

“No... who... am I?”

“Oh no,” Fluttershy breathed.  “Oh no, oh no, oh please no...”

The mare shut her golden eyes.  “No... wait.  I know.  My name is... Nora.  No... it’s Nova.  I’m Nova.  Nova Blare.”

Fluttershy was nearly crying, though she wasn’t sure if it was out of happiness that the mare could remember her name, or out of heartache that she nearly couldn’t.  “That’s a very pretty name, Nova Blare,” she said.

“Nova,” the pony murmured, opening her eyes once more.  “Just call me Nova.”  Then she began struggling to get up, shifting her weight off her stomach and onto her hooves—or, at least, attempting to.

“No, please don’t move,” Fluttershy said.  “Stay there.  I’ll be right back.”

Nova just closed her eyes once more, too tired to give thanks, head too muddled to think clearly.

Moments later, Fluttershy returned, bearing a cup of water.  “Here.  Drink.”  She poured it gently into Nova’s mouth, careful lest she choke.

“Thank you,” Nova said afterward.  Her mouth had been dry, absolutely parched, and she could feel her tongue absorbing the water like a sponge.  It felt wonderful.  “...What happened?”

Fluttershy sat down opposite where the golden-yellow pony lay upon the bed, watching as those brilliant golden eyes peered into hers.  “We found you against a tree, asleep.  We woke you and my friend began to teleport us back here so I could care for you, but... you sort of panicked.  You turned around and ran directly into a tree.”

“A... tree?”  She said the word uncertainly, as if she had never heard of one.

“Yes,” Fluttershy nodded.  “A tree.”

The mare winced, then began raising a weak hoof to her forehead.  

“Please don’t touch your forehead—there’s still a really bad bump there.”

She collapsed the hoof back to the bed.  That’s when she noticed the bandage wrapped around her foreleg.  “So... you did this?”

“Yes!” Fluttershy grinned.  “As much as I could.  It’s what I do best.  I’m sorry if I missed anything... any bruises or bumps I didn’t find.  I really hope you’re feeling better.”

“No, it’s fine,” Nova said, mentally inspecting her body for pain or discomfort.  “Actually... I don’t feel that bad.”  That was an understatement; Nova nearly felt great.  As if she had just received ten years of sleep followed by an extensive massage.  Beside her headache, she couldn’t remember ever feeling better—but the more she thought, the more she realized she couldn’t remember anything at all.

“Even... even my headache is fading.”  A look of concentration came across her face, but soon it was replaced by one of confusion.  “My head... is still fuzzy.  I can’t think well.  I don’t remember much.  I don’t remember anything.”

Fluttershy frowned.  “That... could be a side effect of the concussion,” she explained.  But in her mind, the worry spread like a fire—there was a possibility it was bad, worse than she had feared.  As much as it terrified her to think it... permanent damage was a possibility.  Fluttershy cringed at the thought, and the tears threatened to appear once more.

“I can’t think well... but I feel okay.  I don’t hurt.”  She blinked, then looked up to Fluttershy as if seeing her for the first time.  Suddenly, tears welled in those great golden eyes, which stared at her with a look of gratitude so immense Fluttershy could nearly feel it, like sunbeams of light warming her skin.  “Thank you,” she said once more, but this time the emotion spilled down her eyes and through her voice.

Fluttershy smiled warmly.  “It was the least I could do.”

“No,” Nova said, now strong enough to wipe her tears with a hoof.  “No, it was more than that.”  As she wiped away her tears, she ventured a hoof to her forehead, despite Fluttershy’s warnings.  An intense, sharp pain greeted her, and she winced, quickly withdrawing her hoof.

“I told you not to touch that,” Fluttershy said.  “Now I think it would be best if you got some sleep.  A muscle injury heals faster if you rest the muscle, and similarly a head injury heals faster if you rest your head.”

Nova nodded, expecting her neck to be stiff and aching, but finding it instead to be loose and relaxed.  She glanced up to Fluttershy once again with more appreciation and gratefulness than she had ever experienced in her life—that she could remember.

“Thank you,” she whispered, closing her eyes and laying her head down upon the bed.  “Thank you.”

“Please don’t thank me for doing something anypony else should have done.  Just promise that one day you’ll do the same, if you ever can.”  And with that Fluttershy turned off the lights, left the room, and gently shut the door behind her.

Nova sighed into the bed, her tears cooling its surface upon her cheek.  All she could think about was that yellow pegasus, the one who had saved her... that and something else.  Something that seemed incredibly important, but that she couldn’t remember.  Her mind was like a city ravaged by a hurricane—all the pieces were still there.  They just needed to be put back together again.

She slept, and in her dreams everything became clear.  Who she was, where she was from, what she must do—in her dreams the doors within her mind flew open, every thought became free from the murky blackness that shrouded her waking mind.  She dreamt of an immense power within her, of a towering stone room that smelled of roses and spoke like a murmuring spring, of the task she must fulfill.  She dreamt of the stars.

And, sometime after that, she dreamt of a yellow pegasus.

***

It was late, and Fluttershy couldn’t sleep.  Something Nova had said was floating through her mind like a wraith, disturbing her thoughts.

I don’t remember much... I don’t remember anything...

It could be bad.  Memory loss, or worse: retrograde amnesia.  Fluttershy shuddered at the thought.  To have to live like that, not knowing your own history, your own past...

Slowly she pulled off her covers, slipping out of bed and onto the wood floor, which squeaked quietly with years and years of that one repeated action.

Down the hallway.  She yawned.  Hopefully Nova was still asleep, hopefully she was resting.

Turning the corner.  Fluttershy stopped.  There was the door to the guest room.  But light was spilling out from beneath the crack.  Nova was awake, and had turned the light on.  No, no—this was not good.  She needed sleep, she needed rest.  Especially at this hour.

Fluttershy opened the door, the words already formed and waiting upon her tongue.

Nova, you shouldn’t be awake.  You—

But the words never came.  The light wasn’t on.  At least, not the light on the bedstand.

Nova was asleep.  And she was glowing, illuminating the entire room in a warm golden yellow.  

Fluttershy stared, eyes wide, noticing how the light wasn’t coming from Nova’s coat.  No, it was coming through Nova’s coat, coming through from the inside, from within her very body.  As Fluttershy watched, the mare rolled over in her sleep, letting out a meek yawn—light poured out from her open mouth as she did so, like a lighthouse.

Fluttershy breathlessly closed the door, eyes still wide, mouth still open.  She stood there like that for a while, first in incredulity, then in thought.  Light continued to pour out from beneath the door.

I don’t know how to treat that, was her first thought.  No, don’t be silly, that’s not a condition.  At least, not a bad one.  That’s... that’s....

“That’s something to ask Twilight about,” she whispered aloud, then headed back toward her room.  Sleep eventually found her, and despite the worry and uncertainty that plagued her waking mind, in her sleep all was forgotten and she drifted peacefully toward sunrise.

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