Twilight Sparkle is dreaming.

She is dreaming that she is a filly, running through a sunny, grassy obstacle course with several other foals. One of them always sticks close by her, and even though she can't place a name to the other filly, and knows deep down that she doesn't know her in real life, she also knows that they are best friends, and that they had decided to run the obstacle course together. She doesn't know why they're running the obstacle course. She just knows that it's fun, more like a playground than anything else.

The whole thing is very surreal, in the way of dreams. Everything seems slightly distorted, as if viewed through a fish-eye lens; she and the other foals are pegasi one second, then unicorns, then earth ponies, then alicorns, then scatterings of the four. Sometimes she sees everything through her own eyes, and sometimes she looks down on the action from some higher, out-of-body vantage point. Sizes, distances and proportions are all completely malleable; she tries to hide behind a large clump of trees, but upon realizing that they are too small, she jumps into the shadow of a lone brick, which conceals her perfectly.

She giggles and laughs and has so much fun running around and pulling stunts that would leave her exhausted, sore, and most likely injured in real life. It's almost perfect, with one exception. In the distance, at the very southern edge of the playground, is a fringe of trees that look--wrong, somehow.

They don't look distorted, they don't change size and shape and direction. The angles of the branches make them look more like normal trees than the strange, twisting, knotted puzzle-trees on all the other borders. She stops and stares at them once or twice, and they stay exactly the same, in exactly the same place.

They are real, and it makes her very uncomfortable indeed.

She does a pretty good job of putting it out of her mind and focusing on the game, and they run and play for what feels like years. Finally, though, they decide they are done, and when she realizes that it should be very late, the sky darkens, and it is nighttime. The group--about fifteen foals in all--stick around for a while longer, talking about their lives. Although she knows, somewhere in the back of her mind, that she'll forget them quickly upon waking, for now she feels as though she knows them all intimately, has known them forever, will always know them.

After a while, one of them stands up and excuses himself. He says that he needs to go home for the night, or his family will be worried about him. Amid cheerful goodbyes, he skips over to the unsettlingly realistic trees, slips between them, and is gone.

And, after that, more and more of them stand up and say that they need to get going. Just one or two at a time, but it eventually adds up. Finally, she and her partner, her best friend, are left alone in the starry circle of woods. The obstacle course has long since vanished, although she isn't sure when it happened.

The filly stays, and they talk for a long time. Eventually, though, her friend says that she needs to go home, too. Twilight is suddenly deathly afraid of being in this place all alone, and begs her to stay. She begins to cry, so hard she can barely breathe, even if she isn't sure why. This place is a haven of safety and happiness, where foals gather to play; what could possibly be frightening about it? All the same, she is scared, and she doesn't want her friend to leave.

The other filly talks to her for a few minutes, tries to calm her down. Then, when that doesn't work, she asks why Twilight doesn't want her to leave. Twilight says that she's not sure where her own home is, or whether she has a home even, and she doesn't want to stay here. The filly asks if she wants to come and stay at her home for a while, until she knows where her own is; Twilight accepts, overjoyed.

Then her friend starts to walk towards the out-of-place trees. All of her misgivings come back, and she is suddenly very, very worried. Her friend stops at the treeline, looks over her shoulder, and asks is she coming or not? Numb, Twilight nods. The other filly steps through the trees, not looking back, and disappears.

Biting her lip, Twilight steps up to the trees. Surely they're not that bad, she thinks. Her friend lives right through on the other side, so it can't be that bad. She isn't comforted, however, and it takes all her willpower, but she finally musters her will and slips through the trees.

"Twilight?"

She opened her eyes.

The first thing she saw was a purple-and-green shape hurtling through the air toward her. She yelped and tried to dodge, but it was too late. For the second time that morning, a twenty-pound bundle of scales, spikes and claws fell directly on top of her with a large amount of force. Unfortunately, this time he landed directly in the middle of her stomach, instead of slamming into the side of her ribcage.

Gasping for air, curled up into a ball and definitely awake, she saw Spike dizzily stand up from the splintered section of floor where he had landed after bouncing off of her stomach. Panic filled his voice. "Oh, geez! Twilight, are you okay? I didn't mean to hit your stomach like that, I was trying to wake you up so you wouldn't be late and you wouldn't get--"

"It's fine," she wheezed, rolling from her back to her belly and standing up on wobbly legs. "Just don't do it again." He nodded, although he still looked worried.

She stared vacantly into space for a few seconds, slowly recovering her lost air. Then something clicked. "What was that you said about being late?"

Five minutes later, she was very much awake indeed, the pain in her stomach and ribcage quickly receding as panic took over. Lifting several things at once with her magic, she scrubbed at her teeth, combed out her mane, and went over her checklist. Meet with Lyra at 10:30 a.m., she read. A quick glance at the clock told her that it was five minutes after ten. She had overslept, and now she had less than half an hour to be ready and make her appointment at Lyra's house.

"Oh, this isn't good at all," she fretted, working at an unruly tangle. "Spike, why didn't you wake me up earlier?"

"Hey, it's not my fault!" he replied defensively. "I'm not the one who sleeps like a log!"

"You've slept through parades, late-night Pinkie Pie parties, and Derpy Hooves crash-landing through the window," she pointed out as she worked the brush through her mane.

Caught off-balance, Spike paused and shrugged. "Well, I guess I did. But she was a quiet crashlander, and anyway that's not the point!" The baby dragon pointed an accusatory claw at her. "I was trying to wake you up for forty minutes straight! I tried yelling, tickling you with a feather, poking you, playing that party horn Pinkie Pie gave me, slapping your face; nothing worked!"

Twilight became aware of a stinging, sore patch of skin on her cheek in roughly the shape of a baby dragon's paw. "Thanks for that," she muttered.

"So," he continued, as if he hadn't heard, "I took drastic measures." He crossed his stubby little arms for emphasis and did his best not to look nervous.

She sighed and rubbed grit from the corner of her eye with a hoof. "I'm glad you woke me up, Spike, but please try to use less physical methods in the future." She smirked. "After all, other ponies aren't going to believe me when I say that I got these bruises from having a baby dragon fall on me. Twice."

Obviously relieved, he rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, it's only a matter of time until they find out about your illegal underground boxing ring." He moved over to the desk and starting organizing papers.

Twilight chuckled and went back to her morning grooming. Before long, she was finished making herself look presentable; as an afterthought, she slipped on a businesslike purple vest to cover the bruises on her ribs and stomach, did her mane back in a neat bun, and slipped on her psychiatrist glasses. She didn't really need them, but she felt they were important to maintain the image.

"I'm headed out!" she called over her shoulder as she headed for the door. Spike grunted in acknowledgement. Taking a deep breath, she shoved the door open and walked outside, feeling a tad bit less unprepared for the day with another few hours' sleep under her saddle.

In the light of dawn, she had seen the very smallest stirrings of early-rising ponies beginning their day. Now, as she emerged from the path that led between the town and the library, she saw that the street--although not as crowded as usual--was still loud and lively and busy. The frost had melted, leaving wet cobblestones, damp earth, and sodden roofs behind, but nopony seemed to mind. How could they? There was barely a cloud in the sky, a brisk, invigorating chill permeated the air, and the sun shone brightly over all. The weather team had done their job well today, and in spite of recent happenings the residents of Ponyville were determined to enjoy it.

She trotted down the street, her hooves joining the chorus of clip-clopping that echoed up and down the square. To either side, ponies went about their business, be it work, play, visiting, or simply wandering around. Sounds of cooking could be heard from many of the stores, and delicious smells permeated the air: sweet, rich baked goods, fresh, sharp-scented vegetables, and numerous other creations to tempt customers.

Her stomach made a noise like the final, rasping gurgle of a dying animal, and she realized that she hadn't yet had anything to eat that morning. She was starting to feel light-headed, and had to make an effort not to drool at some of the food she saw in the windows, but what about her appointment? She couldn't afford to be late, not on her first day! She set her vision to a narrow strip in front of her, and continued on her way. Not three seconds passed before the smell of a fat, freshly-baked apple tart wafted directly across her path and practically smacked her in the face.

Two minutes later, she dashed down the street, five less bits in her pocket, eating a steaming tart as she went. Well, hay, she thought, I can't do my duties properly on an empty stomach.

Before long she was in the suburban area, hopefully near where Lyra lived. The two of them had moved from Canterlot to Ponyville at about the same time, and they had been sort-of friends before that, but they didn't know each other very well, and she had only ever seen Lyra around town. i]Bench Street, I think she mentioned once that she lives on Bench Street. A glance at the sign coming up on her right told her that this was Stickshoe Avenue. If she remembered correctly, Bench Street was a couple of streets to the west. Screeching to a halt hard enough to leave sparks on the road, she turned to her right and cut through somepony's yard, coming out on Mule's End Lane.

She nearly ran right into at least four other ponies while crossing the street. Babbling apologies as she raced past, she craned her neck back to look for the clock tower. There! It said 10:27; there was still time! Triumphantly bursting onto Bench Street, she slowed to a stop as a thought occurred to her, filling her stomach with dread.

Which house was Lyra's?

Biting her lip, Twilight scanned the street for some sign of which house belonged to whom. She saw an electric-green colt come out of one; that was one off the list. Just five or six more to go in the next--she glanced at the city clock again--minute and a half.

Her heart sank. She wasn't going to be on time. A pony, one of her oldest (if not most well-acquainted) friends, needed her to provide comfort for her troubled psyche, and she was going to get there late. Absolutely wonderful.

She was about to begin the wretched, humiliating task of going door-to-door to find her patient, when a sound caught her attention. It wasn't a loud sound, or a sharp sound, or an insistent one; in fact, it was barely audible over the noise of a busy morning neighborhood. She found herself straining to hear it, and when she realized what it was a smile of relief stretched across her face.

From the second story of a graceful, pale-green house at the end of the street, somepony was playing a lyre.

Making a final, mad sprint to cover the remaining distance, she climbed up the stairs to the porch, straightened her vest, glasses, and mane, and tapped the door with her hoof at exactly ten-thirty.

The gentle, lilting melody of the lyre stopped. There was silence for a moment or two, then the sound of hooves on stairs. Another five seconds or so passed, and then the door opened on a sight that shocked her terribly.

Circumstances being what they were, she had expected her friend not to be in good shape, but nothing like this. The mint-green unicorn's eyes, normally a vibrant yellow, were tired and bloodshot, circles and bags marring the skin beneath. Her mane, tail, and coat were an absolute mess, and she smelled like she hadn't washed in days. She looked sad and exhausted, and the sight of a friendly face didn't seem to make her feel any better.

When several seconds of awkward silence went by and Lyra didn't say anything, just stood there and stared, Twilight cleared her throat softly. "Um... h-hi, Lyra. I think we have an appointment."

More silence.

"Ah... may I come in?" Nothing. She shifted uncomfortably. "Lyra, it's okay to say something. It's me, Twilight, remember?" she offered tentatively.

More staring; then the glazed look in the other unicorn's eyes cleared slightly, and she nodded. "Okay." Her voice sounded rough and hoarse, as if she had been crying her eyes out. She probably had been crying her eyes out, judging by her red, puffy eyes and the tearstains on her face.

Twilight took a deep breath, steeling herself for the next hour, and tried a smile. "Thank you." Lyra's lips twitched in a mockery of a polite smile. With a shiver, the acting-psychiatrist stepped through the doorway, past her friend, and into the house.

At one time, the living room had apparently been a fairly neat and orderly place. She could see a few telltale signs of the clutter that came from daily living, but beneath that it had a certain structure to it. Now trash, dishes, and other miscellaneous items lay scattered everywhere, and there was a musty smell as though the windows hadn't been opened in a while. A chair lay in pieces on the floor, looking suspiciously as though somepony had smashed it against the wall. The blinds were open, so at least it wasn't terribly dark, but that also meant that the sad state of things was that much more visible.

Well, thought Twilight, that's a good thing. Mess, physical or emotional, needs to be out in the light, not hidden away somewhere. She congratulated herself on her little burst of psychiatric wisdom, and then felt ashamed of herself as she watched her old friend staring listlessly at the dust motes floating in the sunlight.

She cleared her throat a second time, to get Lyra's attention, and then a third time, choking on the rank, dusty air. "If you want to come sit down, we can get started. Want to sit down?" For a moment, Lyra didn't respond. Just as she was about to speak again, the other unicorn turned away from the window, crossed the room (heedless of the various items of clutter in her way), and plopped down on the sofa. She sat in an odd position, her chin tucked to her chest, her back curving with the contours of the sofa, and her legs sticking out into empty space.

Trying to gather her thoughts, Twilight picked her way through the mess and lifted a chair over to sit close by the sofa. "Alright, then. I understand you wanted somepony to talk to, so you asked for my help. Is that right?" She spared a moment of focus to summon her notebook and pencil from their customary place on her desk.

Lyra sat silent for a minute. "No. I didn't want a shrink. Carrot Top and Derpy were worried about me, so they signed me up." Her voice was dull and slurred, although she spoke matter-of-factly.

There was a pause. Then, a pencil scratched over paper. "I see. Well, I don't want you to think of it as being signed up for a shrink. You've had a traumatic, stressful experience, and you need somepony to talk to about it. Carrot Top and Derp--" She caught herself, and used the mailmare's proper name. "--Ditzy Doo thought so, and I'd say they were right. That's why I'm here: to help."

She waited for Lyra to say something. After another awkward silence, when she was fairly certain her patient wasn't going to give a reply, she coughed and continued. "You're feeling sad and angry right now, correct?"

Lyra nodded.

Doesn't take a psychiatrist to figure that out, she thought, casting another look at the shattered chair. "Why do you feel that way? Don't worry whether there's any of it I already know, just be honest."

Another minute passed, with Lyra twiddling her hooves. She opened her mouth as if to speak, stopped, hesitated, and spoke. "Because Bon Bon is missing."

Pencil moved across paper, and silence fell again. Twilight was about to ask another question when Lyra, who seemed to be thinking hard, continued to talk. "I'm sad because she's gone, and I don't know what happened to her. I'm mad because she was one of the first ones to go missing, and they say the Royal Guard is on it but they still haven't found her, and I haven't seen them trying." She trembled. "I'm sad because she's my best friend, the closest thing I have to a sister and the only pony who I feel like actually listens to what I say, and I don't know if she's okay or if she's even alive. Maybe she got kidnapped, or maybe something in the Everfree Forest got hungry and went exploring." She looked like she would have cried if she had the energy left to try. "I'm mad because everypony keeps asking me if I'm okay, and coming over to my house and bugging me and telling me they're sorry." Her eyes flicked upward at Twilight in a baleful glare before dropping again. "I'm mad because I had a dream that something was going to happen to her, and I didn't do anything about it."

The pencil had been scratching nonstop while she talked, as Twilight listened. It stopped abruptly, scratched out a few more words, and then stilled again, poised to write. "What happened in the dream?"

Now that Lyra had started talking, she hardly needed encouragement; it was as if a dam had broken. The pencil scratched away. "I-I had this weird dream where I was back in Canterlot, at my old house. Except everything was kind of weird, you know? Like something was wrong. I didn't figure it out until later, but my house was right in the middle of the city, instead of off in the Northwest District where it's supposed to be. There was something else, too, like somepony was following me around." She shuddered, almost imperceptibly, and glanced nervously at Twilight. Twilight nodded supportively, and she seemed to calm down a little before she continued.

"Then I heard Bon Bon saying something, and she sounded really close by; but I ran around the corner, and she wasn't there. I kept on looking for her for I don't know how long, but it was always the same. I could never catch up to her. I couldn't hear what she was saying, but she sounded kind of upset." She stopped, and bit her lip, as though she didn't want to say what had to be said next.

"Go on," Twilight said gently. "It's okay."

Lyra took a deep, shivering breath and went on, having to visibly force herself to talk. "I-I kept trying to listen, and I went around the city in circles for a really long time. Then, I heard her scream really loud. I ran around the corner as--as fast as I could, because it was coming from inside the house next to me and I thought maybe I could get inside and help. I ran around front, and I opened the door, and went inside. There was nopony there, and I realized that it was my house, and I was back where I started. Then I went to the door to go back outside, and it was--it was--" She sobbed. "It was black, just a black hole in space like somepony tore the world away, and I saw her, and she didn't--didn't look right, there was something wrong with her but it was her--oh Celestia--"

Tears welled in her eyes, and she curled up into a ball. She didn't notice that the pencil had stopped its scratching, and she barely noticed when a pair of hooves surrounded her in a hug. "Shh," whispered Twilight, "it's okay, it's okay."

As she sat with Lyra for the next forty-five minutes, and held her, and listened to her cry, one thought ran through her head many, many times. I am not good enough for this. I'm just an acting-psychiatrist with almost no training. I'm in way, way over my head.

When the hour was up, Lyra straightened up and scrubbed at her face with a hoof. Her eyes looked redder and more swollen than ever, but she didn't look nearly as hopeless and apathetic. Twilight wrote her out a recipe for a type of tea that would help her sleep and give her energy, told her that she needed to go outside for a little while every day, wished her a nice day, and walked out the door.

At the library, she was writing up her notes and trying not to think about the fact that her next appointment was in less than twenty-four hours when a knock came at the door. She opened the door to see Nurse Coughdrop standing on the wooden, stumplike stairs, out of breath and looking extremely worried. She spoke quickly, informing Twilight that a new patient had just been received at the medical center, and that she was needed. So saying, she went away as hastily as she had come.

Feeling entirely inadequate and emotionally drained from her taste of Lyra's loneliness and depression, she did her mane back up in the bun, straightened her vest, tucked her notebook and pencil into her pocket, and trotted out the door.