The Leftover Guys

by ThatWeatherstormChap

First published 25th of April, 2014

The 1st story in the slice of life comedy series, The Leftover Tales. When Nightmare Moon returns and brings about eternal darkness, five obscure, bumbling stallions make it their mission to save Equestria in a quest for fame and glory.

The first installment of the not-so-award-winning Leftover Tales.

The Leftover Guys is a a tall tale detailing how the return and subsequent defeat of Nightmare Moon really transpired... at least, according to a young classroom assistant trying to keep a hyperactive class of elementary-school foals occupied, that is.

When the Mane 6 go missing on their journey to stop Nightmare Moon, five self-centered stallions rise above the rest in a quest to stop her nefarious scheme for eternal night, rescue the six elements in distress, and ultimately get noticed. But our fairly average heroes are in way over their heads, and there may just be more happening than meets the eye... Along the way they will experience peril, bickering, heartache, life lessons on how to throw snakes, and a good laugh. They are Equestria’s last hope, or so they like to believe. They are: The Leftover Guys.

Credit to marking for the excellent cover art.

-TWC

Prologue

Starfire was having a hard time getting the class settled. The room was alight with the screams of over-excited, hyperactive young fillies and colts.

‘Curse that Pinkie Pie, and her extra sweet, double icing, sugar-filled cupcakes,’ thought the zaffre blue stallion as he scanned the carnage that was taking place in front of him. The classroom was a mess, the tables overturned and workbooks littering the floor. ‘She just HAPPENED to be giving out free samples directly outside the school, didn’t she?’

The unicorn gave Cheerilee a nervous half smile and smoothed back his medium length, blonde mane. It was drenched in sweat.

“They’re just getting it out of their systems!” he called out to the back of the room, towards the frowning teacher, over the high pitched voices of around fifteen sugar-fuelled children. Starfire hadn’t been working as a student teacher here for long, but he hadn’t seen Cheerilee frown before now. She just didn’t seem the sort to get angry. That means everything was going horribly, HORRIBLY wrong.

Cheerilee, ducking to avoid Scootaloo racing past her on her trademark scooter, the bucket on her head obscuring any sort of vision whatsoever, called back, “If you ever want to become a fully trained teacher and earn your certificate, you’re going to have to learn how to deal with these situations! Because if not, then...”

Starfire couldn’t hear a word the pink earth pony was saying, mainly because one of the students, Applebloom, had decided that he just HAD to hear her little club’s theme song, at the top of her voice, directly in his left ear. He cringed, scanning the pre-teen apocalypse that had befallen the small classroom. Sweetie Belle was scooting across the floor, her blank flank thrust high into the air, stuffing dictionary pages into her mouth. Twist was dancing to the orchestra of squeaky shrieks that assaulted his ear lobes from every direction, shaking her head so violently that he imagined her spectacles would fly right off her face. Young Dinky Hooves had wrapped herself up in a map of Equestria and appeared quite content lying there, doing a very good impression of a sausage roll. Near the back, Snips and Snails had managed to stick themselves together with chewing gum. Again.

Starfire sighed, wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, then turned his attention to the clock. School wasn’t over for another three hours. He felt his stomach tighten as Cheerliee’s gaze burnt into his skin. This was going to be a VERY long day...

Suddenly, amidst the wreckage that was once called a classroom, the unicorn saw something move at the window. A blue blur, just there for a second, then gone. He continued to stare at the window whilst Applebloom launched a full martial arts assault on his legs. A few moments later, the blue blur returned, then stopped at the paint splattered window. It was a light blue pegasus, the early afternoon sun bouncing off his black, square-rimmed spectacles. His wings were a blur, keeping him hovering in place about a meter from the ground. He held a small, rolled up parchment in his mouth, and was banging on the window with his left hoof, imploring that he be let in.

At least that’s what Starfire assumed he was saying, anyway. Between the unholy noise in that classroom, the fact he had a roll of paper in his mouth, and the fact that he was behind several inches of soundproof glass, all the student teacher could make out was, “Hmpfh!”

‘Oh, thank Celestia,’ the unicorn muttered under his breath. Stepping carefully over a cowering Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon, he reached the window and pulled it up from the bottom. The Pegasus fluttered into the room, landing carefully on all four hooves.

“IMP LOOFS LIMP OOVE GOF UHR HOOPHS FUH!” He mumbled incoherently.

Starfire, narrowly dodging a flying cupcake, levitated the scroll out of the blue stallion’s mouth. “What?”

“I said, 'it looks like you’ve got your hooves full!'” he called back, barely allowing himself to be heard over the ruckus.

“You think?” the unicorn wheezed sarcastically. He looked over at Cheerilee, signifying that he knew the strange pegasus pony that moments earlier had decided to fly in through the window of an elementary school. He then turned his attention back to his friend. “Weatherstorm, what kept you?”

Weatherstorm rolled his light blue eyes and threw back his jet black, gelled-up mane. “Huh!” he scoffed, almost insulted. “I have a social life too, you know.” The newcomer had a soft spoken, rather posh sounding accent. He pronounced his words deliberately, as though he took great pains to make every syllable count. It suited his characteristics well.

“Look me in the eyes and say that again without smiling.” The unicorn replied, dryly. His nerves were shot.

The pegasus pointed to the floating scroll, wrapped in a blue aura emanating from the tip of Starfire’s horn. “I was writing THAT. You know, to keep them occupied?”

Starfire winked at his light blue friend. “It took long enough. I hope it's good, 'Stormy. Helping me find some other way of keeping this lot settled is not how you'd want to spend your afternoon."

Weatherstorm frowned. He disliked being called ‘Stormy’ by his friends and he disliked the notion of spending all day with these little brats even more. He placed a hoof to his chest, which was swelled with pride. “My dear Starfire, you have absolutely NO faith in me. After all,” he said, looking to his cutie mark, “who here earned their cutie mark for writing?”

Starfire looked back at his own cutie mark: three shooting stars. “You have me beat there.” He smiled. Having been subjected to several hours of non-stop chaos, the chap was clutching at straws. “Let's just hope this is one of your finer works. These kids can be hard to please, believe me.”

“Ah, well...” Weatherstorm bobbed his head from left to right, as though making a decision. “Not my BEST work by any means. But I’m sure it’s enough to keep this juvenile lot entertained, at the ver...”

The pegasus didn’t have time to finish his sentence as a cupcake exploded against the side of his face.

This caused a groan of disgust from the unfortunate victim, and a collective gasp from the class. Starfire mentally reminded himself that he was placing his future job in the hooves of a stallion that climbed through elementary school windows and got bullied by children.

The dark blue unicorn cleared his throat loudly, trying to grab the attention of the still laughing fillies and colts. He pointed to Weatherstorm who was wiping icing from his glasses, picking crumbs from out behind his ears and flicking cupcake mixture out from his neon-blue streaked mane and tail. “This,” he loudly announced, “Is a very special guest, my good friend Weatherstorm. He works at the Ponyville Express paper. Isn’t that exciting, kids? Isn’t it? Children...” It was to no avail. Anarchy continued to reign supreme. All law and order of the schoolhouse had well and truly broken down.

Cheerilee, holding a quill in her mouth, scored a big ‘X’ on a page. Starfire didn’t know what exactly this meant, and he didn’t want to find out.

He turned to his friend, desperation evident in his eyes. “Help me out here...” he whispered.

"Your class, your problem. This is far from MY job on the line."

"PLEASE."

"Fine. But I'm afraid to say that you owe me for this, yes indeed." Weatherstorm turned to the class. “Uh... I’m taking autographs, so... form an orderly queue, please?”

This was met with another projectile cupcake to the face. Wiping the treat from his face with his hoof, Weatherstorm screamed, “AND I’M ONE OF THE PONIES THAT SAVED EQUESTIA FROM... NIGHTMARE MOON!” he cackled the name evilly, throwing his hooves out in front of him like a zombie and moaning, “OOOOHHHHH!”

This caught their attention. As quick as a flash, tables were put upright and behind them sat fifteen little angels, looking sickingly sweet.

“You mean princess Luna?” Scootaloo asked politely, a pretty little halo forming over her head. “I’ve met her, you know. And she really is quite a dear.” The angelic little angel mimicked the blue stallion’s voice, holding her head high. Some snickering circulated from the back.

“No. Nightmare moon.” Repeated Weatherstorm, signifying to Starfire that he should unravel the parchment. Story time had begun. “Completely different pony.”

Sweetie Belle chimed up. “No they aren’t. I met her last Nightmare Night. She wasn’t scary...”

“She was fun!” Pipsqueak finished her sentence.

“Do shut up and listen, everypony.” Weatherstorm demanded. “For the story which Mr Starfire here, one of the heroes of this epic tale, is about to tell you, will chill you,” he shivered, “Spook you,” he looked from left to right wearily, “And...” his voice was a hushed whisper now, “Give you Nightmares for the rest of your little lives.”

This caused a collective cheer.

Weatherstorm had done his part. Ponies could say what they wanted, but he knew how to put on a decent show. He sat on the edge of Cheerilee's desk and nodded to his unicorn friend, who was unravelling the scroll. Starfire could take it from here.

'Thank you,' mouthed the the dark blue unicorn, giving him a nod of appreciation. He just hoped that this would hold their attention long enough to get through the rest of the day without incident. Hopefully Weatherstorm peppered in some morals here and there for the students to take note of, preferably about respecting their elders.

He cleared his throat, and then began to read. “The town hall...”

Chapter 1

The town hall was packed as far as the eye could see. Ponies of every race, every age, every size and every colour from every town in Equestria filled the large meeting room, which looked absolutely exquisite for the occasion. And WHAT an occasion: the Summer Sun Celebration was going to be held in Ponyville this year, and not just any Summer Sun Celebration, either. This celebration would mark the 1000th anniversary of the celebrations, and Ponyville was very lucky to be hosting such a historic event.

Nopony was more excited than one light blue pegasus in particular, cutting a path through the crowds of chattering ponies. Occasionally he would bump into another pony, or accidently stand on a hoof, but always followed such incidents with “My most sincere apologies sir/madam.” He knew he should have been looking where he was going, as it is the proper thing to do, after all, but he simply couldn’t take his eyes off the decorations. They complimented the architecture beautifully, and whilst Weatherstorm had been in the Ponyville town hall many times before during his time as a journalist, covering all sorts of events, he had never seen the old building look as divine as it did tonight. His mind began to wander as he made his way to the front of the hall: he had a few comments hurled at him such as, “What gives you the right to butt in?” and “Quit pushing, Specks,” but these promptly ceased once they caught a glimpse of the shiny, laminated 'VIP: Press' badge hanging around his neck, and the reporter’s notepad and quill tucked safely underneath his wing.

The decorations did look beautiful. ‘Almost,’ thought Weatherstorm, ‘as beautiful as the mare who designed them.’

He took his place at the very front row, with the very important guests and those wealthy enough to afford a place with such a view. He came to a stop beside Canterlot fashion icon Fancypants and his ‘escort’, the stunning Fluer de Lis. Although Fancypants seemed like a fine gentlecolt and all round nice fellow, the pegasus couldn’t help but wonder why somepony like Fluer de Lis, that was young and good looking, and with so much life ahead of them, would choose to spend all of their time with an old man such as him.

‘I guess some ponies will do anything for money,’ he found himself thinking. Fancypants smiled down at him. Weatherstorm smiled back. No further interactions were made.

Looking around the stage, the journalist instantly recognized some other familiar faces, such as Sapphire Shores a row behind him, or Hoity Toity on one of the upper balconies, laughing and drinking with his filthy rich friends. Few of those he recognized had he interviewed himself years ago, most he saw glaring at him from the glossy covers of ‘Canterlot Weekly’ magazine. Working for a fairly small newspaper in a fairly small town meant that he rarely had the chance to speak to anypony interesting: most days his material was limited to writing about stray cats getting stuck up trees, or the occasional case of slipper theft, and that was it. There were several other journalists around him. He quickly scanned the badges around their necks: there were press here from Canterlot Weekly, The Manehattan Times, The Cloudsdale Chronicle, The Fillydelphia Tribune... some from even further afield, like the Trottingham Daily, to name a few. It really emphasised what a big event this was. The small town writer felt a little out of his depth with so many well known, successful people around. The only reason he was getting special treatment was because the festivities were taking place in his hometown: were this taking place in the capital of Canterlot, as it does most years, he would have been shoved to the back of the room.

Not that he was complaining at present: he did, after all, have a beautiful view: and he wasn’t just talking about the view of the stage.

Rarity stood on the top balcony, leaning over the handrail with all the elegance and beauty of a swan.

“A little to the left,” she sang to two pegasi moving company workers below who were carrying a grand piano up to the balcony, flicking her perfectly stylized mane behind her. “That’s fine. Keep it coming...”

Weatherstorm felt his heart skip a beat: he wasn’t attracted to mares all that much, but that isn’t to say he was attracted to stallions, either (despite what some of his friends said.) He didn’t really see the sense in romance: it never turned out like in the novels he so frequently read, where the right thing is said at the right time, and it always ended happily. That was just plain unrealistic, in his opinion. The journalist liked his life to be his own, and his alone. His friends oft teased him of his views on love, and called him rather cynical when it came to romance and family. But he had never had his heart broken, and opted to keep it that way.

They called him cynical, he called himself a realist.

Rarity, on the other hand, was a completely different matter altogether. She made him feel ALIVE. He had known her for quite some time, but she didn’t really know him all that well in return. Sure, he called into the Carousel boutique every so often and whilst there they would talk: he interested in her art of dressmaking, and she in his job as a wordsmith. She once told him, “They are both arts, in a way.” He’ll never forget that. Just remembering that little smile she gave him made his heart flutter. Their conversations rarely went any further than that and she had yet to discover his true feelings for her. Even so, he was enjoying this moment of peaceful isolation, staring up at her glorious figure.

“Ooh, so you like Rarity, do ‘ya? I thought you didn’t believe in love! She is hot though, I’ll give you that.”

Weatherstorm blushed, and sighed. Scratch that: he USED to be enjoying this moment of peaceful isolation until Belove showed up.

The pegasus turned to the figure of a dark red earth pony standing behind him. “You’re twisting my words, Belove. I didn’t say that. I just said I’m not really attracted to every mare that passes me by...”

“...Because you’re a colt cuddler,” the other pony laughed. He spoke with a broad, Hiberno-Equestrian accent, deep and low, and sounded every bit a country pony. “It’s okay, ‘Stormy. I get it. You don’t need to hide your feelings. I know you dig me.”

Weatherstorm rolled his eyes. “Huh. Don’t flatter yourself.” Belove was larger and better built in comparison to Weatherstorm, with broader shoulders and a manly squared jaw and nose. He looked very masculine, and you could tell by his biceps that he was no stranger to physical exercise. Weatherstorm would try to tell him that pegasi use their wings to travel more than their hooves, but Belove would always reply with “Then why are your wings so puny?” He looked the typical soldier: tall and dark, with a strong body and very hard headed. His cutie mark, a shining gold medallion, proved he liked to be the very best. Whilst his short cut mane was covered by his guard’s helmet, his cropped brown tail was visible out the back of his immaculate armour. Although less earth ponies joined the Ponyville guard than pegasi or unicorns, they were not uncommon. At least he was doing his part to help break racial stereotypes, just as Weatherstorm believed he was doing – after all, how many of the other journalists in the room belonged to his race, the Pegusi? Very few. The general assumption from some in Equestria was that most earth ponies became farmers, most pegasi became weather ponies and most unicorns became scholars. And he had learnt in his travels all over the globe that such accusations could not be more wrong.

“Besides,” the reporter continued, “what do you mean 'she’s hot?' You had a marefriend, last time I checked.”

“Aye, but that doesn’t mean I can’t say that other ponies are hot, though. I’m sure my Fuzzyhead does the same thing about the occasional stallion.”

Weatherstorm sighed and smiled. His soldier friend had an answer to everything. Winning an argument against him was nigh impossible: he would defend his case to the death if need be, and beyond. “I seriously doubt she does. Besides, looks aren’t everything.” He turned back to his love and felt his heart turn to mush. “Rarity is absolutely gorgeous, to that there is no doubt, but she’s also... funny and... charming... generous.”

He was brought back to Equestira by the deafening smash as a grand piano collided with the marble floor, spitting white keys like broken teeth and wooden splinters everywhere. A shrill squeak escaped one of the guests, a small and timid yellow pegasus with a bubblegum pink mane.

The heavy instrument landed mere centimetres from a group of high society guests, who looked in disgust at the debris before ‘tsk-tsk-ing’ and walking away, their noses held snobbishly high in the air.

The first worker looked down at the once grand piece of art that was now just in pieces, then back up at Rarity.

“Uh...,” he stammered, his caramel brown wings beating furiously. “Did you say ‘right’ or ‘left’?”

Weatherstorm face-hoofed. This wasn’t the first time that his friend Derky Bells had embarrassed himself at a public place. It was also why he couldn’t hold a job down.

The journalist heard the white unicorn sigh. “Left.” She said. “I said left.”

“Aaaah.” Derky nodded in understanding. “I thought you said right. But you said left.”

“Yes, I’ve established that,” smiled the unicorn sweetly. “Don’t worry, dear. I’ve got another outside, in case of...” she looked over the balcony. “Uh... ‘Unforeseen accidents.’”

The second worker, a light grey mare with a golden mane, stared at the wreckage. At least, Weatherstorm THOUGHT that she was looking down, but with her eye condition you were never sure whether she was looking at you or somepony at the other side of the street. She cringed. “I just don’t know what went wrong...”

Derky was quick to explain. “She told us to go left, but we went right.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe,” Rarity called down to the two workers. “We could use a third pegasus to hold the other side?”

Weatherstorm’s stomach did a summersault. He knew what way this was going to turn out, and he didn’t like it at all, not one bit.

He attempted to slink slowly backwards into the crowd, but it was too late.

Derky swivelled around mid air. “Sure! My friend Weatherstorm is right over there, do you see him?” he pointed to the reporter who was trying to blend in with the crowd. Derky turned his head upwards to the smiling unicorn. “That’s him there. Do you see him there? Right there, beside Fancypants?” he addressed rather too loudly in the still silent hall. All heads present turned to the colt in question: Weatherstorm’s blue face went a bright pink.

‘By Celestia’s mane, why do these things always happen to me?’

“Hey, Weatherstorm!” His fellow pegasus friend cupped his mouth and called his name, which echoed throughout the room. “Hey! It’s me! Derky! Your friend! Come help me move a piano!”

Weatherstorm felt everyone in the room stare at him. He heard some whispers of disapproval somewhere behind him. Up in one of the balconies, he heard somepony laugh: a cruel, mocking jeer. He still wasn’t quite sure what had happened: he had gone from enjoying a quiet bliss to being publically laughed at in the space of around 10 seconds, without the faintest notion of how that transpired. That must be a new record.

He looked back to find Belove had somehow disappeared and was now standing at the left hand side of the hall with the rest of the Ponyville guard, as though he had been standing there the whole time. He wouldn’t make eye contact.

Wearily, Weatherstorm took a deep breath and flew slowly past the rows of gaping nobles, over to his friend whom was still beckoning to him with an outstretched hoof. The blushing blue stallion stopped at the edge of the balcony and found himself staring into those beautiful, gentle, feminine eyes. “Uh... hello, M... Miss Rarity.” It felt like the butterflies in his stomach were having a house party, and everyone was invited.

Weatherstorm mentally cursed himself: why did he always turn to jelly whilst talking to her, and her alone? Why did he never know what to say?

The dressmaker gave him one of her trademark smiles. “Good evening. Would you be so kind as to help your friend here carry the other piano inside whilst I take care of this... slight mishap?” Her hypnotising blue eyes sparkled as they fell over the mess of broken wood and shattered chords below her. “It seems to me that it might be a three pony job.”

Weatherstorm took a deep breath, then released it. He was going to be cool, calm and collected, and reply in a civilized manner that a truly magnificent lady like Rarity deserved.

“Yes.” His voice cracked a little as the one syllable word barely managed to escape his mouth. He mentally cursed himself yet again: he just had to go and make a fool of himself in front of the mare of his dreams, now, didn’t he?

His train of thought derailed as Rarity leaned over the handrail and gave him a small kiss on the cheek. For a moment he thought he had imagined it, but then he realized that even his imagination could not simply create such a beautiful work of fiction. He felt his face turn from a light pink to a dark red. He didn’t care. Nor did he care that a simple kiss on the cheek is nothing more than a sign of goodwill. As far as he was concerned, he was never going to wash that cheek again. Although his brain was going into a complete meltdown, he rethought that last part. ‘No, she wouldn’t like that at all. In fact, that would be rather ghastly...’

“Thank you. It’s just outside,” Cooed the snow-white unicorn. A second later, she disappeared behind the lavender curtain.

He heard her perfectly manicured hooves make faint, dainty little clops down a flight of unseen stairs. General chatter resumed between the guests.

Weatherstorm wasn’t sure what had happened. He had went from being publically laughed at by the elite of Equestria to being kissed by his love in the space of around 10 seconds, without the faintest notion of how that transpired.

He followed the other two pegasi outside. Before he left, however, he glanced back at Belove, standing like a stone statue amongst the other soldiers. Weatherstorm gave him a goofy, distant smile, an expression that was quite unlike him. Belove ushered him off with his hoof. Then he was gone.

Belove sighed, shook his head, and smiled. The earth pony had never seen that look in his friend’s eyes before: the poor sap looked absolutely smitten. And why shouldn’t he be? As he said earlier, Rarity was a pretty good looking mare. He never thought in a million years that ‘Stormy had a chance with her though: no offence to him, but he was just way out of her league. She seemed the sort of pony that wanted a big, tough, masculine stallion, handsome and fair: Weatherstorm was so ‘fru-fru’ on occasion that Belove sometimes questioned whether he was even a stallion at all. The soldier knew that nothing was meant from that one, small kiss, but he didn’t want to dishearten the guy. He was a nice colt and a good friend, and he wished him all the best with his farfetched fantasy.

The guard realized that he had been standing in the same spot for far too long. Furthermore, his ceremonial armour was beginning to feel REALLY heavy. He began to fidget, first by craning his neck from side to side, then stretching one hoof in front of the other. Being a pretty active pony, Belove didn’t like standing still in one place for too long: something the other guards, who shot warning glances in his direction, had mastered.

“Uuugh!” he groaned in discontent, stretching out his rear leg and narrowly missing an expensive looking china vase that was resting on a nearby decorative table. “When's this thing going to start, already?”

The guard beside him, a dark grey unicorn with straggly black hair, continued to stare straight ahead. “When the other guests have arrived, and when Her Majesty is ready.” he whispered back, his voice hushed and gruff.

Belove scoffed. “Huh! How long does it take the princess to get ready, anyway? It’s been ages now...”

The other guard gave him a death glare. “Watch your tongue, soldier. This is our princess you are talking about. Our fair and just ruler, who raises the sun in the morning so that our crops can grow, and raises the moon at night...”

Belove rolled his eyes and silently mouthed along with the unicorn. He knew every word of this little speech by now, since it was drummed into their skulls so much during training.

“...so it would do you good to show a little respect.”

The red stallion forced a sarcastic smile. “Aye, sure. I’ll watch what I say in future... SIR.” If there was one thing Belove hated, it was being told what to do. Especially by someone like this clown: he had no authority over him, so why should he patronised and treated like a misbehaving child?

When Belove decided to join the Ponyville guard, he dreamed of a life of adventure: to see other countries, travel the globe, meet new and interesting life forms, fight glorious wars and return a hero... Looking back on it now, he did manage a little smile at how disillusioned he was. For there were no conquests, no interesting new life forms, no strange, uninhabited lands. Nope. Nothing but the same old boring routines. Nothing exciting ever happened in this small town: the most he ever had to deal with were tree climbing cats, and the occasional case of slipper theft. And it had made him restless over time. Just as he was standing in that hall.

The other guard leaned over and whispered in Belove’s ear, “They're here. Look professional.”

Belove wasn’t sure when they had arrived, but there was no missing them now: maybe it was the fact that their shining gold breastplates were almost blinding him, or maybe it was the fact that the natural feel of the room was becoming far too cramped trying to shove all of that ego into one place.

The Elite Royal Bodyguards had arrived.

Belove expected a majestic bugle choir was going to welcome their arrival, accompanied by a flock of beautiful white doves, gliding through the dazzling light of their armour. They walked in a single file, each step they took in synch with one another.

All heads in the hall turned as they made their way down the carpeted aisle, and a few children cheered. Most ponies looked on in awe: even a few of the nobles seemed impressed. And the posers were lapping up all the attention.

As they took their places, lining up against the opposite side of the wall, Belove saw Captain Icarus give him a dashingly smug grin. His perfect white teeth sparkled like his deep blue eyes. Belove made a fake retching noise, receiving a few looks of disdain from his squad mates.

Captain Icarus: even saying the name made Belove’s stomach churn. The earth pony didn’t know what the big appeal was. Sure, the guy was handsome, he’d give him that: with a blindingly white coat, chiselled face and powerful wings, he looked every bit an action hero. But then again, Belove didn’t think he looked too bad, himself. Besides, it wasn’t as though Icarus was in charge of all the Royal Canterlot guard- that honour rested with Captain Shining Armour.

Not that it stopped him from acting like it, though. It was clear that the Pegasus loved himself: he was voted Canterlot Weekly’s ‘handsomest stallion’ for seven years in a row now. He would rarely be seen in public without his full set of gleaming gold armour, and what he said in the city was carried out to the letter. In a way, Belove envied him: he lived the life that he had always dreamed of with fame, fortune, mares, and excitement. He was the real deal; a pony that had won countless medals on the battlefield. Although he didn’t want to show it, Belove felt a little insecure in his presence.

The captain removed his blue feathered Corinthian helmet and shook his long, blonde mane free. A few mares squealed. Somepony near the back fainted.

Belove cringed at the corny-ness of the gesture. Who did he think he was, a prince? The small town guard barely managed to force his lunch back down. An over-glorified castle guard the pegasus was, and nothing more.

There was still no sign of the princess. And now he had to stand there, staring at that stupid face for a few more hours?

Belove could tell it was going to be a long night.

Starfire was having a hard time keeping all the schoolchildren in order. It seemed that every time he took his eyes off them, even for a split second, they would be wreaking mischief and getting themselves into all sorts of trouble. And if he turned his attention to one of the pupils, the others would be getting up to something else behind his back. He already had to apologise to more stall owners than he could even count.

The unicorn was seriously beginning to re-consider his desire to become a fully qualified school teacher: is this he really wanted to be doing for the rest of his life? Foal-sitting? No amount of bits in the world would be enough pay. Being a teacher is deceptively hard work. But with his degree, it was either this, or become a librarian; he had already made his choice.

Still, though, Cherrilee was trusting him to be the responsible adult here. And he wasn’t going to let her down, only a few weeks into his training. They were good kids, really: he penned their eccentric behaviour to the fact that it was way past their bedtimes, and they were getting a little hyperactive. He was taking them on a class trip to see the Summer Sun Celebration: it was an exciting night out for the children, not because of the cultural and historical importances, but because they rarely got out for class trips at all. And certainly not this late at night.

He had to stop and tell Snips and Snails to leave the puppy dog’s tail alone. The dog snapped at them as they passed. Starfire couldn’t help but think the animal had the right idea.

Turning his attention back to the town square, Starfire allowed himself to soak in the beauty of the quaint little village: a large river ran through the town like a snake, and right through the eerie Everfree forest that lay just beyond the city limits.

Hundreds of candle-lit streetlights were dotted around the square, casting their light upon the dirt path below like a swarm of glowbugs. Shopkeepers scurried to and fro, packing up their stalls for the night after a busy day peddling their wares.

The owner of Quills and Sofas gave him a friendly wave as he walked past, which the unicorn returned. That was one thing that struck Starfire as pleasant about Ponyville: their welcoming attitude towards strangers. He had only moved to the town around three months ago, but the friendliness of the locals made him feel instantly at home. Quite a contrast to Fillydelphia, his hometown.

He stopped near the town hall, as did his train of unruly children, and did a head count. All present and accounted for, and none too worse for the wear. Thank Celestia.

The doors to the town hall were teeming with ponies, all pushing and shoving to get in first. A few pegasi were hovering in place, trying to get a good look inside the building. The queue of chattering equines stretched back quite far back into the town, and ended near the square fountain; a large statue of a cherub pony, water trickling from its gaping mouth. Two of the local guards were standing at either door, directing the flow of ponies into the building and guiding them to their places.

"Great," the student teacher grumbled as he made his way to the back. "A line. Just what you need when you have fifteen-odd fillies and colts nipping at your hooves." The unicorn couldn’t believe he was actually using his own free time to escort a group of reckless pre-teens around: he just hoped Cheerilee was having a nice evening off.

A few more ponies lined up behind him. It seemed like everypony in Ponyville was coming to the event, and a few more besides. Hopefully, if he was seen with a class of schoolchildren, he could cut a few spaces. That was the plan, anyway.

Two mares in front of him, one an aqua green unicorn with a silver mane and the other a cream-coated earth pony with a curly, pink striped mane, amused the children for a while by telling them a ghost story; something to do with the mare on the moon. Whilst this kept them out of trouble for a while at least, Starfire didn’t want angry parents rapping on his door in the middle of the night and complaining that their foals were having nightmares. That would look bad on his report.

Still, the children seemed to enjoy being scared, so he didn’t say anything. When storytime was over, the earth pony put her hoof around what he assumed was her marefriend. “We love kids. We were thinking of adopting, you know.” Starfire smiled and nodded, but said nothing. He didn’t even know who they were, so why were they telling him their business? Sometimes, he just didn’t understand other ponies.

The line moved forward a few spaces. He still had quite a long wait ahead just to get in, but at least the children were entertaining themselves now: he heard a few stories bounce back and forth between them, ranging from ‘The headless horse,’ to one he remembered being told when he was their age: ‘The Olden Pony and the rusty horseshoe.’ Scootaloo looked rather uncomfortable, her light purple eyes darting from left to right, scanning the darkness. When questioned, she would just shiver and complain about the cold. For the most part, they seemed to be enjoying themselves telling spooky tales, with the exception of Silver Spoon and Diamond Tiara, who were trying to dismiss each story as, ‘a silly baby story.’ How long they would stay entertained, however, he had no idea. He just prayed that it would be for long enough.

He hadn’t noticed the three pegasi until he had taken a few more steps forward. They were to his left, just out of the way of the queue, trying to lift what appeared to be a grand piano out of the back of a moving-firm wagon. He didn’t really think much of it: they were, after all, wearing the white caps and uniforms of the moving company, so at least he knew they weren’t trying to steal the heavy wooden instrument. The blue one, however, wasn’t wearing any uniform at all. And it was he that caught the unicorn’s eye: the poor pony seemed to have a hard time.

“Ugh...” the Pegasus grunted, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. His face was showing great signs of strain trying to even lift the thing up a few inches. “Huh! I daresay... pretty... heavy...”

The other male pegasus, a brown coated, ginger maned pony, looked down. “The legs aren’t even off the cart, yet.”

Starfire was about to intervene, but stopped himself: after all, he didn’t know these ponies and they didn’t know him. And they were obviously just doing their jobs: he wasn’t one to butt into something ponies were getting paid for, or get in the way. Besides, they could take offense if they thought that he was implying that they couldn’t do their jobs right. Or if they thought he was implying they were weak. He knew how headstrong some pegasi were.

Still puffing and wheezing, the trio (their wings a collective blur) managed to lift the piano a few centimeters and off of the wagon with a group effort. Their faces a dark crimson, they spun the instrument sideways and held it there, hovering dangerously close to the ground. And judging how fatigued the three looked, there was only one way the unicorn knew this could end. Still though, no need to help just yet. They did know what they were doing, after all...

Starfire had to admit that he was pretty introverted. Despite being made welcome in the town, he didn’t go out of his way to talk to other ponies. Not that he was anti-social, by any means, but he much preferred his own company. He hadn’t made any friends since he moved to Ponyville three months earlier, but he tended to focus on his studies and let his social life take a back seat. When it came down to it, this temporary employment was just that: temporary. As soon as he finished his work placement and earned his teaching certificate, he would move right back to Fillydelphia to find work in an elementary school there. Any friendships he made here would be null and void come the end of summer, so he would rather spend his time studying for something that would actually benefit him in the future.

“Guh...” the stallion with the neon blue streaks in his hair puffed. His hooves, red and raw, quivered under the weight of the dark brown piano. “How... how, pray tell, did you... lift the first one... so easily...?” he inhaled sharply to catch his breath. Starfire, watching out of the corner of his eye, noticed the grand wooden instrument dip a little. Their grip on the huge wooden beast was slipping. Maybe he should help them? He didn’t want to see them lose their jobs, whoever they were...

The mare let go of the piano. “Well, you see...” The cross-eyed pony realized her mistake too late.

Both Weatherstorm and Derky cringed, waiting for the sound of smashing wood and ultimate failure.

It never arrived.

Opening his eyes, Weatherstorm saw not the shattered frame of his shattered hopes with Rarity that he was expecting; rather he saw the piano floating by itself. Now, at first he found this a tad unusual: Unless the piano had suddenly decided to spout wings and take off of its own accord, (which he had to admit would make shifting the blasted thing a tad easier) he was seriously considering having the musical instrument exercised.

It took him a few seconds to notice that the piano was wrapped in a sparkling, blue aura. A blue aura that was emanating from the equally blue horn of an equally blue unicorn.

The unicorn was very blue indeed. Even Weatherstorm had to admit that, and he himself was fairly blue. The unicorn’s blonde mane was cut to a medium length, much like his tail, and the eerie glow of his magic lit up his studious face, twisted with effort. He spoke, as well.

“Are you guys going to help me, or are you just going to stand there?” he said. His voice was plain and slightly accented: Weatherstorm hazarded a guess that he was from Fillydelphia, or somewhere in the surrounding area.

That wasn’t technically accurate: for one, Weatherstorm wasn’t standing, rather he was hovering. He also liked the idea of NOT helping- his frail frame just wasn’t used to heavy lifting, after all. Still, it was ungentle-coltly of him to stand and gawp at someone struggling with something, and since the stranger had prevented an unsightly accident on his part he could at least return the favour.

Swooping down and grabbing hold of the end of the piano, the pegasus apologised. “I am so terribly sorry. I offer my most sincere apologies, I assure you.” He silently waved Derky and his work colleague over, each pony grabbing hold of the piano at either end. Weatherstorm smiled down at the unicorn below him. Anypony who helped him with heavy lifting was a friend of his. “May I perchance have your name, sir, so that I may thank you on a more personal level?”

Starfire found himself wondering whether this pony was for real. He had honestly never heard anypony talk like that before, and at the slight risk of sounding a little biased, certainly not a pegasus.

“Starfire.” The teacher replied. “My...” he took a moment to catch his breath. “My name is Starfire.”

The blue Pegasus nodded as though he had known all along. “Ah, that is quite an intriguing name, Mr Starfire. I,” he threw back his head and puffed out his chest. The other stallion, ginger curls protruding from under his white cap, rolled his lime green eyes. “...Am Weatherstorm. Allow me to shake your hoof...”

He was quickly reminded by all present that taking his hooves off of the piano was a very bad idea.

Starfire grunted uncomfortably. “I...It’s alright. Can we... can we please just move this... thing inside?

Weatherstorm chuckled. He had a strange laugh, almost like somepony chugging a flagon of apple cider, or water being poured from a bottle. “But of course. I shan’t forget your aid, Starfire. I shall return the favour some day, and I give you my word as a gentlecolt on that.”

“Great.”

“Now then, shall we?” With that, the trio of pegasi and solitary unicorn began to set off.

“Wait. These children... are with me.” The unicorn turned, his magic still holding the piano in the air, and mustered up a little strength to whistle. The young foals, who were wrestling around with each other on the grass, froze like statues and looked up at their classroom assistant. The sight of their new student teacher levitating a mahogany piano that was being held at either side by three Pegasi, two of whom wearing white coats and caps, the other wearing black rimmed spectacles and a reporter’s badge, struck them as a little out of the ordinary.

Applebloom was the first to voice her stupefaction. “Why ‘n tarnation are ya’ carryin’ a piano, there?”

Sweetie Belle squeaked in delight. “Are you going to sing a song for us? I’ll start! NINETY NINE BUCKETS OF OATS ON THE WALL! NINETY NINE BUCKETS...”

Scootaloo pushed her pink-and-purple maned classmate aside. “No, we need to sing a WICKED ROCK BALLAD!”

Applebloom pushed her orange coated pegasus classmate aside. “What ya’ gonna sing fer us, Mr Starfire? Huh?”

The unicorn suddenly found himself surrounded by fifteen fillies and colts, all staring up at him with adorable, pleading eyes. He was still getting used to their unnatural ability to change from little monsters one moment, and little angels the next.

“I’m helping... these ponies put this inside. I need you...” he gasped. “...To stay here, okay? Don’t wander off. Keep our place in line, and... wait in this spot until I get back. Okay?”

The children reluctantly nodded. They really had their hearts set on some music.

With that, the foursome turned and headed for the doors into the town hall. Occasionally, heads would turn from those waiting in line, curious eyes following their journey as they hovered and crunched their way over the wet summer’s grass.

As they walked, Weatherstorm talked. “So, Mr Starfire: correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re not from this town, are you?”

The unicorn nodded in agreement. “Nope. I’m from...”

“Fillydelphia.” He finished his sentence for him. “I can tell by your accent. It’s not particularly strong, mind, but just about enough to distinguish you from the other folk around here.”

Starfire looked up at the pegasus in wonder. This ‘Weatherstorm’ character certainly knew what he was talking about, and had keen hearing to boot. His accent was not particularly strong, as he said, and the Fillydelphian accent was very hard to pick up on unless ‘water’ was mentioned. Which, so far in this conversation, it had not. “How did you know?”

The pegasus merely shrugged his shoulders. “In my line of work, travel is not uncommon. Sometimes, one picks up on other dialects. So, you’re new here?”

“Yeah, I just moved here 3 months ago. It’s a nice little town: peaceful and quiet,” responded Starfire. He hoped they would reach the doors sooner rather than later. Carrying this piano was really taking it out of him, both physically and mentally.

“Well, might I have the privilege to properly welcome you to our fair town? It’s no Fillydelphia, but it has its quaint little charms, I'm sure you'd agree.” He paused briefly. “You wouldn't happen to know this new unicorn that just moved here tonight, do you? The one from Canterlot?”

Starfire thought little of the comment. “No, I don’t believe I do. Why?”

“I was merely curious. I’ve heard that she came from Princess Celestia’s School For Gifted Unicorns: apparently, she’s the Princess’s star pupil, and she came here to help organise,” he motioned towards the steadily approaching doors leading into the town hall, “This fine setup. On her Majesty's orders, no less. Or so a little bird told me. I don’t pretend to know a lot about magic, but I just assumed, considering that you possess the magical ability to lift an object as heavy as this grand instrument with somewhat relative ease, a feat few untrained unicorns can accomplish, that you might enroll there yourself.”

Starfire’s eyes lit up at the mention of Princess Celestia’s School For Gifted Unicorns. He had always been fascinated by the science of magic, and back when he was a colt, he had dreamed of attending the academy himself. But his mother kept him from attaining his dream: ‘It’s unrealistic,’ she said, ‘And I don't want to see you hurt.’ It was her who suggested the more obtainable job of teaching to him, to follow in her footsteps, and to leave any silly notions of becoming a powerful mage, like the famed Starswirl the Bearded, behind him. However, this didn’t stop him trying, the determined young foal that he was. He was excellent at magic back then, even better than most fully grown unicorns, his father said, so he decided to pursue his dream. Many years ago (he remembered the day well) he took the entry exam: standing in front of the examiners, his face a deathly pale complexion, he let nerves get the better of him. He ruined his one chance at greatness, and never let himself live it down. So, whilst he continued to train and expand his magical abilities, it always nagged him; in the back of his mind, he knew he was destined for greatness. And yet here he was, foal-sitting and using his honed skill to do manual labour for a group of ponies he had only just met.

“A student of Celestia’s? From the academy? A...Are you sure?”

“Quite positive. The whole town is simply abuzz with the news.” He drew out the ‘z’ of buzz, almost giving the impression that a bee was going to fly out of his mouth. “Did you not attend the welcome party that Pinkamena Pie threw earlier today? I was under the impression that everypony attended: it appears that was not the case.”

The unicorn lowered his head. “Well, I got the invite...” He found himself wondering who this mysterious mare was: A student of Celestia’s! He had so many questions to ask! The stallion was a little disappointed that he didn’t go to the party after all.

Weatherstorm looked the unicorn up and down a few times, from head to hoof. Feeling a little uncomfortable, Starfire looked the other way. “Forgive me for daring to be so bold, sir, and I hope you take no offense to my upcoming statement, but... you don’t get out much, do you?”

The question caught him off guard. Although no offense was deliberately intended, the pegasus made Starfire a little angry. “I go out just as much as any stallion, thank you.”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. How beastly of me to cast such an accusation.” The Pegasus shook his head in disgust, presumably at himself. He wanted to stay friendly with this newcomer for two reasons: first of all, he tried his upmost to uphold manners when talking to anypony, especially somepony new. Secondly, this piano was quite a bit easier to carry with the unicorn (and his impressive magical ability) around. “It’s just... I don’t quite recall YOUR welcome party. Although I may be at fault here, I forget little: in my profession, I tend to be the first to find out about something out of the ordinary in this, and I quote your very own words, ‘Peaceful and quiet’ little hamlet.”

He had Starfire there. The unicorn smiled up at the pegasus, and the pegasus smiled down at the unicorn. This ‘Weatherstorm’ character DEFINITELY knew what he was talking about.

“Well... My job dominates the most of my life, and I have a lot of study to do. I really want to get better at magic, you know? Get better at something I enjoy.”

Weatherstorm gave him another soft chuckle. “Oh, please do! Had it not been for you, I fear I may have awoken in hospital with a splintered piece of piano protruding from my lower abdomen.”

He didn’t hear what the unicorn replied with, but it sounded like something along the lines of, ‘I love biology.’

Before they knew it, they were at the door. Weatherstorm, Derky, Ditzy and Starfire squeezed past the lines of bewildered patient ponies and glaring door-guards, and set the lumbering mahogany beast down at the back of the main room. Starfire wiped a bead of sweat from his brow; he felt a thin line of water drip from his matted blonde mane and run down the length of his muzzle. So much for a relaxing class trip to the Summer Sun Celebration...

All four, panting with exhaustion, took a moment to catch their breaths, taking in great gulping mouthfuls of the seemingly thick night air. Starfire took advantage of this opportunity to quickly scan his environment: this was the first time he had ever visited the town hall, but it certainly looked magnificent. Seemingly, no expenses were spared when it came to decoration: the colossal hall was draped from floor to rafters with banners of every size and colour. Equestrian flags, protruding from the towering balconies, fluttered like ghosts in the cool breeze from the open doors. Blue ribbons, each adorned with a golden broach, ran the length the room, occasionally wrapping themselves around one of the many roof- supporting marble pillars.

With one final effort, the group hoisted the grand piano up one last time. The instrument reached its destination with ease this time, and arrived in one piece as well. There it sat, like the king of the castle, nestled safely on the balcony, looking down upon its royal subjects with all the air and grace of Her Majesty herself.

The four congratulated themselves on a job well done. Starfire had to admit accomplishing something as part of a team gave him a warm feeling inside.

Smiling more than he usually did, he pushed back the fringe of his hydrated hairdo, taking care that his hair didn’t tangle itself around his horn. It could be troublesome to unravel, sometimes. He turned to the other two pegasi, their white uniforms spattered with random splodges of dark grey sweat. “Sorry, but I didn’t catch your names.”

The mare was the first to respond. “I’m Derpy, but my friends call me Ditzy.”

The other worker, the pegasus stallion, said nothing but shook his head.

The mare, obviously embarrassed, turned a bright pink and smiled nervously. “I mean, my name is Ditzy, but my friends call me Derpy.” She whispered, almost sadly, “I get confused sometimes...” afterwards.

In the vast light of the hall, Starfire noticed for the first time that her yellow eyes were actually crossed. Knowing a decent amount about biology, he could tell she suffered from a severe case of Strabismus, a condition that involves a lack of coordination between the extraocular muscles, which prevents bringing the gaze of each eye to the same point in space.

The other held out his hoof in greeting, and Starfire did the same. A hoof-shake was exchanged. “My name is Derkington Robert-Alexander Bellray, but I prefer plain old ‘Derky’.” The colt had a goofy sort of smile, a little lopsided, and a curl of dark ginger hair fell over one of his green eyes. His coat was a creamy, caramel sort of brown, and his tail was like his mane. His voice was droll and relaxing, hushed, resonating with an underlying simplicity, and the unicorn could only imagine that he was the sort of pony who was very hard to excite, enrage, or provoke any sort of foreign response at all.

Starfire didn’t mean to be rude, but he couldn’t help himself as his gaze wandered its way down to his exposed flank. Although there was the slight possibility that it may have been covered by his long white, buttoned shirt, it appeared that there was no cutie mark on Derky's thigh.

The pegasus knew he was looking at his flank. Starfire tried to look away, but was met only with Ditzy’s eyes. He found himself in quite an awkward, uncomfortable position, not really sure which was worse to stare at.

He shifted uncomfortably from hoof to hoof. “I, uh... I had better get back to the kids.” With a nonchalant, “It was nice meeting you, goodbye,” that wasn’t really directed at any one pony, he walked out into the dark embrace of the cold summer's night.

It didn’t take him long to realize he was being followed. “Starfire, wait!”

The unicorn took his correct place in line. He was thankful that the children were all still there; nopony had wondered off with a stranger, nopony was arguing, and everypony was still in one piece. Unfortunately, however, it seemed the youngsters had taken his order, “Wait in this spot until I get back,” a little too literally. The line had moved on without them and there sat fifteen fillies and colts on the grass, looking rather lost. Looks like it the back of the queue for him: this was going to be a VERY long night.

“I say, Starfire? Slow down, won’t you!”

The pony in question span around at the last moment, narrowly colliding with Weatherstorm head on. “Weathe...Will you watch where you’re going? You nearly took my head off!”

Landing on all fours, Weatherstorm apologised profusely. “I profusely apologise.” His gaze turned in the direction of the children. “But these are your children, are they not?”

The student gave him a quick smile. The sort that said, ‘I really don’t have time for this right now.’ “They’re not my children, no: but I am their classroom assistant. So, if...”

He was cut off. “I thought as such. In that case, if you would like to follow me...?” The Pegasus was off before Starfire could respond.

With a sigh, Starfire herded up the schoolchildren and followed the pony he had met only minutes earlier, bringing up the rear of their little train. The kids actually DID pretend to be a train, with Scootaloo role-playing a conductor, Sweetie Belle providing the ‘chug’, Snips and Snails the wheels, and Diamond Tiara whined that she should get to drive. Dinky Hooves mooed, obviously oblivious to what game they were playing.

‘And what game is this Weatherstorm pony playing, anyway?’ Starfire asked himself. ‘For every second we waste trying to cut spaces, we have to wait a few more minutes at the back of the line.’ He began to wonder if he would even make it to the ceremony at all; by the time they would get in, it would probably be morning already.

When the children’s train chugged to a grinding halt outside of the hall doors, Weatherstorm already appeared to be having a conversation with the guard minding the door. The guardsman looked rather peeved, as did several of the ponies waiting in line. One mare, a purple unicorn with a white mane, frowned in impatience. Another pony, a young red coated colt, began to stamp his hooves in protest.

“Yer ‘olden up the line,” the guardsman growled, baring his yellowed teeth. “Are yer fer comin’ in or stayin’ out ‘ere?”

“Patience, sir, for my friend will be along momentarily.” Starfire held back a laugh at how silly this conversation sounded; the contrast between the guard’s gruff Trottingham accent and Weatherstorm’s elaborate dialect was vast. “Ah, he has arrived.”

The guard looked past the pegasus to Starfire. He gave him a long, hard stare, then to the children at his hooves, then back up to Starfire. Finally, he turned to the hovering Weatherstorm.

“’E’s yer fella who was ‘elping ‘yer move tha’ piano, ain’t ‘e?”

The airborne Weatherstorm clapped his hooves together, doing a little summersault and gliding back down to the guardsman’s opposite side. “Indeed!” he cheered with glee. “A fine observation! Very keen eyes you possess sir, and all of Ponyville should be able to rest with ease at night, safely armed with the knowledge that YOU, sir Barry Brick of the Ponyville guard, are there to prevent any harm befalling their person.”

The guard completely ignored this compliment. “’E ain’t got no uniform, so ‘e ain’t no worker.” He scowled. Starfire saw his nostrils flare, sending little puffs of condensed water vapour up into the atmosphere.

Weatherstorm shot him another gleaming million-bit smile. “Excellently noticed, sir Barry! I really must congratulate you on those alarmingly sharp griffon-eyes you possess. Nothing gets past you, I am sure.” This left Starfire somewhat confused as to whether the Pegasus was talking sarcastically, or whether he was actually complimenting the simple pony. “No, Mr Starfire here is actually the pedagogue of these charming little students.”

“I’m their teacher,” Starfire chirped in when he saw the guard’s blank expression.

He was unsure of what the guard mumbled next, but it sounded something along the lines of, “Then you wait in line, like everypony else.”

“But Barry, my dear friend,” Weatherstorm placed a hoof on the guard’s shoulder. He quickly removed it after receiving a less than friendly snarl. “This is the class I have to interview for the newspaper! Perhaps take a few photographs...” he mimed the act of clicking a camera, just to make sure that the less-than-bright pony knew what he was talking about. “Maybe a few one-on-one sessions with the children after the event. It’ll be wonderful to see the youth of Ponyville getting involved and taking an interest in our culture! But we need some extra time to set up. So, may they pass?”

The guard grunted. Baring his teeth, he gave the teacher and his students one final glare before motioning toward the open door with his head. “Go on ‘head, then.”

“Ah, many thanks to you, sir.” Weatherstorm turned to the children. “If you little dears would like to follow me, we shall start with a class photograph!”

Trotting past rows of groaning bystanders, Starfire caught up with the pegasus. Weatherstorm spoke before a word could pass the unicorn’s lips.

“I did tell you that I would repay you for your aid, did I not? I gave you my word as a gentlecolt.”

Starfire felt absolutely dumbstruck, which, being a very well educated individual, was a foreign feeling that he was quite unaccustomed to. “How did you... he did we get in?”

His answer came in the form of a laminated “VIP:PRESS” badge which hung around his blue neck like a ribbon.”Very Important Pony,” Weatherstorm beamed with pride, cradling the badge in his hooves like an infant. “I work for the Ponyville Express Paper, don’t you know.”

Starfire certainly did not know. He found it odd that he hadn’t noticed the badge before now, even in the radiant light of the town hall. It didn’t explain why he was traipsing around with a piano a few minutes earlier, but it did explain why he was the only worker not in uniform.

“But... you’re going to be taking pictures? And conducting interviews? For the paper? I... had no idea! I wasn’t told...”

Weatherstorm silenced him with his hoof. His voice was a hushed whisper, barely audible amidst the chatter of the guests in the hall. “We in the career of journalism tend to... EXAGGERATE things on occasion. Nothing more than little white lies, of course, but... try not to believe everything you read in the paper.”

Not quite sure how to reply to that, Starfire thanked him. “Thank you, Weatherstorm. Such generosity is oft unheard of these days.”

That seemed to please the pegasus greatly. Not for the first time that day, Weatherstorm’s cheeks turned a bright pink. “No thank you is required, I assure you. After all, I was not to stand idly by and watch yourself, with a class of young children under your care, stand out in the cold for no discernible reason. One could catch a cold. Now, if you would like to find a nice spot...” he ruffled his blue wing-feathers a few times before setting off. He turned and called over his shoulder, “I sincerely hope you have a pleasant night, Mr Starfire!” Then he disappeared into the crowd.

The stallion didn’t have time to return the blessing, but he didn’t have to be told twice to ‘find a nice spot.’

The smile he wore diminished when he turned back to the children. Already, Scootaloo had tangled herself in one of the ribbons that hung from the balconies, her scooter (which had not been present moments earlier) tangled alongside the filly. Her friend’s efforts to free her only succeeded in ripping the soft fabric and ensnaring their fellow crusader further. The daredevil’s strangled cries of protest caused several of the more ‘high society’ guests to peek cautiously over the edges of their balcony handrails, before tut-tutting in disapproval at the scene. He heard a remark about “Kids these days,” and their parents, “Letting them run reckless.”

The unicorn felt a sore head coming on. This job wasn’t good for his health, of that he was certain.

Starfire could tell it was going to be a long night.

There were days that Cananor hated being a lawyer.

Those were most days.

Days like today.

Looking out of that tall, stained glass window, the unicorn could just about make out the disfigured figures of hundreds of different ponies in the main hall down below him.

They were out there, enjoying themselves. He could hear laughter, and chatter, and even songs.

They were out there; free to do what they wanted, WHEN they wanted. The world was their oyster.

And yet they chose to spend their free time coming to a boring old ceremony. Why?

Why did they flock like parasprites to this town hall, eager to see a silly old sun rise up and the stupid old moon lower? It wasn’t an unnatural occurrence; funnily enough, it happened most days.

If he were one of those faceless, disproportioned figures out there, he would be doing something... FUN.

There was no fun in his job. It was all work, work, work. When he was a foal, he had always dreamed of being a lawyer after reading the ‘Phoenix Flight, Griffon of Justice’ Nann-ga comic series. That Griffon made the job seem so exciting, so exhilarating, like every case was a twisting and shadowy drama waiting to unfurl. Little did he know what an exaggerated fabrication that was. To most, the thought of a little colt yearning to become an attorney would be slightly odd, but his mother supported him to follow his destiny. He wasn’t really interested in schoolwork, but he did end up attending the Manehatton School of Law. Although his coming from a pretty well off family was one of the main reasons he was admitted, he was also a great believer in justice, eventually leading to his cutie mark: a pair of balancing scales. He still looked back fondly on the day he got it...

“Mr Acapella, if you would please...?”

The aqua-blue maned stallion sighed, gave the outside world one last fleeting glance, and returned to his place beside the defendant he was representing. The accused unicorn wiped his hooves on his greasy apron and shot his lawyer a nervous grin. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” he silently hissed.

“Don’t worry; I got this.” His attorney replied, giving him a sly, if rather weary, wink.

The judge, a sour faced, middle aged mare, pushed her spectacles up to the ridge of her nose and released a long, exasperated sigh. “May we begin, Mr Acapella?”

Cananor nodded and gave her his sweetest smile. In a way, the earth pony reminded him of a vulture: old and wrinkled before her time, years of unexciting and mundane small town court cases having left her eyes lifeless and her mouth a permanent scowl. Cananor wondered if this is how he would turn out, a few years down the line. He certainly hoped not. “Yes, your honour.”

Judge Gavel, her voice flat and monotone, raised one eyebrow. “Very well. May all parties raise your right hoof and repeat after me...” she went through the Equestrian oath, which everypony present followed. Cananor tried hard not to yawn, which was proving easier said than done.

“Mrs. ‘Carrot-Top’,” the judge croaked to the plaintiff. Cananor smirked at the striking resemblance between the ginger haired mare and his friend, Derky Bells. “You are suing Mr, uh... ‘Pony Joe’, here 2000 bits for unsatisfactory and unsafe food quality.” She turned to the apron-adorned unicorn in question. “Pony Joe, you are counter suing Mrs. Carrot-Top here 500 bits for slander. Would you like to begin, Mrs...”

Try as he might to concentrate, Cananor found himself loosing focus. ‘If this was a Phoenix Flight comic, the courtroom would have exploded twice by now.’ He began to reminisce fondly. ‘Like in issue #167, “Turnabout Storm”. Or issue #224, “m-m-murder on the friendship express", when...'

He wasn’t sure how long he had been dreaming about his idol, but it must have been longer than he expected. He was brought back to reality by the defendant’s hoof digging sharply into his side.

“Mr Acapella, I said have you anything to say in your client’s defence?”

Cananor jolted to all fours and yawned. “Huh... what is it?”

The judge obviously did not like repeating herself. “I SAID, WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY IN YOUR CLIENT’S DEFENCE?”

“Oh, right; the case. Of course. Give me one moment, your honour.” He shot her another cheesy grin and straightened his red striped tie. She didn’t return the smile. The lawyer threw his briefcase, a black leather satchel with a golden broach, on the polished oak table. Everypony jumped at the resounding ‘THUMP!’ it made as it connected with the wood, echoing through the deathly silent courtroom. The briefcase itself seemed to be full to the brim; random sheets of paper were sticking out of the sides, dog-eared and tattered. The little broach at the front, which held the leather flap closed, seemed strained keeping the load from exploding all over the table. In short, it looked very unprofessional.

The unicorn pulled a yellow workman’s helmet from underneath the table. “If I may, your honour...?” he inquired, glancing to the helmet wrapped in his silver aura. “You’ll each find a similar helmet under your tables.”

Met with utter bewilderment, Pony Joe was the first to speak his confusion. “What the hay do you think you’re doing? Now, I don’t...”

The judge seemed unfazed. Her head, adorned with a hard hat, was resting in her hooves as she leaned back in her swivel chair. “Just do as he says, please. Less harm will come to you if you comply.”

“Fine,” the stallion grumbled, removing the toque he wore specially for the occasion, and replacing it with the hard hat. Moments later, he was glad he did.

His lawyer didn’t have time to open the briefcase; it just seemed to burst outwards in a shower of paper. Shreds of paper, reduced to confetti, fluttered down like wisps blowing in the artificial breeze of the office fan. Everypony ducked for cover as leather strips collided with the walls, dulls slaps pieced by metallic prangs as shards of aluminium rivet corners connected with wooden floorboards. The golden broach blew off the front of the case and implanted itself in the wall behind the judge’s booth. It made an echoing crack as splinters of panelling were ripped from the wall. Then the room went quiet, and the only sound was the ticking of a clock.

When the dust settled, Cananor slowly and cautiously raised his hat adorned head from under the table. One shaking hoof appeared on the table, followed by the other. He hoisted himself up and inspected the damage. Several others rose to their hooves and did the same.

“Sorry about that.” The unicorn said, wiping a crumpled sheet displaying a graph from his face. “I brought quite a bit today.”

He began to rummage through the remnants of the briefcase, sifting through the torn and tattered papers that littered the insides. “What’s this...?” Cananor pulled a large rubber chicken from the case, much to the bewilderment of the others. “I forgot I even had that in here...”

The judge rolled her expressionless eyeballs at the beige-coated unicorn, a rubber dog toy hanging limply from his mouth. “Mr Acapella, can you please hurry this up? We all want to get this wrapped up before the Summer Sun Celebration starts, thank you.”

Through a gritted smile, Cananor laughed. “With so much royalty here, I guess you could call this... A CORONATION CHICKEN!” He fell backwards, rolling on the floor, laughing.

“MR ACAPELLA! BE PROFESSIONAL!”

A pair of pink, frilly bloomers levitated from what was once a briefcase and landed on her scowling muzzle. “Please, your honour. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

They were quickly removed after he saw the death glare, fully loaded and aimed in his direction. Gee whiz, this was a boring affair, all right.

The defendant pulled his attorney over to him and whispered in his ear. “What are you doing? Are you even a lawyer?”

Cananor jumped to his hooves and straightened his tie. “Sir, does this suit lie? Now,” he trotted back over to his briefcase, levitating a donut with purple icing and multicoloured sprinkles from underneath a kitchen sink. “Item one. Do you know what this is, Mrs. Carrot-cake?”

“Carrot-Top.” The mare corrected him.

“Do you know what this is, Mrs. Carrot-Top?”

The earth pony nodded slowly, her bronze curls bobbing in time with every head movement. “It’s a donut.”

“A donut you are familiar with, aren’t you, Mrs. Carrot-Top?” Cananor cantered over to the plaintiff, the pastry dangling in front of him like a donkey with a carrot. “Aren’t you?”

The mare nestled uncomfortably back in her booth. “I... I purchased it.”

The unicorn swept back his aqua mane in one swift swipe of his hoof. In the back of his mind, he wanted to look as much like Phoenix Flight as possible. He turned from the mare, trotting slowly to the front of the room. “And can you point to whom you purchased this treat from, Mrs. Carrot-Top?”

Carrot-Top pointed to Pony Joe sceptically. “I bought it from him, sir.”

“And the stallion you are pointing at is Pony Joe, is he not? Winner of the ‘National Desert Competition’ for 4 years in a row? You’re telling me that his donuts are not only not up to standard, but unsafe?” The lawyer smirked. “Oh, please, Mrs. Carrot-Top; don’t try to fool me! This donut may be glazed, but I am not!" He chuckled at his own joke.

The ginger maned pony pointed to the donut defensively. “They were baked bads! I had to have my stomach pumped...”

“Mrs. Carrot-Top, you’re not fooling anyone...”

“Try it!” she threw her hooves down in rage, making a dull ‘clop’ on the tabletop. “If you think they are so good, try it!”

Cananor examined the half eaten donut for a few moments. Little bits of candy wrappings clung to the bun. An aged lollipop was stuck to the underside. Cananor mentally reminded himself to clean out his briefcase from all his old tat in future... scratch that; he reminded himself to get a new briefcase.

“Alright.” He said after a few more seconds of observation. “I will. And I bet it’ll be the most super-delicious donut I've ever eaten.” He peeled the old lollipop off the side. He could keep that for later.

Judge Gavel facehoofed. This was NOT how a normal court case was meant to transpire. “Mr Acapella, please refrain from eating the evidence...”

Her words fell on deaf ears. In one quick gulp, the donut was in his mouth.

“How is it?” Pony Joe asked nervously, giving his brow another wipe with his coffee-stained apron. “It’s good, right?”

The lawyer chewed the sticky treat for a good few seconds, making wet, chomping noises with every bite. He rolled his head from side to side, taking in all the flavours that invaded his mouth at once, as if processing every ingredient that went into the cake.

“So... how is it?” Somepony from the back called.

They were silenced by a wave of Cananor’s hoof. The room fell silent again, apart from the squelching ‘nom’ of the unicorn. He gave the sticky bun a few more chews, before closing his eyes and gulping the thing down.

“How did it taste?” The Baker asked his attorney. “Pretty good, right?”

Cananor opened his eyes and smiled, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh. He then rubbed his belly and smacked his lips. A few crumbs clung to his muzzle, and a little splodge of pinkish icing remained on his nose. “Mmm...” he groaned, dreamily.

Pony Joe grinned from ear to ear. “You see, your honour, I use only the finest ingredients and most hygienic methods when preparing my donuts. Just listen to this satisfied young stallion!”

His lawyer nodded. “That tastes...” he stopped short. Cananor’s beige features began to turn a sickly green. He gulped a few more times. “Uh...” he clutched his stomach and groaned loudly. “That tastes...”

“GREAT!” The confectioner jumped in front of the chocking unicorn. “It tastes great! Doesn’t it?”

Cananor nodded meekly. He gulped again. “Oh, by Celestia’s mane... It tastes...”

“GREAT, ISN’T IT?”

The lawyer gave the judge a weak smile and gulped once more, as though he was trying to keep the donut down. “It tastes...”

“It tastes...”

“IT TASTES...”

Cananor stopped gulping and licked his lips again. “It tastes like a mouthful of heaven, to me.” He flashed the members of the jury a wink and a gaping smile, "Remember, folks: Eat at Joe's!" He hoped the endorsement would win some favours with his newest client.

Pony Joe collapsed to the floor in relief. At his age, all this drama and suspense certainly wasn’t good for his heart. “Y-Your honour... I rest my case. A-As I’ve said...”

He was interrupted as Cananor spat pieces of donut everywhere, retching and spluttering at the top of his voice. He loudly coughed up every mouthful of the indigestible treat, and a little more besides. “Ugh...” he wheezed. “That was awful! It just wouldn't stay down! And where did all this carrot come from? I don’t even like carrot.” He turned to Carrot-Top. “No offense, of course.”

The mare jumped from her seat in excitement. “YOU SEE? YOU SEE? BAKED. BADS.”

Cananor wiped the crumbs from his mouth. “Oh, come on!” He turned to the judge. “They aren’t that bad, hones...”

He had to stop himself and empty his stomach a little more. “Why is there always carrots?”

Judge Gavel placed her head in her hooves. She hated her job. “Can we please just wrap this up?” she sighed. “I want to get to the celebration as soon as possible. Judgement for the plaintiff of 2000 bits. Case closed.”

The plaintiff whooped in joy. “I’M GOING TO LOS PEGASUS, BABY!”

Cananor managed to bring himself back up on all fours. He threw one very shaky hoof toward the judge, in a far less dramatic fashion than he thought. “OBJECTION!” He bellowed, like his favourite comic book hero.

“Overruled. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have the Summer Sun Celebration to attend.” Without another word, the judge slipped out of her robe, into her coat, and was out the door before Cananor could utter a single syllable. The room emptied instantly.

Pony Joe turned to his attorney, his face a deathly pale white. “You,” he spoke softly, with a tint of malevolence. “Are the worst lawyer I have ever had the misfortune to come across.”

Cananor, still picking pieces of ‘Baked bad’ from his teeth, gave a nervous giggle. “Uh huh. So, um, about my payment...”

He didn’t receive a response. Pony Joe was the last to leave the courtroom. The lawyer heard his heavy, frustrated hoof-steps on the stairs as he made his way angrily down to the main hall. Cananor was left alone, surrounded by shreds of paper, strips of leather, chewed up donut and failure.

He sighed and began to gather his scattered belongings. He picked up the rubber chicken in his mouth. The toy squeaked. He didn’t laugh.

As he stood there, bundling his broken possessions into what used to be his briefcase under the artificial hum of the fan...

... Cananor could tell it was going to be a long night.

Chapter 2

Weatherstorm bit daintily into another apple dumpling. The taste was quite exquisite; the sugary-sweetness of the apple complimented the savoury dough like a dream, lightly fried to perfection. The Pegasus opened his eyes and took another corner off the side. Fabulous.

There was quite a spread available for the occasion: Apple pies, Apple fritters, Apple dumplings, Apple crisps, Apple crumbles, Dutch apple pies, candied apples on sticks, Apple turnover, and Apple cobblers were but a few of the mouthwatering morsels lining the buffet table. Weatherstorm made a mental note to congratulate the local farmer Applejack on a fine job: compliments to the chef, because these locally baked goods were quite simply wonderful.

The Pegasus excused himself and reached an eager hoof past a snobbish mare whose hat was bigger than her head. ‘Not bigger than her ego, though...’

“Excuse me, madam.” The mare swivelled around from her group, giving him a look of disgust when she saw his press badge.

With a snorting scoff, she turned back to her rich associates. “I say, they must be allowing any old pony off the street in!” Her voice was oozing with thick Canterlot pride.

Weatherstorm had a million and one comebacks armed and at his disposal, but he held his tongue. He had no time for their type. “May I please pass, madam? I really must try another of the hors d’oeuvres.”

The unicorn was obviously itching for a fight with the ‘common types,’ because when she heard his civil tone she pouted, huffed, and trotted away, her head held high. The rest of the pompous clique followed. Weatherstorm marked that down as a victory. The journalist claimed his prize: a sugar cube. Sure, they may have paled into insignificance amongst the other fine foods such as the equally scrumptious glazed figs topped with mascarpone and wrapped with prosciutto, or the feta cheese-adorned garlic filled bruschettas, but he liked them all the same. Maybe it was the pure simplicity of the treats that tickled his taste buds, but the melt-in-your-mouth cube was like heaven had taken up residence in his tongue.

In his bliss, he wasn’t aware that he had other company. “Hey Weatherstorm.” The voice was that of a stallion, from somewhere behind him. The voice was a little deeper than the Pegasus’, but smooth and bubbly, somehow undertoned with a hint of sadness.

Without turning around, Weatherstorm reached for a second sugar lump. “Good evening, Cananor. How did the court case fare? Well, I hope...”

The unicorn joined him at the buffet table. “Keep hoping. I almost had it this time...”

The journalist looked at his sugar cube, then to his less than overjoyed friend. The poor stallion looked like he had had a rough day. “Here,” he finally concluded that his friend needed it more than he did. “Have a little morsel of happiness, my friend.” He stretched out his left wing, and resting on it was his untouched snack.

Cananor levitated the cube off of the Pegasus’ wing and gulped it down in one bite. It didn’t make him feel any better. Hopefully a sugar rush would kick in before long, which would lift his spirits for a bit, at least.

Weatherstorm gave him a horrified look. “You’re not supposed to just eat the thing in one go!” He swiped another from the table, before gently plopping the sweet on his tongue. “To fully appreciate the full palate of flavours, one must allow the cube to slowly melt.” He sucked the sugar lump a few more times. “Like so. If you want to brutally devour some confectionary, I suggest you ingest...” his light blue eyes, magnified behind his square rimmed spectacles, scanned over the hundreds of foods on the table. “A donut.”

The unicorn comically slapped the sprinkled pastry from his hoof. “Ew! I’ve had enough of donuts for one lifetime, thanks.”

Weatherstorm scowled first at Cananor, then at his empty hoof. “That was uncalled for. Besides, I believe you might be exaggerating. Surely it didn’t go THAT badly, did it?”

Cananor laughed; a dry, humourless chuckle, most unlike himself. “Where do I begin? My briefcase exploded and nearly took out everypony in the room...” he began to count each catastrophe off on his hoof. “I assaulted the judge with a pair of underwear, I choked on a donut, emptied the contents of my stomach all over the courtroom, and didn’t get paid a single bit. It could have gone better.”

“I retract my previous statement.” The Pegasus gave him a warm, friendly smile. “I only wish I had been there myself, that I may have documented the whole sordid incident for the Express. Stories like that sell papers like hotcakes.”

Cananor leaned over the table to grab a Sugarcube corner home baked cupcake, nearly knocking over a jug of fine wine. A few heads turned as they heard the china rattle, before ‘tsking’ and carrying on with their ‘important’ conversations. Weatherstorm could tell that the unicorn was drained, both mentally and physically, when he couldn’t even find it in himself to levitate a cupcake.

The lawyer ate the cupcake in a few bites. Weatherstorm dusted a few crumbs off his friend’s beige muzzle with his feathered wing. “At least TRY to eat like a civilized pony...”

“Where were you, anyway?” Cananor spluttered in-between mouthfuls. A few stray pieces of chewed up cupcake landed at the Pegasus’ hooves, much to his disgust. “I thought...” he gulped. “...You were going to come with me.”

Weatherstorm nonchalantly shrugged and sampled the caviar. “I was relocating a grand piano from the exterior to the interior of the building.”

Not surprisingly, this was met by raised eyebrows. “Any reason why, or did you just feel like unnecessary manual labour?”

“If you must know,” The journalist removed his glasses and wiped them free of cake crumbs that had been spat at him with the back of a dinner-cloth. “I was trying to impress Miss Rarity of the Carousel Boutique with an act of bravado.”

Cananor smiled, for real this time. No matter how bad his problems could get, he was happy to hear his friend had found a mare he was interested in. “I know her!” he slipped a shrimp into his mouth and sucked it up like spaghetti, making a wet slurping noise as the tail disappeared through his puckered lips. “I get suits from there sometimes. Did your ‘act of bravado’ work?”

“Considering the fact that I’m standing mare-less by the buffet table, covered in your half eaten cake, no; it didn’t. She was gone by the time I got back.”

“Oh well, maybe that’s a good thing,” the unicorn placed an icing covered hoof on his friend’s shoulder. “If she had been there, she might have seen you crush yourself with a piano.” He looked back at the door. There were only a few ponies left waiting in line for admission, and the back of the room was full to the brim. “There sure are a lot of ponies here tonight,” he said, changing the subject. “Does nopony have anything better to do with their time?”

Weatherstorm wiped the pink icing from his shoulder. “Maybe it’s the fact that this is one of the biggest cultural and historical events in all of Equestria, and certainly a first for our humble little hamlet.” He flicked a chocolate sprinkle from his jet black, blue-streaked tail. “Aren’t you going to stay and watch the celebration with everypony else? I can get you a good space somewhere...”

Cananor waved the notion off with a swipe of his hoof. “Nah. You know I’m not in to these boring old things...”

“You work as a lawyer.” The Pegasus chirped in. “Forgive me, but is that not one of the most dull and uninteresting professions in Equestria?”

The ‘dull, uninteresting’ lawyer ignored the obvious insult. “I’m not staying here, ‘Stormy. I’ve had a long day, I’m tired, and I’m going home.”

“Your aunt will expect you to attend...”

“NO!”

He set off for the door.

“Cananor, my friend: wait!” the journalist called after him.

The unicorn stopped and sighed. “What is it?”

“Well, look.” Weatherstorm pointed past him to the door. “Everypony is nearly in. You don’t want to be the only one leaving, right before the celebration starts... do you? It’ll be incredibly awkward.”

This caught Cananor’s attention. He turned back to his companion. “Socially awkward?”

Weatherstorm nodded grimly. “The worst kind of awkwardness, or so I’ve been told.”

The unicorn seemed to juggle the outcomes of his actions for a few seconds. He certainly had been humiliated enough tonight, and the last thing he needed was drawing more attention to himself. “You’re good.”

“I’ll take that as an, ‘I’m in’, then?”

“I’m in... I guess.”

Weatherstorm gave him his sweetest smile, the dimple in his right cheek a stamp of his approval. “Excellent!” he ushered the half reluctant lawyer to the front with a gentle but firm hoof. “You can stand beside me at the front, if it pleases you. It’s hard to get a conversation out of anypony up there...”

The two arrived at the front of the hall as the last drizzle of ponies, tired yet eager, finally pattered through the doors like a dripping tap. Then the dripping stopped, and the two door guards pulled the heavy oak doors shut. The echoing thud that they made as they closed was the signal for everypony to cease their conversations, get back to their places and pay attention to the stage. The show would be starting any minute now.

As the candles were blown and the lights dimmed, Cananor didn’t really know what the hay he was doing there. All he wanted was to get home after a hard day’s work, but yet again he had allowed himself to get roped into something he wasn't at all interested in. To his left stood some older stallion in a suit, and what he would have guessed was his daughter for not the fact she was passionately nuzzling him like a schoolfilly on her first date. Obviously money was the real love of her life.

He began to feel a little nauseated just looking at the scene; either that, or the rancid donut he had ingested earlier was repeating on him. He just hoped that he could keep it down.

Weatherstorm felt a little claustrophobic. It was something he had suffered from since an early age, and although he was fine in smaller, controlled crowds, the whole populace of Ponyville was here, and ponies from a few more towns and cities besides. It was actually quite surprising how they had managed to cram so many ponies in the town hall which admittedly, wasn’t all that big. The Pegasus felt a sweat coming on, so he fanned himself with his wings, much to the annoyance of those behind him. Some of his kind had taken to hovering in place near the ceiling, an idea which the journalist was contemplating himself because the airspace was less crowded and he could get a good view of the stage. At the last minute, he voted against the idea: he had just dragged his reluctant friend over here for company and he was not going to leave the poor fellow standing by himself. He would just keep on smiling and work with what he had.

The official start of the celebration was signified when the orchestra of birds sang a sweet little fanfare, of sorts, silencing any idle chatter that floated from the back of the room. There were five of the animals, perched there on the edge of one of the upper balconies. A Pegasus mare, Fluttershy, acted as the conductor, waving her yellow hooves to and fro and the birds seemed to carry out her every action, their chirps rising and lowering to her will. Although Weatherstorm didn’t know her all that well, he knew she had a special talent with animals. She was the shy sort who kept herself to herself, and lived in a rural cottage at the edge of Everfree, or so he had been told. Regardless, the mare was in charge of music for the occasion and her symphony of birds was not a disappointment. A sign of great things to come, surely.

There was a loud, mechanical click as a stage-light was turned on, and every head in the room followed the beam of light as it traced its way down past velvet curtains to the main stage.

A lone figure cut through the darkness and into the white beam of the spotlight. She gave the front audience a quick look over, before her eyes came to Cananor. Almost surprised, the corners of her mouth curled up into a satisfied smile, silently mouthing his name with a wave.

Weatherstorm nudged his blushing friend. “Cananor, your aunt is waving at you.”

Cananor forced a smile back at his aunt but didn’t return the wave. “Yeah, I see that.”

“I am not one to tell ponies what to do, but I think she expects a wave of acknowledgement in return.”

With a sigh that said, ‘I really don’t want to be here,’ and body language that spoke volumes of, ‘Please stop embarrassing me,’ the unicorn gave a quick half-wave back. A few heads turned in his direction, mostly from the aristocrats.

Contented, Cananor’s aunt, or Mayor Mare of Ponyville to give the mare her full title, adjusted her golden spectacles and began her short introductory speech. This was Weatherstorm’s cue: he had promised to document the occasion in full, and fulfil his promise he shall. From the first spoken word until the sun is gazing down upon its subjects in the early morning sky, everything was to be recorded. He untucked his reporter’s notepad from underneath his wing and placed the quill in his mouth, before lifting himself off the ground just enough that his hind legs were not touching the ground.

“Since I’m here,” Cananor whispered as the Mayor cleared her throat. “Do you want me to at least hold the notebook for you?”

Weatherstorm, black quill in his mouth, mumbled a response, and the lawyer saw from his head shake that he was declining the offer. Whereas most unicorns found it a trivial task to write by simply levitating the quill and notepad using their magic, for the Pegasi it was a completely different matter. The most common technique was holding the quill in their mouths, the page held in their front hooves and using their wings to keep themselves upright, such as Weatherstorm was doing now. At first, his handwriting had suffered as a result of using his mouth to form words on a page, but over the years he had perfected this technique until it had become nothing but second nature to him. Weatherstorm was certainly independent, and like most journalists, determined.

“Fillies and gentlecolts,” the mayor began. “As mayor of Ponyville, it is my great pleasure to announce the beginning of the Summer Sun Celebration!”

This caused a collective cheer from the audience, starting from the back of the room and making its way to the front.

Cananor found himself cheering along with them, and had no idea why. What was so great about this festival, anyway? The princess would appear, lower the moon, raise the sun, and then leave again. Bish, bash, bosh. Done and dusty. He could just tell that the whole celebration would be as dull as dull can be.

“In just a few moments,” she continued after the room had settled down. “Our town will witness the magic of the sunrise, and celebrate this, the longest day of the year!”

‘Not too long,’ thought the beige coated unicorn. ‘I don’t want this to be any more of a drag than it already is.’

“And now, it is my great honour to introduce the great ruler of our land...” All of a sudden, Cananor felt a little chill run down his spine. It wasn’t as if he were particularly cold, just a small shiver. Weatherstorm felt it too, and gave a little jolt as well. What was strange was that he was boiling hot not moments earlier, with all the body heat coming from the huddled crowds. Both penned it down to a draft coming from an open window somewhere, or in Weatherstorm’s case at least, excitement.

“The very pony who gives us the sun and the moon, each and every day...” Weatherstorm’s head was bobbing from side to side, up and down and left to right, furiously scribbling down every word she spoke.

“The good, the wise, the bringer of harmony to all of Equestria...” The mayor paused, the audience hooked on her every word and itching for more.

“Princess Celestia!”

All heads turned to one of the upper balconies, accompanied by another fanfare. Weatherstorm hadn’t even noticed Rarity up there before now: how he could have possibly missed such divine beauty? But there she was, his little snow white angel.

The journalist didn’t even really care if princess Celestia was up there or not: to him, she was royalty enough. Even doing something as uncivilized as roughly yanking a rope with her mouth became a beautiful art when it was Rarity. Did she see him down there...?

He heard everypony gasp as the velvet purple curtains swished open, most likely at their princess: but it was the unicorn that took his breath away. Dreamily, he gazed into her eyes; the way they sparkled in the glare of the spotlight, the way her eyelashes curled daintily like her magnificent manedo and her petite little nose. She was everything he looked for: not only was she stunningly beautiful, but she had a wonderful personality to boot. A lot of ponies around town talked about her behind her back: nothing serious of course, but just little things. They said she thought she was better than everypony else, that everypony else was below her and she acted like she knew it. Little rumours and such, none of which were true, for although he hadn’t had the pleasure to really get to know her better, she was one of the most humble and generous ponies he had ever met. Sure, perhaps she was a tad ‘posher‘ than most of the folks around here, but then so was he. And she treated everypony with the same respect, no matter their background or social status. Beauty is a virtue that lives as much on the inside as it does on the outside. It just so happens that Rarity was the sort of mare who was lucky enough to hold both traits.

“Well, this is interesting...” Weatherstorm barely heard Cananor over the erratic beating of his own lovestruck heart.

“Hmm...” he mumbled with the quill in his mouth, paying very little attention to what his friend was saying. “Isn’t she just?”

“Scared looking, you mean? So is everypony else! What’s going on? Isn’t the princess supposed to be here?”

That was when Weatherstorm noticed. That look of fear in her usually calm blue eyes. They were usually as deep and soothing as the ocean. Except now there was one heck of a storm brewing over that ocean, and her face was contorted in dread and confusion. It was also when the stallion noticed that they were princess-less. Rarity stood alone on the balcony, the drawn curtains that she was nervously looking behind displaying only emptiness.

Everypony in the room, panicked and fearful, turned back to their mayor for comfort and, even better, some answers.

The mayor herself looked as confused and scared as her townspeople. “Remain calm, everypony! There must be a reasonable explanation...”

Rarity returned from her royalty hunt behind the curtains a few seconds later. Her face was a deathly pale. Well, paler than usual. With her white fur, it was hard to tell. “She’s gone!”

A collective gasp followed the statement. Something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

The first scream came from somewhere near the middle of the crowd. Startled, Cananor and Weatherstorm span around to find the local confectioner, Pinkie Pie, her mouth agape, pointing to one of the highest balconies. Following her terrified gaze, the duo looked up and nearly choked on what they saw. Cananor had to rub his eyes a few times with the back of his hooves in disbelief: either the baked bad he had eaten earlier in the night was causing him to hallucinate, or there was an eerie blue fog-like aura materialising from thin air.

An unnatural silence fell over the hall as all eyes present gaped at the horrifying spectacle before them. Nopony could muster the courage to make so much as a squeak. Slowly, like a ghostly wraith rising from the grave, the mist parted, revealing a shadowy figure, shrouded in darkness.

Standing on a balcony directly to the left of the one occupied by this newcomer, Starfire could have sworn that, for a brief instant, it was Princess Celestia. He saw the horn of a unicorn on what he assumed was the figures head, and the regal wings of a Pegasi on her back. That could mean only one thing: an Alicorn.

‘This is impossible,’ thought the student. ‘Princess Celestia is the only alicorn I know of that exists in Equestria. Unless...’

The shadow-being took a few lunging hoof-steps forward, out of the darkness that seemed to envelope it and into the bright light of the candle-lit hall.

It was a mare. She had large, powerful wings and a long, regal horn. An Alicorn, as Starfire had predicted. But this was certainly not Princess Celestia.

Her fur was a rich, dark black. Blacker than night, if that was even possible. Her face, although something of bizarre beauty, was twisted in malice and hate, her eyes burning with the embers of spite as they feasted on the terrified faces below her. Her mane and tail, and luscious and rippling as the princess’s themselves, were made of the same unearthly blue aura that she had appeared in moments earlier. The dark mists wafted around her horseshoe-adorned hooves like an obedient puppy, completely under her twisted control.

She had a regal posture, her neck craned upwards to show her superiority over those below her. When she spoke, her voice was deep and callous, well spoken but gushing venom. “Oh, my beloved subjects,” she boomed, her words echoing to the back of the deathly silent hall. “It’s been so long since I last seen your precious, little, sun-loving faces.” She spat each syllable out in utter disgust.

Starfire felt an icy chill every time she exhaled. He turned to find several of his students hiding behind the curtains, little droplets of tears forming in their youthful eyes. Scootaloo, Sweetie Belle and Applebloom stood huddled together, their hooves wrapped tightly around each other, futilely grasping for unobtainable comfort.

The unicorn didn’t know the name of the Pegasus who spoke back, but she had some serious courage to shout out, “What did you do with our princess?” What’s more, she had the guts to take off toward the newcomer in a fit of fury. What she was going to do when she reached the party-crasher Starfire did not know, nor did he think she knew herself, but luckily she didn’t get that far: the mare was held back by an orange earth pony, her rainbow-coloured tail held tightly in her friend’s jaws and preventing her from making any progress forward.

The apparent Alicorn laughed off the attempted assault as though the light blue mare was no more than a young foal throwing a tantrum. “Why,” she hissed, “Am I not royal enough for you?” Her wings cracked like thunder as they flapped. “Don’t you know who I am?”

“Oh! Oh! More guessing games!” The pink pony beside the confectionary table chirped in optimistically. “Um... Hokey Smokes? How about Queen Meanie? No... Black Snooty! Bl...” Her speech was muffled as a cupcake found itself forcefully inserted into her grinning mouth by the now-multitasking orange coated mare.

The Alicorn was off the balcony in a blur, a flourish of black wings, and staring hypnotically into the face of Fluttershy. The terrified little mare recoiled in horror, fearing that the last face she would she was that of the snarling black snake. The choir of birds abandoned their mistress in a complete panic, sailing off the perch and out of the window as fast as their little wings could carry them. “Does my crown no longer count now I’ve been IMPRISONED for a thousand years?”

There was a swish, and suddenly she was beside Rarity. “Did you not recall the legend?” she seethed, trailing her elegantly flowing tail along the length of the unicorn’s chin. “Did you not see the signs?”

Weatherstorm, previously scared out of his wits, felt his muscles tighten and his jaw clench in anger. He narrowed his eyes menacingly and let out a snort of rage. ‘If this freak so much as touches a single strand of hair on her mane,’ he mentally prepared himself for a fight, ‘I’ll pick up where Rainbow Dash left off.’

Luckily for him, it never came to that. The voice came from behind him.

“I did.”

Looking over the balcony, Starfire saw a lavender unicorn emerge from the crowd of spectators, parting the waves. Her dark blue mane was streaked with magenta. She had her steely gaze locked on the shadow dweller, her brow furrowed and mouth curled up into a determined scowl.

“I did!” she announced. “And I know who you are. You’re the mare in the moon...” she paused dramatically. “Nightmare Moon!”

‘Nightmare Moon!’ Alarm bells rang in Starfire’s mind. He knew the story as well as anypony else, but had always dismissed it as nothing more than as an old pony’s tale. ‘Princess Celestia’s sister! Could the legends have been true?’

Nightmare Moon seemed to enjoy being recognised, her black heart fuelled by warped pride. She allowed herself a small emotionless smile, rows of sharp fanged teeth gleaming in the moonlight pouring in through the windows. “Well, well, well,” the former princess smirked. “Somepony who remembers me.” Her smile dissolved into another twisted snarl. “Then you also know why I’m here.”

The purple mare gulped and became visibly frightened. Her voice gave a little crack. “You’re here to... to...”

The Nightmarish pony threw back her head and cackled demonically. “Remember this day, little ponies.” The Alicorn ruffled her wings, chilling the bones of all who stood near. “For it was your last. From this moment forth, the night...”

“Will last...”

“Forever!”

A thin line of lightning materialised and licked the ceiling, accompanied by a dull clap of thunder. Nightmare Moon’s mane, which seemed to come to life of its own accord, spiralled up into the stormy skies and began to circulate the roof, spinning faster and faster until, it could only be assumed, it would engulf everypony and everything in a hurricane of hair.

Mayor Mare had had just about enough of this intrusion. With a shrill cry of, “Seize her!” and a magic wave of her hoof, the guards sprung into action. “Only she knows where the princess is!”

At first, Belove thought the order had been issued to himself, and the rest of his squad. He was, after all, a proud member of the Ponyville guard, and this had quickly become a Ponyville problem. Ready and rearing for action, the earth pony turned to his commander to give the signal to attack. It never arrived, or at least not by his commander. Captain Icarus of the Canterlot Elite Royal Bodyguards casually rose his right hoof, before giving Belove a smug, confident grin. When his hoof shot down, there was a flash of white as three royal bodyguards blasted off from where they were standing, their collective wing-power blowing dust into the spectator’s eyes like a sandstorm. Coughing, Belove cursed the captain: here he was, saving the day yet again. The cherished hero. And here Belove was, sitting in the sidelines, feeling and looking absolutely useless. This was HIS turf, as he was a PONYVILLE guard, which gave Icarus NO right to be doing HIS work.

The three bodyguards catapulted themselves towards the intruder, the snarling faces they wore clearly displaying the fact they had enough of talking.

Nightmare Moon growled back at the oncoming threat, rearing onto her hind legs and kicking her front hooves forward aggressively. “Stand back, you foals!” she hissed to the approaching pegasi. The guards, fuelled with pride, testosterone and rage for their missing princess, didn’t heed the warning. They did, however, seem to be reconsidering their idea of flying directly towards an unknown hostile once her narrowed eyes started to glow a brilliant, radiant white. Wisps of smoke bellowed from the mare’s pupil-less eyes as the power in her surged, little sparks of electricity crackling and striking the metal flag poles nearby.

Like many standing near the front rows, the flash blinded Belove for a few seconds, meaning he didn’t witness what had happened next. He did, however, hear the echoing crack of thunder and the dull thump as three dazed pegasi hit the floor. Even with his vision blurred, the earth pony could just about make out the surprised and barely conscious faces of the stallions, looking fairly unsure of what had just happened. As much as he hated to admit it, Belove felt a little happy at the sight of three trained bodyguards, ‘the best of the best,’ shaking in fear like colts. It served them right, after all.

The princess of the night cackled gruesomely, like she had just delivered the twisted punchline of a sick joke. Were that the case, the reaction she received was certainly a knockout.

Weatherstorm and Cananor’s vision returned to them and they found themselves lying on top of each other. Blinking away white dots, Weatherstorm removed his hind hoof from the lawyer’s open mouth and Cananor removed his horn from the journalist’s flaring nostril. How they had managed to get into such a position in but a few seconds of blindness puzzled them both, but they took a vow to never talk of the experience again.

Floaters still gliding majestically before his eyes like ballet dancing fairies, Cananor raised his head back up to the balcony. Although he was still fairly groggy, the unicorn saw this ‘Nightmare Moon’ wrap her entire body in her eerie blue mist like a pupal insect cocooning itself in a chrysalis. The aura completely engulfed the black form until there was no physical embodiment left. As mysteriously as she entered, the fog leapt from the handrail and glided through swarms of fear-stricken ponies like a twisting python, past the staggering guardsmen, burst through the heavy oak doors and flew into the cloudless night sky above. The entire hall resounded with her chilling laughter, and then she was gone for good. Rainbow Dash, the Pegasus who had challenged the Alicorn earlier, freed her tail from the clutches of her friend’s jaws, and she was out of the doors a moment later with a cry of, “Come back here!” It was to no avail. Nightmare Moon was gone.

The room didn’t stay silent for long. One panicked scream ripped through the hall, then a chorus. Weatherstorm was aided onto his hooves by Cananor and Belove, who had abandoned his post and galloped over to his friends. The guard seemed half terrified, half ecstatic, and all ready for action. Giving Weatherstorm a sharp pull to all fours and nearly dislocating the stallion’s shoulder, Belove pointed toward the double doors, where the intruder had made her escape. “What in the hay was all that about?”

The journalist cautiously applied some gentle pressure on the hoof Belove had tugged him up with, half expecting a burning pain to shoot up the length of his leg. Luckily, his brutish friend hadn’t broken it. Re-adjusting his glasses, his first thoughts turned to Rarity. The last he had seen her, she was recoiling from the flash of Nightmare Moon’s magic, and he direly hoped she hadn’t taken a tumble over the balcony. Such a fall would be most unpleasant.

“Is everypony quite alright?” he wheezed. “Are you all... Where is Rarity? I do hope she isn’t hurt.”

Cananor pushed past Belove. “She left. Ran after that purple unicorn, with a few others. But I guess I had this whole thing figured wrong; that was MUCH more exciting than I thought! And the special effects were excellent! Does this happen every year, or...”

The rest of Cananor’s ramblings were left unheard by the journalist. Quicker than any of the others had seen him move before, he flew out of the building without another word.

“Rude!” the lawyer called out after him. He turned his attention back to Belove.

“So, Belove... how are things for you? Did you enjoy the show? I actually thought it was pretty cool!” He asked, casually taking a hay sandwich from the buffet table and eating it whole.

“Meh. So-so.” The guardsman replied, managing to swipe an apple fritter from the table before a shrieking stallion ran past and flipped it for no apparent reason, the contents of the table sailing off in all directions. There was no real reason as to why he should have done this: Belove just guessed that mass hysteria made some ponies go a little bit mad. One mare, one of the high society guests, was flailing her hooves above her head and gnashing her teeth in a most un-marely manner. Another, a plum-coated earth pony with a mulberry mane, was running in circles with a punch bowl on her head, her tongue licking at the dripping liquid. The mayor was trying to calm everypony down with promises of, “It’ll be okay!” which were to no avail. Powerless to the anarchy in the room, she evacuated the area, escorted by two burly, black suited stallions. Belove and Cananor were the only two ponies in the room who seemed in any way relaxed: everypony else was acting like the end times had arrived.

“I was glad to see those Canterlot guards get knocked onto their flanks,” he mumbled in-between bites. “Bunch of posers. Now, if that had have been ME, it would have ended very differently.”

“Quick! Where’s Weatherstorm!” The two were not aware that they had been joined by a third pony; a dark blue, blond-maned unicorn stood a few feet from them, looking quite worried. His tone was desperate and he was panting heavily, like he had just sprinted down a flight of stairs. “You were talking with Weatherstorm, weren’t you? I need to know where he went.”

The two eyed the newcomer suspiciously: although his mane was drenched in sweat and his eyes were wide in panic, he was still in less of a state than the rest of the gibbering crowds. “And who are you supposed to be?” Belove pouted.

“Does it matter?”

“If you want to know where he went, yes.”

Starfire sighed and mentally counted to five. He was going to get nowhere with these stubborn ponies. “I’m Starfire,” he introduced himself. “I recently moved here.”

Belove nodded but did not return the introduction. “And why are you looking for Weatherstorm? He isn’t the most interesting pony. You know him?”

“Sort of. I... he’s one of the only ponies I know around here.” The student huddled his pupils around his hooves, keeping the youngsters away from the rampaging equines behind him. “I guess I just need to see a friendly face, if anything.”

Belove lowered his guard and allowed himself a small smile. “Belove,” he said. “And this is Cananor.” He ignored Cananor’s remark of, ‘I can introduce myself, you know.’ “You just missed Weatherstorm.”

“Starswirl’s beard!” The unicorn swore, forgetting that there were young foals present. “Where did he go?”

He received only a shrug in reply. “Dunno.” The subject was quickly changed. “Those your kids?”

Starfire found it astonishing that these two strangers displayed not even the faintest trace of worry at the events that had just transpired, or at the prospect of everlasting night. Whilst the rest of Equestria was in a blind panic, these two individuals seemed to be more concerned that the buffet table was no longer serving up delicious treats. He could only assume that the gravity of the situation had not quite sunk in yet. “No, I’m a teacher. I’m sorry, but... are you not at all worried about this?”

The red-coated earth pony scrunched up his face and gave him a foreign look. “Worried about what?”

Amazing. Absolutely amazing. Starfire turned to the scene of chaos behind him. Tables were overturned, banners were torn and shredded, and there was just general disharmony wherever he looked. “Well... all THIS. Eternal night?”

Belove first nodded in understanding, then shook his head in disagreement. “I wouldn’t worry about it. We Ponyville guard will take care of it, I promise.” He boasted with utmost confidence.

Cananor gave Starfire a cheesy grin and repeated what Belove said. “Yeah, the Ponyville guard will take care of it. Belove here's a tough dude, eh?" He laughed. "I mean, it’s all staged, isn’t it?”

Blank stares.

“Wait, you mean...”

Belove and Starfire nodded slowly.

“And it wasn’t...”

Belove and Starfire shook their heads even slower.

Gulping, the unicorn suddenly looked quite faint. The truth had sunk in. “Oh. Oh man. Uh... I’m going home. This is too much for one day. I mean, night. I mean, goodbye.” Stumbling away from the others, a now visibly distraught Cananor joined the mass exodus to the front doors.

Squeezing his way past a howling earth pony, the lawyer was met by his Pegasus friend Derky, pushing his way into the hall, two cardboard boxes marked ‘This way up’ tucked under his hooves. They were upside down.

“Oh, hey Cananor,” the ginger-maned Pegasus beamed. “Is the celebration over? What did I miss?”

Weatherstorm was the only pony in the streets, as far as he could tell. Everypony else was probably kicking up quite the fuss over at the town hall. Despite being a fairly small town, the Pegasus had never seen it as unnaturally quiet and empty as it was tonight. It was almost eerie, passing every thatch-roofed house that sat with no lights on, and no noises coming from within. The unsettling stillness of the streets was quite the contrast to the mass hysteric hustle of the hall. Not even the crickets were chirping tonight: the town was as quiet as a graveyard and as dark as death. Looking up to the completely clear night sky, the journalist could see thousands upon thousands of twinkling little stars, sparkling like precious gems. He thought it funny that he had never actually paid this much attention to the night sky before, but after hearing Nightmare Moon’s threat of eternal darkness, perhaps he might learn to grow more accustomed to it. He would have thought the picturesque canvas of blinking lights against the backdrop of the cool blue ocean quite breathtakingly beautiful, were it not for the fact that he may never see the light of the sun again. Never again feel the warm radiant glow on his cheeks. Could he cope with living the rest of his life squandering around in the darkness? The thought sent an electric shiver down his spine. Such matters could wait. For now, he needed to find where Rarity had gone and in extension, the new resident. She seemed the only one who knew what exactly was going on.

“Rarity!” Weatherstorm called, cupping his hooves around his mouth. His voice shook from the cold chill in the air, or at least that’s what he told himself. “Miss Rarity? Are you there?”

An owl, perched on the branch of an old oak tree, hooted a reply of sorts. The tree was one of the strangest things that Weatherstorm had seen, as of late: it had been hollowed out and turned into a library, moss growing down the side of the overhanging balconies and sprawling onto the windowsills. A sign, that of an open book, swung to and fro in the gentle breeze, squeaking and groaning. The wooden door, painted a deep red, was engraved with a burning candle. It was lying wide open.

Weatherstorm made sure to knock a few times before entering, his hoof making three dull thumps as it connected with the wood. Then silence resumed. A few hours prior to this, the library rang with the sound of music, singing and cheer. Thinking back on it, one of the only ponies that Weatherstorm didn’t see for long at the party was the owner of the premises herself. He saw her only in passing, nothing more.

Cautiously poking his head around the door, Weatherstorm whispered, “Rarity? Are you in here?” He wasn’t sure why he whispered, but it only felt natural in a library. The main room sat empty, various books strewn across the floor, table, and even the winding stairs. Weatherstorm couldn’t help but think of the irony of storing paper books inside a tree: it was like the circle of life.

With a discontented grunt, the Pegasus backed out of the room. He could have sworn she would have been here. Perhaps the Carousel Boutique was worth a shot, but he doubted she would be there either.

“Are you looking for me, dear?” came a soft, feminine voice from behind him. The journalist nearly fell backwards at the sound of the voice. There was only one mare that had a voice that unique in this town: Miss Rarity.

The white unicorn stood in the library doorway, two leather saddlebags slung over her slender form. Both were filled to the brim with what Weatherstorm assumed were cosmetic supplies. “Are you looking for me?” Rarity repeated.

At first, Weatherstorm was glad to see she was unharmed. A lady such as Rarity should not be subject to such horrendous phenomenon, after all, and he was worried that tonight’s events had left her somewhat shaken. His relief turned to confusion when he saw the saddlebags. “I am glad to see you are well, Miss Rarity,” he gave her a formal bow. She shot him a polite look that spoke unsaid words: 'Who are you again?' He did hope wasn't coming off as being too familiar with the mare. That would be rude, indeed. “Forgive me, but are you travelling? I can see you are equipped for quite a journey.”

Trotting into the room, Rarity levitated a small hoof-mirror from the table, knocking a few hardback tomes out of the way. “I mustn’t forget my mirror,” she explained. “I’ll need to look my best for the road ahead.”

“And what road would that be?”

The mare shot him an uneasy look. “I’m unsure whether I can share this information with you. Twilight told us to trust no one.”

Placing a hoof on her delicate shoulder, Weatherstorm gave her a meaningful and dreamy gaze. “Please, Miss Rarity. I can assist you.”

“Oh, it’s so sweet of you to offer.” She sighed, tucking the mirror into her left pouch. “But I must decline. And I’m afraid I cannot share any information with you, or anypony else, until I return...”

Weatherstorm wasn’t taking no for an answer. “I beg you, Rarity. You can trust me, and you have my word as a gentlecolt that I shall not converse with another being on the matter until you return, whenever that may be.”

She closed her eyes and looked to the floor. “If you promise, then very well. We head out to ‘The ancient castle of the royal sisters,’ deep within the Everfree Forest. What we seek there I cannot say, but I do not want you, any other member of the press, Mayor Mare, the local guard, or anypony else, to follow us. Understood?” she questioned, as though she were talking to a young foal.

“The Everfree Forest? But Miss Rarity, that is no place for a lady such as yours...”

“PROMISE ME THAT NEITHER YOU, NOR ANYPONY ELSE, WILL FOLLOW US.” Such fire, such assertiveness.

Reluctantly, Weatherstorm gave her his word. She smiled again, thanked him, and turned to leave.

“Please wait!” The Pegasus realised this could be the perfect chance to announce his love to her. The mare stopped and faced him, a little frustrated by the interruption.

“What is it? I really have to catch up with the others, you know.”

Weatherstorm took a deep breath, then released it. He was going to be cool, calm and collected, and reply in a civilized manner that a truly magnificent lady like Rarity deserved. ‘It’s now or never...’

“Before you leave, I need to tell you...

“That I...”

“I...”

Rarity tapped her hoof impatiently. “Can’t it wait, dear? I really must be off.”

“I...”

“Hey, Rarity!” a thick southern accented voice boomed from outside. “How’in tarnation does it take’ya that long to get yer’ gosh-darned mirr’ already?”

“I must be off.” Rarity repeated. “Tell me when I return.”

"I...”

The Pegasus felt himself blushing. ‘Not again...’

“I...”

“...I, oh, I moved the piano!” he hastily blurted out, instantly regretting the decision. ‘Why must I do that every time I talk to her? Now she thinks of me as a complete buffoon.’ He hung his head at once as rosy cheeks blossomed. "I just thought you should know."

The unicorn laughed, her beautiful little laugh. Like birds chirping on a bright summer’s morning. “That’s nice, my dear. I really must go now. And remember: not a word.”

With that, Rarity turned and cantered out of the library. Weatherstorm followed her outside, barely managing to catch a final glimpse of her as she made her way down the dirt path that led to the Everfree Forest. She turned a corner, at the back of the group of mares (Weatherstorm counted around five or six, but he was unsure) and then disappeared from his vision completely.

He sighed mournfully, dropping onto all fours. “I do hope she’s okay. And if she comes back, nay, WHEN she comes back, I can tell her how I feel. I’ll tell her then.”

They didn’t return.

Chapter 3

Two days passed. At least, Starfire thought it was two days: Living in permanent darkness, it was hard to tell when one day ended and another began.

Eventually, an emergency town meeting was called to deal with the problem. Starfire noticed that the town hall was in a much worse state than it was when he had entered it two nights prior to this. The colourful equestrian banners that once hung proudly on the panelled walls now lay in unfolded piles, trampled by muddy hooves into the floor, ripped and ragged. Several of the stained glass windows were shattered, shards of jagged pink glass littering the ground. The majority of the furniture was overturned and splintered, and most of the foodstuffs that had been on offer or the event looked far less appetising now that they were plastered down the walls and stuck to the ceiling. It was the wanton destruction of the very residents of the town that had caused such careless devastation, and not Nightmare Moon herself.

The mayor, surrounded by her personal bodyguards, took to the cluttered stage. Her appearance was haggard: her grey mane, usually so proper and professional looking, rivalled that of a tramp's with random locks of hair jutting out in an ever-so-unsightly manner. Her eyes, bloodshot and sleepless, darted to and fro like a butterfly trapped in a jam jar. It was obvious she hadn’t slept well.

Once everypony was present, and had settled down, she began. “My fellow townspeople,” her voice was groggy and wavering. “As you are well aware, Nightmare Moon...”

Everypony in the room, obviously as sleep-deprived as the mayor, screamed in terror, nearly trashing the hall for a second time.

“She’s not here right now!” the earth pony had to screech over the noise. All chaos ceased.

“As I was saying, Nightmare Moon returned for the first time in 1000 years two days ago...”

“Two NIGHTS ago, actually.” Somepony near the back corrected her.

“Two nights ago, Nightmare Moon returned and brought about eternal night, kidnapping our glorious leader Princess Celestia in the process. Not only that,” she continued, “But six of our own citizens, who heroically set out to stop her, have not returned!”

Weatherstorm grimaced. Rarity was somewhere out there, being held hostage by some wicked villain, scared and confused and...

...dirty. The stallion shuddered at the thought. Grime was her worst fear, without a shadow of a doubt.

“Why did you tell your aunt?” Weatherstorm whispered to Cananor. “That information was strictly confidential!”

Cananor shrugged. “Then why did you tell me?”

The Pegasus didn’t quite know why he told his blabbermouth of a friend. Maybe it was just his reporter’s instincts of wanting to share little-known news with everypony.

“So far, no ransom has been made. I think I speak for everypony when I say... we shall not tolerate this!” She mustered up some strength to stamp her hoof in defiance, nearly toppling onto her side doing so. “We will not just let her take our sun and our princess, and then our fellow townspeople!”

“Hear, hear!” clopped the crowds in agreement. “Hear, hear!”

“Which is why we have decided to take action. Equestria needs a hero, and I can think of nopony better suited than the wonderful...”

Belove’s ears pricked up as soon as the word ‘hero’ was mentioned. She could only have been referring to him: Belove, the best soldier in all of Ponyville!

“...The amazing...”

Belove felt his smug grin grow wider. He WAS pretty amazing, after all.

“...The handsome...”

Belove lifted his head higher with pride. He WAS pretty handsome, for sure.

“...The athletic...”

Belove flexed his muscular biceps. He WAS pretty athletic, certainly.

“...A stallion who has saved Equestria countless times...”

It’s true, it’s true.

“...Captain Icarus!”

The guard’s face dropped like a ton of bricks as the pony in question valiantly swooped down onto the centre stage, without so much as breaking a sweat. He shook his long, golden mane twice, the candlelight causing it to shine like the medallions he had proudly pinned to his chestpiece. He nodded in acknowledgement to the mayor, flashing his blindingly white teeth.

“Thank you, Mayor,” the captain gave a courteous bow to the earth pony. “Citizens of Ponyville!” he boomed, his voice silky and light yet powerful and commanding. “These are dark times as of late. But as the princess’s personal bodyguard, I hope to shepherd us out of this darkness, and into the light of a new era! I, and my close companions,” he gestured his hoof over the five other Royal Bodyguards standing in the front row, all looking as faultless as their leader. “Have devised a cunning plan to defeat this, ‘Nightmare Moon,’ save our princess and,” he smirked. “The six damsels in distress. We ride for the Everfree Forest... tonight!”

Ponies cheered and cried his name, throwing their hooves up in praise. A few of the stallions cheered. Most of the mares squealed. One or two fainted. Belove booed.

The room grew deathly silent as his jeers cut through the cheers like a hot knife through butter. Weatherstorm cringed for a second time at the awkwardness of the situation, a silent room apart from the booing of one solitary pony. Belove had embarrassed him for as long as he had known him, and tonight was far from exception.

“Boo!” the dark red earth pony cupped his hooves around his muzzle and hissed. “Boo!”

Once he was satisfied with the attention he was getting, Belove spoke directly to Captain Icarus, who was decent enough to let him voice his opposition. The snow-white Pegasus didn’t seem at all fazed by the intrusion: in fact, his confident simper suggested he welcomed it. “Sir, if you find fault with anything I am saying, then you are within your rights to challenge me. You may say what you wish, and we shall listen.” His perfectly calm tone further angered the guard.

“Don’t you patronise me!” Belove barked. “And cut the act, the cheek of ya. The Summer Sun Celebration was held in Ponyville. Nightmare Moon appeared in Ponyville. The princess was kidnapped from Ponyville, and those six mares that went missing were citizens of... aye, you guessed it, Ponyville! If anypony should be mounting a rescue operation, then it should be us,” his chest swelled with pride. “The Ponyville guard! We can do just fine without you Canterlot folk.”

The Captain trotted over to the edge of the stage, facing Belove head on. His breath smelt sickeningly sweet, like daisies and lavender. His dark green eyes, like deep pools of shimmering water, met his. “But friend...”

He was reminded that Belove was not his friend.

“Sir...”

Nor a sir.

“But please hear me out. Bringing the entire Ponyville guard is not the answer! Whilst I have no doubt that you and your squadmates can handle the situation, Nightmare Moon will hear you coming and sense your presence. The fewer ponies there are, the less chance there is of being detected."

“Then only a hoof-full of us will go.” Belove turned to his fellow Ponyville guard squadmates, all of whom where shifting uncomfortably, their heavy plate armour clanking with every movement. “Who here is sick of spending their days settling petty crimes? Who here is sick of Captain Icarus lapping up all of the praise? Who thinks that it is our turn to save Equestria? Who among you will join me to the Everfree forest?”

To his surprise, not a single hoof was raised. At first, Belove wasn’t exactly sure how to react. He felt shocked at first, then saddened at his friends’ fragile sense of comradeship, and then this slowly turned to not only anger, but disgust. He felt all of these emotions in less than a second, which was one second longer than he needed to say something he would regret later.

Reeling from his recent rejection, Belove huffed and threw down his hoof in rage. ”Fine!” he snorted, blowing wisps of condensation into the good captain’s face. “Since my fellow guards are too CHICKEN to help, sure, I guess I’ll go save Equestria alone.”

Captain Icarus’ expression remained unfazed, as did his tone, but he at least seemed verbally opposed to the idea. “I would advise against it, sir. One lone pony cannot hope to last for long in the Everfree Forest, let alone face an all powerful being like Nightmare Moon. That would be difficult even for an experienced soldier such as myself.”

“By Celestia’s mane,” Belove swore, shocked ponies recoiling in horror. “You are so full of yourself. I’ll show you!” He span around, his hoof outstretched in accusation to the onlookers of the little spectacle. “I’ll show all of you! It’ll be ME that saves Equestria, not HIM. And I will bring honour to the Ponyville guard, unlike these COWARDS!” He left for the door.

Captain Icarus was suddenly blocking his path. Belove wasn’t sure how he got from the stage to directly in front of his so quickly, and silently. It was almost as though he appeared in a flash of lightning: his wings were either unnaturally fast, or he was magic. Were that the case, it wouldn’t have surprised the earth pony in the slightest; he was ‘spectacular’ after all.

“I beg you to reconsider,” the grim faced captain stated coldly, emotionlessly. He placed a gentle but firm hoof on Belove’s shoulder. “I do not wish for a fine soldier such as yourself to get hurt.”

His efforts were met only by hostility. Belove jerked his body away from the captain’s grip with a sharp grunt. “Your honeyed words won’t work on me, and you can’t stop me. I am my own pony, and I can do what I want.”

“If I cannot persuade you to stay,” Icarus stuck his hoof out and gave him a somewhat false smile. “Then I wish you all the best in your adventure, Lovely.”

Belove slapped the hoof out of his face and stormed out of the hall with one last bellow, "The name is BELOVE, ponies! Remember it!"

An awkward silence followed the guard’s stormy departure. If Belove had but one talent, Weatherstorm would say it was making uncomfortable, awkward atmospheres.

“Well,” Captain Icarus bellowed. “I hope he fares well on his journey. And soon, I shall undertake mine.”

Mayor Mare cleared her throat with a raspy cough, little particles of spittle visible in the moonlight. “Please give one more round of applause for Captain Icarus and his men!”

A monumentous cheer rose from the crowd, all chanting his name like he was a god. “IC-AR-US!” They screamed, breaking his name up slowly into three syllables. “IC-AR-US!” The captain, making his way back to the centre stage, seemed to enjoy being in the spotlight. His gloating smile grew larger every time his name left their lips. He inhaled sharply, his head held high with pride. “Now, now,” he grinned. “I am but doing my duty. I deserve no admiration, I assure you.” Weatherstorm could tell straight away that he was lying, of course. He lapped up their admiration and secretly wished for more. Belove was wrong about most things, but he was right about Icarus; the pony was a poser, through and through. Another mare collapsed, fainting in his presence. It seemed to be a common occurrence.

Weatherstorm pushed his way out of the swarm of praising ponies and shot out of the front door. He had to catch up with Belove, and fast. The guard was the hasty type and wasted little time; he just hoped he hadn’t left for the Everfree forest already.

As it turned out, he hadn’t gotten very far. The earth pony was furiously packing his bags when a knock came to his front door. “Come in.”

Weatherstorm nudged the wooden door open with his nuzzle. Belove lived in a ‘modest’ accommodation, and that was being generous. The tiny guardhouse bunk had barely enough room for a table, one chair, a few shelves cluttered with useless junk, a cupboard, an armour stand, an empty hearth, an oak footlocker at the edge of the bed and of course, the bed itself.

The bed creaked in protest as Weatherstorm lowered himself onto the messy duvet, beside his friend. “Listen, Belove,” he began, knowing better than to place a hoof on the guard’s shoulder. “You really need to re-think this. I don’t mean to hurt your pride, but you won’t last out there in the wilderness. You know it and I know it. Please stay.”

Belove crammed a can of what seemed like oats into his saddlebag, but didn’t look up. “I’ll survive just fine.” His voice was gruff and flat. If Weatherstorm didn’t know his friend better, he could have sworn he had been crying. “I have training.”

“Indeed, but no experience. I understand you dislike Icarus, and I do to, but...”

“He’s in love with Rarity, you know.”

The interruption caught Weatherstorm off-guard. “Wha... What?”

“You didn’t get a good look at him at the Summer Sun Celebration, but I did. And he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.”

“He looks at every mare like that,” Weatherstorm laughed nervously, lowering his gaze to the floor. “You know how he behaves in Canterlot.”

“Exactly,” Belove lowered his silver helmet onto his head and adjusted the straps. “He’ll play the knight in shining armour, save her, she’ll fall in love with him, they’ll marry, and then he’ll ditch her the moment another good looking mare passes his way.”

Weatherstorm kicked at the ground with a restless hoof, scattering little particles of dust. For all his faults, Belove was a fairly house-proud pony, what with military stallions having a reputation of keeping their quarters ship-shape, but something had obviously been playing at his mind as of late. “You don’t think she’ll actually fall for... HIM, do you?”

Belove scoffed mockingly. “’Stormy, you’re naive. Why wouldn’t she fall for her saviour, a stallion with a fancy uniform, well paid job, a mansion in Canterlot and a constant place in the spotlight? How do you compare to him, with your puny wings and underdeveloped muscles? No offense.”

Not surprisingly, the Pegasus frowned. “Quite a considerable amount taken. However, I can see your point.”

“Then join me.” The guard ordered sternly. “If we save Equestria, YOU’LL be her knight in shining armour. She falls in love with you, I get showered in wealth and fame... We’re all happy!”

“I... I’m not sure, Belove. I don’t...”

“Do you want Rarity?” The earth pony spat out. “Or do you want that sleazeball to use her?”

“She’s a lady, not a possession. She’s perfectly capable...”

“DO YOU WANT HIM TO USE HER?”

“Heavens, no!”

Belove thrust his hoof out. “Come with me.”

The blue Pegasus hesitated for a second, giving that outstretched hoof a look that spoke volumes of discontent. With a weary sigh, he wrapped his hoof around his friends’. “I guess I’ll come with you. You know what they say: if you can’t beat them, join them!” His smile dissolved. “You know we’ll likely perish out there, do you not?”

“Then we’ll go as a team: the two of us, against the world.”

“Three, actually,” came the Fillydelphian accented voice from the open doorway. “But I’d rather not partake in the perishing part.”

Belove eyed the newcomer sceptically. “Do you like eavesdropping on me? That’s twice now.”

“I’m sorry,” Starfire apologised. I should have knocked. “I couldn’t help but follow Weatherstorm here after you made your... exit.”

The earth pony finished his packing, closing the flap over his leather saddlebag. “And why do you want to come, um...”

“Starfire.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Why do you want to come with us?” The guard slid off his bed and onto all fours. “Are you a spy?”

Starfire laughed and levitated the saddlebags onto Belove’s back. “A spy? That’s a little farfetched, isn’t it?”

“Icarus will probably do anything to make sure I fail. Even sabotage.” The earth pony gloated. “He’s scared I’ll make him look like an idiot. Scared I’ll get his job after I save Equestria.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think he sees you as much of threat to his career. I’m no spy. I want to help.” The unicorn took one step into the room and, after seeing no attempt was made to remove him from the building, another. “Let me help you.”

“And how can you help us?” Belove sneered. “I don’t know you all that well, but you seem a nerd to me. And I have no use for nerds.”

“You’re bringing him,” Starfire joked, dryly. He didn’t need to point at the pony he was referencing. “I would be happy to let Captain Icarus sort out all this unpleasantness, but he doesn’t know his enemy well enough. Nightmare Moon is like nothing he will have faced before. He doesn’t know her history, her weaknesses. Neither do you. But I do.”

Belove narrowed his eyes sceptically. “And how do you know so much about this Nightmare character?”

“We don’t have time. I can either help you, or help Icarus. You seem like the lesser of two evils, but I can go on my own if I have to.”

Belove sighed and seemed to weigh each option out an either hoof. “Fine.” He finally spat out like it pained him to say the word. “You can come. But hear me out: I don’t trust you and I like you even less. You seem one of those know-it-all types.” He fastened his saddlebag straps and made for the door.

Starfire stopped him. “And you hear me out: there is too much at stake here for me to be drawn into your petty rivalry with Captain Icarus. The future of Equestria hangs in the balance, and I don’t think you realise that.”

Belove snarled. He certainly did not like, nor was accustomed to, being spoken to in this way. And certainly not by some egghead newcomer. “I suggest you all pack for the journey. We’ll meet up at the road out of town in an hour. The sooner we leave, the more of a distance we’ll put between Icarus and ourselves.” With that, he left.

Weatherstorm waited until the stallion, and his trail of smoke, left before laughing. “I fear you may have annoyed him somewhat.”

Starfire's face remained stern. “I got the same impression.”

“So,” The Pegasus clapped his hooves together. “Why are you so willing to embark on this foolish quest?”

“Why are you?” Starfire shot back.

“Because I am a fool. And I asked you first.”

Starfire shrugged nonchalantly. “Not for any personal gain. You know I would rather let somepony else sort the whole situation out...”

“...But you can’t sit idly by when you know you can help.” Weatherstorm finished. “Just like the incident at the Summer Sun Celebration, when you helped me with that piano. You could have easily let me drop it, but you didn’t. You went out of your way to help. It’s in your nature.”

“I... I guess. Icarus seems like the sort of pony who could handle himself, but his charming demeanour and brute strengh will get him nowhere against Nightmare Moon. Ponies like that become too confident in their own ability, and that leads to failure." He didn't like the 'F' word. "I hope Belove’s own self confidence doesn’t do the same for us.

The journalist nodded his head. “As do I. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have packing to attend to. But it’s a pleasure to have you on board, Starfire. Celestia knows I could not cope with but Belove for company.”

They laughed and went their separate ways, filled with both eager optimism and an unshakable sense of dread.

“He probably won’t last five minutes,” Cananor told Derky. It sounded rather harsh after he said it, but it was the truth. “He is acting like an idiot, if you ask me. Gonna get eaten by a feral rabbit or something, lots of meat to gnaw on.”

Derky took in a few gulping mouthfuls of air. It felt good to get out of the cramped and crowded hall and into the open town square, where he could finally stretch his wings. Behind him, the crowds continued to chant and cheer the name of their soon-to-be saviour, Captain Icarus of the Elite Royal Bodyguards. He frowned. “Don’t say that. He’s our friend, after all. I thought you enjoyed fun things, and an adventure seems fun!”

“There is a big difference between fun and just plain dangerous. I wouldn’t go jump off of a cliff because it’s exciting.” The unicorn explained.

“I jump off cliffs all the time.”

“That’s because you’ve got wings.”

Derky smiled and flexed his wings. “I like having wings.” He sighed with pride. His mind turned back to the matter at hoof. “Do you think we should try to talk him out of it?”

Cananor dismissed the notion instantly. “This is Belove we’re talking about. Once he decides to do something, he does it. You can’t reason with him.”

“He’s right over there. We could at least try.” The Pegasus pointed over to the cherub statue in the square. Belove was standing beside it in his full armour, surrounded by his fellow guards. From what it seemed, they were either encouraging his journey, or condemning it. One stallion in particular stood out from the rest: He was the largest, most muscular of the group, with a dark beige coat, verging on grey, just like his long and tattered mane that ran the length of his back to his tail. He had an air of superiority about him, and the others seemed to give him a wide berth, either from respect or fear. His name was Captain Blue Brigade, or as Cananor called him, father.

Cananor stopped short, his hooves kicking up mounds of grass. “Derky, I can’t go over. My dad is over there!”

“What’s wrong with that?” Derky Bells inquired, the puzzled look he wore not an uncommon expression to him.

“You don’t know my father.”

“Yes I do. He’s that pony over there.”

“I mean, you don’t know what he’s like.” Cananor shivered in the cold as he looked across the grass at his father’s towering form. “We’ve never really gotten along. You see...” The unicorn realised he was talking to himself.

Derky pushed his way through the crowd of armour clad stallions to the front, where his friend was filling a canteen with crystal clear water trickling from the fountain. The other guards were all talking at once, voices clambering over each other in a battle to be heard. But one voice rose above the others, and silenced the group completely. “I don’t know whether you’re the bravest pony I ever met,” Captain Brigade growled like a timberwolf at Belove, “Or the stupidest.” His voice was deep and gruff, and as rough as gravel. Derky felt like coughing for him to clear whatever obstruction there was in his throat. His tone warmed. “But you’ve got guts, kid. I’ll give you that. I can’t say that what you’re doing is right, but it makes me proud to see a stallion with Ponyville spirit.” The captain nodded down at the earth pony. “I want you to go out there, and I want you to bring our princess, and those girls, back. I want you to return honour to the Ponyville guard, son...”

This was when Cananor spoke up in a blind rage. “SON!?” He snorted disgustedly. “You’re calling HIM your son? When was the last time you called me your son?”

Captain Brigade’s muscles seemed to tense up for a moment, before he slowly turned to face his child. Their eyes made contact. “Well, well,” he barked. “If it isn’t my daughter.” A few of the guards laughed along with him, more fear than humour in their laughter. “Maybe I’ll call you my son when you start acting like a stallion!”

Cananor spat onto the dry grass below. “And what does being a stallion mean to you, then, eh?”

His father did not like being challenged, especially by his son. He took a few lumbering steps toward his offspring, bumping into one of the guards so hard that the poor soldier nearly toppled onto his back. “Being a stallion means being strong,” the captain roared as fiercely as a manticore. “It means showing courage and honour...”

“Just like you showed courage and honour when you refused to help?” The unicorn instantly regretted saying that. His father was a gigantic fellow and he had no desire to get in a fight with him. Still, it was too late and what had been said could no longer be un-said.

The comment seemed throw Captain Brigade for a moment, and he almost seemed shocked that his son had answered him back in such a fashion. Not only that, but all of his guards, who looked up to him as a leader, had just heard him get put in his place by his own child, a unicorn far smaller and weaker than himself. His dark beige cheeks turned scarlet, then crimson and his eyes flashed with anger. “Return to your duties,” he hissed the order at his men, who were only too happy to oblige. They scarpered, desiring not to witness what was to follow. Considering his tone, it was not likely to be pleasant.

The behemoth of a pony leaned in close to his son, towering over him like a giant. Her drew his muzzle in closer, touching Cananor’s. His unicorn horn, broken and jagged, clashed with the lawyers’. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that,” he whispered menacingly. “I have more courage in one hoof than you have in your entire body.”

Cananor gulped. There was no turning back now. He had to face his fears sooner or later. “Why are you ashamed of me, father?” he whispered back, trying hard to look into those cold eyes without tearing up. “You’ve always been ashamed of me.”

“Of course I have! Look at you: you’re a joke, and not a funny one. You’re a grown stallion but you still live with your mother and I, you haven’t so much as looked at another mare, and you haven’t won a court case in your life. You spend too much time trying to be a flailing comedian, and not enough time getting your life in order. I should have known back when you were a colt; reading those stupid comic books...”

“Nann-ga!” Cananor cried defensively. “And they aren’t stupid! Why won’t you respect me for who I am?”

Captain Brigade released a raspy chuckle. “I’ll respect you when you do something worthy of my respect. Which will be never.”

Cananor growled in his father’s face, and his father snarled back. “I’ll prove you wrong, old fool!” he panted in rage. “Maybe I’ll... I’ll...” His eyes wandered past his father’s twisted features to Belove, deep in conversation with Derky. “I’ll save Equestria! I’ll go to the Everfree forest and stop Nightmare Moon myself. And then I’ll have shown more courage than YOU, and you’ll have to respect me!”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Ugh!” The younger grunted in frustration. “I.. I’ll prove you wrong!”

The captain strode away into the darkness, gloating over his recent victory. His son didn’t see the sly smirk develop across his usually straight face. He knew he had won.

Cananor’s chest heaved in heated temper as he watched his father walk calmly away. At first, he could think only of how much he despised the stallion but it wasn’t long before he remembered what he had just said, and the rather perilous situation it had put him in.

Derky looked from Cananor to Belove, and then back to Cananor. “I thought we DIDN’T want him to go...” his voice trailed off.

Belove slipped the canteen back into his saddlebag with a slosh. “You’re not changing my mind,” he said to Cananor. “But it seems like you may have changed yours. Don’t come with me if you don’t want. But I’m going, so I am.”

Belove had never been grabbed and shaken vigorously by another pony before, so Cananor’s following action surprised him somewhat. “Can’t you see?” the unicorn stuttered. “I can’t go back on it now! My father will never let me live it down.” His face grew pale and his voice waivered, but there was a distant look of heroism in his eyes. “No, this is something I must do, whether I like it or not. We will save Equestria and return heroes! I will show my father that I am... a stallion! Oh, and a comedian, of course. Gonna whip up some fresh content away from home."

“Wait, so we DO want to go now?” Derky asked. His eyes rolled dazedly in their sockets. “I’m confused.”

Cananor sighed, and tried to break the news to his feathered friend gently. “Not you, Derky. Don’t worry about it. I need you to stay here.”

The Pegasus’ face dropped. “But why?”

“I, uh...” Cananor stammered. “I need you to stay here and, uh... mind the town. While I’m gone. Just for a while.”

“Sure you can come, Derky.”

Cananor swivelled around to Belove. “He... he what?”

“He can come,” the earth pony shrugged. “No problem. That is, if he wants to.”

“Ooh!” Derky allowed himself a little joyous summersault. “Yes please!”

Cananor’s heart skipped a beat. “Belove,” he gave a false smile. “Can I speak to you for a second? In private?”

The lawyer pulled him over by the ear and hissed, “What the hay do you think you are doing?”

“What do you mean? Look how happy he is.” Derky sat there like an obedient dog, staring at the duo with a big cheesy grin. His tail swished to and fro happily behind him.

Cananor grimaced and turned his back to the Pegasus, so as to shield his words from prying eyes. “Belove, look at how... innocent he is. I mean, he isn’t the sharpest tool in the set. If something wanted him for a spot of dinner, he'd probably season himself and give advice on serving suggestions. He wouldn't hurt a fly. You know that he won’t survive out there.”

Belove ‘pfft’ loudly, spittle landing on the lawyer’s nose. “Ah, sure, what are you, his mammy? He’ll be fine.”

Cananor wasn’t buying it. He screwed up his muzzle sceptically. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing, I just... want him to do a little reconnaissance, that’s all.”

“Reconnaissance? What reconnaissance?”

Belove inhaled sharply, then stuck his nose so close to Cananor’s ear-hole that it practically went in it. “Listen, there's more than just us going. I had a wee chat with Weatherstorm and brought 'round to me way of thinking. But then that new guy appeared: Starswirl or whatever his name was...”

“Starswirl was around, like, years ago, dude. From what I gather, he was a pretty intense guy: I doubt, even if he was still around, that he would help you on a personal vendetta against Icarus.”

Belove groaned. “You know the one I’m talking about. The unicorn. Dark blue. Blond. Met him the other night at the Summer Sun Celebration. Him.”

“Starfire, I believe?”

“Yeah, him.”

The lawyer clapped his hooves together. “Great! That means less of a chance of us failing. So, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is,” hushed Belove. “That I don’t fully trust him. For all I know, he could be... a spy.”

Not surprisingly, Cananor didn’t think so. “A spy? That’s a little farfetched, isn’t it?”

Sighing, the guard continued. “All I’m saying is, I need ponies I can trust with me to keep an eye out for any suspicious behaviour. Weatherstorm’s great and all, but,” he checked to make sure the bespectacled journalist wasn’t behind him. “He seems too friendly with this ‘Starfire’. I know I can trust him, but he’s easily swayed. That’s why I need you to come with me. Besides, I’ve known you long before Weatherstorm moved here from Cloudsdale, to be sure.”

Cananor gestured back to Derky. The ginger-maned Pegasus was swatting at a glowbug with his right hoof. It didn’t seem to deter the creature, who made it its personal goal to attempt to fly up his nostril. “But why do you need Derky?”

“You said it yourself. He’s innocent. I’ll tell him to watch Starfire, and he’ll do it.”

Cananor frowned. “Belove, I’m not okay with this. I know he can make up his own mind, but he could get hurt, or even...”

“Derky,” Belove called his pre-occupied friend over with a wave. “Come here a moment, will you?”

The pony obediently trotted over, glowbug planted firmly on his face. He blew it off. “Yes?”

“You would like to come with us, wouldn’t you?” Belove inquired with a smirk.

“Yes,” the Pegasus replied. “Yes I would.”

“And you would like to help out, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes I would.”

Belove reached down into his saddlebag and pulled out a notebook. “Then I want you to hold on to this. And if you see anything strange, write it down. Can you do that for me?”

The Pegasus scooped the notebook up in his wing. It flipped open to the first page, reading, ‘Somepony stole a sweetroll. No further investigations were made.’ Obviously, the guard didn’t use it to document much. “I’ll try,” Derky said with a smile.

“Good, good,” Belove gave him a friendly pat on the back. “And remember: if you see anypony acting strange, say...Starfire, you’ll tell me, won’t you?” Derky agreed. “Then go and get ready. We meet at the road out of town in an hour.”

Cananor gritted his teeth as he watched his winged friend happily canter off into the distance, whistling as he went. “You’re wrong to do this, Belove. You’re twisting his mind.”

Belove shook his head. “He made up his own mind. I didn't do it for him. Look how happy he is to be part of something! If you’ve got a problem with it, then don’t come.”

Cananor said nothing.

“That’s what I thought. Now go and get yourself kitted out.”

The unicorn held his tongue. Reluctantly, he headed off towards his home to gather what he needed for the road ahead. The long journey ahead hadn’t even begun and already tempers were frayed: Never mind about Starfire, it was Belove that he didn’t trust.

Belove watched his two friends wonder off in separate directions. He felt quite pleased with himself, acquiring not one but two sets of eyes and ears like that, and it had been easier than expected. He allowed himself a little moment to bask in self celebration. “I’ve got you now, Starfire,” he rubbed his hooves together in anticipation. “You and your boss Icarus. Nothing will stand between me and stardom.”

“I’ve got you now, Starfire.”

Weatherstorm gave three solid knocks on the door of the Carousel Boutique. He wasn’t sure why he always gave three knocks: perhaps he just always thought of it as his lucky number. However, it was not lucky enough to have the door miraculously answered by Rarity, that was for sure. The unicorn, a stallion with one of the most ridiculous mustaches Weatherstorm had ever laid eyes on, (and a straw hat that rivalled said ridiculousness) opened the door a fraction and stuck one curious eyeball through the gap. A bright yellow light, likely emanating from a candle or perhaps a chandelier, shone out of the little crack. “Hey, eh... Can I help you?”

Weatherstorm was so taken by the unicorn’s thick Caneigh-dian accent that he had to take a casual step back and made sure that this was in fact the Carousel Boutique. Confirming that this was the correct building, he answered the stallion’s question with another question. “I’m dreadfully sorry if this comes across as rude, but... who are you, exactly?”

“I’m Rarity’s daddy,” he replied, tipping his straw hat at the Pegasus, the rim falling over his horn. “She’s the owner of this here establishment. If you’re looking to do business, you’ll have to come right on back some other time. She’s not here right now, see.”

Weatherstorm’s blue eyes widened in shock, surprise, excitement, or maybe all three. “You’re... You’re her father?” This was certainly not what he had imagined Rarity’s father to look. For one, his sense of fashion was that of a dinosaurs’: Hawaiian shirts and straw hats? The Rarity Weatherstorm knew would not be seen dead in such attire! It just went to show that not every pony turns out like their parents. The stallion certainly knew how that felt: he was so different from his own parents he often wondered if there had been a mix up at the hospital when he was born.

The Pegasus regained his train of thought and closed his agape mouth. Her father... not exactly the scenario I would have wanted to meet him in, what with Rarity missing and presumably held hostage by an ancient evil, but metaphorical beggars could not, in this day and age, be choosers. He politely gave him his hoof. “I apologise, sir. I,” he puffed out his chest in pride, which was a little habit of his and butt of many of his friend’s jokes. “Am Weatherstorm. Perhaps your daughter has spoken kindly of me?”

“Nope. Never heard of you,” the stallion began to close the door. “Sorry.”

‘Think fast,’ Weatherstorm thought rather fast as he witnessed the ray of light grow smaller. ‘But think smart.’ He said something ridiculously idiotic.

“I’m her coltfriend, you see,” he blurted out, his words sprawling over each other. Weatherstorm mentally cursed himself again. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. The blue stallion put it down to being a complete idiot, especially when he was anywhere near Rarity, or even the Carousel Boutique itself. It all seemed to have a magical effect on him, which lessened his IQ quite considerably and caused him to say things he would later regret. This was one of those moments.

Gulping, the Pegasus stared into the eyes of the older pony. He stared back, wearing something that lay between a frown and a scowl. This standoff lasted several seconds, before the unicorn’s lips curled into what had to be the biggest smile Weatherstorm had ever seen. He didn’t even know a pony’s mouth could open that wide.

“Well, hay there!” he beamed, throwing open the door and embracing her daughter’s ‘coltfriend,’ with such force and strength that Weatherstorm turned blue in the face. Well, bluer that is. “Pleased to meet you! Come inside, please!” said the grinning unicorn, releasing hold of his captive and allowing one him one sharp breath before roughly grabbing him by his front hoof and yanking him indoors. Weatherstorm mustered up all his strength to not scream: his leg had only just started to recover after Belove had very nearly ripped it out a few nights earlier, and now it was back to square one again. Rarity’s dad was a strong, brutish fellow: not at all like his gentle, petite daughter. He mentally reminded himself to bring a pack of ice with him on his journey for his, yet again, strained ligament.

Weatherstorm was almost blinded as he was trailed into the shop. After spending so long in the dark, it was only natural that his eyes needed time to adjust to the immense brightness of the well lit room. A silver chandelier, swaying in the breeze of the open door, all 20 candles lit and flickering, hung above the main stage. Several more burned away in candle holders, spent candle wax dripping down the sconce and onto the tiled floors with a dull thump. It was apparent to the journalist that Rarity’s parents (or her father, at least: he had yet to meet her mother) had gone light-mad, as in they had to have every single dark corner of the boutique smothered in light. This could happen to a pony living in the dark, something out of the norm, for so long: it affects their minds, just a little. Still though, a well lit room hides no secrets.

“Sit, sit!” Rarity’s father ordered, literally pushing the Pegasus onto a wooden stool which very nearly toppled backwards. “You’ll need to meet her mother, eh? She’ll be pleased to meet you!” He galloped off again before Weatherstorm could open his mouth, darting through a purple wood door. Weatherstorm noticed that a lot of the grand furniture in the room, such as the creamy mannequins that sat like silent sentries holding such beautiful poses and the rich red armchairs that had cradled so many customers in luxury, had all been covered over with what seemed like white bedsheets, giving the impression of ghostly spirits, their shadows twisting like long, gnarled fingers by the light of the dancing flames. Had it not been for the lit candles, the whole place would have looked rather deserted. With no full time owner, it seemed that the family were packing the place up to sell.

The sound of trotting down stairs caught his attention and a few seconds later the purple door burst open, revealing the unicorn stallion and behind him, a pink mare, also a unicorn, sporting a questionably gigantic beehive manedo. From looking at the two, Weatherstorm deduced that his dream mare received her glossy white coat from her father, and her royal purple mane from her mother...

“Well, hay there!”

...And little else.

As quick as a flash, the mare dashed over to him, roughly pulling him to his hooves with his sore arm. The stool toppled onto the floor with a clunk. She was strong, as strong as her husband, he’d give her that.

“Magnum here told me that you’re our Rarity’s coltfriend, eh?” she said in the same drolly accent as her husband’s. “I’m so pleased to meet you. What did you say your name was again, kiddo?”

Weatherstorm shook his head from left to right. Rarity’s parents were possibly the strangest couple he had laid eyes on. “I didn’t.” He gave his trademark chest pump. “It’s Weatherstorm, actually. And it is I who is pleased to make your acquaintance, I can assure you.”

The mare nudged her husband and gave him a sly wink. “Ooh. Hear that, dear? Hear how fancy he is?” She turned back to their guest. “Where do you work, Featherstorm?”

Weatherstorm ignored the unintentional mispronunciation of his name. Were he born a mare, however, that would indeed have been his name, or so his mother had told him. “I work as a journ... I mean, doctor.”

‘DARN IT!’ He never thought he'd have to battle with his own mind and common sense to make enough lies to impress the parents of a mare he talked to once a month, at most.

“Oooh! Hear that, dear? A doctor!” she cooed. “Where do you practice? Here in Ponyville Hospital, or Cloudsdale...”

‘You can’t say Ponyville,’ he told himself. ‘They might check. Cloudsdale sounds half believable...’

“Canterlot Central.”

‘Forget it,’ his common sense scolded him. ‘I’m trying to help you out here and you’re blatantly ignoring me. I’m out.’

With the abandonment of his mind, Weatherstorm decided it was about time to change the subject. “Mr Rarity, Mrs Rarity, I am so sorry... for... I mean to say, the trouble you have went through these last few days...”

“Tell me about it!” Her father butted in. “What a mess. Nightmare Moon, eternal darkness... ruined our holiday to Saddle Arabia, let me tell you. Had to cut the trip short to come back here, eh?”

“Saddle Arabia,” Her mother sighed dreamily, looking into the eyes of her husband. “Wasn’t it great, though? While it lasted, I mean?”

The stallion removed his hat. “Too warm, dear. Too warm.”

Weatherstorm scoffed, a little too loudly. The duo turned to him and said, “Anything the matter, kiddo?” in union. There WAS something wrong, all right: this couple had just lost one of their daughters, and they were treating it as about as severe as leaving the tap running unattended. He would have thought they would be mildly concerned, at the very least. Or maybe they were, but it was just impossible to tell. “Is there any chance I could see your youngest daughter, Scootabell? I need to see if she is coping all right.”

“Sweetie Belle, you mean? We didn’t even bring her...”

“I meant losing her sister.” Weatherstorm sighed. The clock, sitting perfectly on the regal purple panelled wall, chimed 12: it spoke the truth – they really were ‘cuckoo.’

The stallion gestured to the open door, leading through a room to a wooden staircase. “She’s upstairs. Poor little filly is pretty upset over Rarity, eh?”

Weatherstorm hurriedly excused himself and made his way to the staircase. This meant traversing the cluttered ‘inspiration room.’ The journalist found it so funny that a lady such as Rarity, so prim and proper, would keep a room devoted to anarchy. Sheets of paper, several of which were detailing complex sketches of beautiful flowing dresses and stunning suits, littered the cluttered floor. Several more, most coloured neatly, hung loosely on the smooth pale walls, interrupted briefly by another lit candle sconce. Glossy magazines lay in crumpled heaps, rolls of fine fabrics and other materials strewn across the room. A light, see-through tarp lay over an old, rusted sewing machine. Obviously the dressmaker did not use this room to piece together her visions into any physical properties – rather it was just for envisionment, nothing more. He crossed the sea of many things without too much incident, disregarding nearly slipping on a stray cat toy shaped like a mouse and nearly breaking his neck to a high pitched squeal, and made his way up the winding stairs to what he assumed was Rarity’s bedroom.

He stopped at the door before entering, and listened. A faint sobbing sound, soft and muffled, and as quiet as a mouse, emanated from within. Weatherstorm straightened himself up, shaking a loose sheet free of his back hoof, before giving one polite, refined knock on the door. It swung open, revealing a little filly, sitting on the edge of the pink floral bouquet duvet that lay over the queen sized bed. She was a dazzling snow white, just like her father and older sister. Her mane reminded Weatherstorm of bubblegum, a pink and purple entwined little quiff. Her shoulders heaved up and down with every muffled sob, face cupped in her little white hooves.

“Sweetie Ball?” Weatherstorm whispered, edging closer to the huddled figure. “Sweetie?”

The little unicorn slowly raised her head and looked at the newcomer with blurry, bloodshot eyes. Tears carved a path down her furred cheeks and dripped off her snout like a waterfall, making the most delicate little ‘plink’ sounds as they fell to wooden floorboards. She sniffed, and inhaled sharply. Her chest hurt from the pain of losing her sister, and from crying for 2 nights solid. “W-w-who a-are y-y-you?” The filly stuttered, tiny little sobs interrupting each word.

The Pegasus gave her his most gentle, welcoming smile. It was strange, but she looked just like a miniature Rarity. He couldn’t even comprehend how much emotional pain the unicorn was going through. Nopony this young should have to experience this. Worse still, she seemed to be going through it alone: her parents were obviously blissfully ignorant to the outside world in general. “May I sit down, Sweetie Ball?” He spoke calmly, slowly and deliberately. The filly looked like she had a lot to get off her chest.

The unicorn wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hoof. “M-my name is Sw-eetie Belle.” She swallowed her sob.

Weatherstorm nodded warmly. “Well, may I, Miss Belle?”

“M-mmm hmm.” Sweetie Belle replied.

The journalist lowered himself onto the duvet and nestled himself beside the filly. His wing outstretched and carefully wrapped itself around the quivering youth, drawing her a little closer. He smiled down at her. “It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, Miss Belle. I should introduce myself: my name is Weatherstorm.” He stared at her for a moment, as though the mention of his name was meant to provoke some sort of response from the child. He frowned when it did not. “Perhaps your sister has spoken of me...?”

Sweetie Belle snuggled in closer to his wing. He could feel her little heart beating erratically, but her slowing breathing patterns showed she was starting to feel a little more comfortable. “N-no.” She sniffed, blowing her nose on one of his feathers.

Weatherstorm cringed but said nothing. It would wash out later, surely. “Listen,” he soothed. “I am so sorry to hear that Rarity has disappeared. I know you loved her and she loved you. She loved you more than anything else in all of Equestria. She told me so herself.”

Fresh tears formed in the filly’s green eyes. “She said... she said that?”

He was lying, of course. Most conversations with his secret crush did not go very far, either due to Rarity’s lack of time to converse or Weatherstorm’s inability to converse with her. “Of course,” he reassured, cradling the young one in his wing. “She loves you with all her heart. You know that.”

Sweetie Belle, stretching herself out on the bed, allowed her tears to flow freely. “Bu-but sometimes, I mess u-up her things, a-and she yells... sometimes, I’m a bad sister...”

“No, you aren’t a bad sister.” Weatherstorm wiped away her tears with his other wing. His blue feathers tickled her nose, causing her to sneeze. No matter. It would wash out later. “You’re a wonderful little sister. And she loves you more than her dresses, more than this boutique, more than anything in this world.”

Sweetie Belle’s eyes flickered with sadness, but hope. “Will... will I ever see her again?”

“Sweetie Belle, I promise you,” Weatherstorm began with utmost confidence. “That I will get you your sister back, sweetheart. However, I need to know a few things, okay?”

The unicorn nodded.

“Your sister told me she was headed into the Everfree Forest. To the ‘Ancient castle of the royal sisters’, if my memory serves me correctly. I need to know: how did she know where to look? Did she tell you?” The stallion inquired.

“She said it was from a book.” Sweetie Belle sighed. “Like a fairy tale. She read it in the library.”

Weatherstorm nodded. Looked like another trip to the library. “Can you remember if she told you anything else? What book it was? Anything?”

“N-no. She said the less I knew the better. She didn’t...” The filly yawned, craning her neck upwards, mouth agape and eyes closed tight. “She said... she didn’t want me to get hurt.”

“That’s because she loves you.”

Sweetie Belle snuggled into Weatherstorm, and he did likewise. Within another five minutes or so, she was fast asleep, her eyes shut, snoring contently, dreaming of the way it was before: the days before Nightmares, before darkness, before isolation. Every now and again, her back hoof lashed out at some invisible demon. The poor thing had cried herself to sleep.

Weatherstorm gently unravelled his wing that the filly had wrapped herself up in, carefully tucking her into bed and blowing out the candle. Before he left, he turned back to her sleeping form and whispered, “I will get you your sister back, I promise. Sleep well, Sweetie Belle.”

The door shut silently behind him.

He could hear them talking about him downstairs. Taking particular care where he put his hooves so as not to stand on any squeaky floorboards, Cananor edged his way out of his room to the top of the stairs and pricked his ears up, listening to his parents talk amongst themselves. Their voices floated up from the hallway.

“YOU WHAT?!” His mother’s voice assaulted his earlobes. He cringed and took a few steps back. She could be a loud woman, or at least had to be, after living with her husband Blue Brigade for several years.

He heard his father hush her, stating that his son, “Could be listening.” He got that right. “I told him if he wanted my respect, he would have to earn it. Maybe it will convince him to actually do something smart with his life.”

His mother groaned. “And so he’s going off on his own now? Into the Everfree Forest? How could you be so stupid as to egg him on like that? It’s too dangerous!” The panic was clear in her voice: she didn't want her baby boy to get hurt.

Surprisingly, Cananor heard his father laugh. “Believe me, he isn’t that stupid. He said it as a spur of the moment sort of thing. Knowing him, he’ll probably sleep out somewhere tonight, and then grace us with his presence in the morning. Let him act out his little stage play: he’ll come crawling back, and he'll thank me for it.”

Cananor saw red. ‘How dare he?’ seethed the unicorn. ‘They think of me as some immature, stroppy teenager!’ The stroppy, immature teenager growled. Huffing, he made his hoof steps as deliberate and loud as possible, making sure to stamp on every creaking floorboard on the way back to his room. He slammed his room door with such force that every window in the house rattled violently in their panes. Down below, Blue Brigade paused briefly to roll his eyes, before his wife nagged at him again.

Cananor threw his rucksack onto his bed. His horn burst with magic as he piled all the essentials inside: Food and drink that had been lying there for Celestia knows how long, bandages, toothpaste, a pair of socks (To save his hooves from getting dirty)... they all went into the sack, mixed together like the most bizarre stew in creation. The unicorn tightened the cord and took a step back to admire his work. There. Perfect.

‘No, not perfect,’ his subconscious told itself. ‘I may as well just admit it: I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. This is all pointless.’

Cananor took in a long, shaky breath, held it for a moment, and then released it. He looked down at his quivering hooves.

He wasn’t ready for this. It was all... too much. He didn’t even know his own mind anymore. Why couldn’t things just go back to the way they were?

‘What difference does it make if I get myself hurt out there?’

He sat there, on the edge of his bed, for what seemed like years, his mind conflicting with his emotions. ‘I can’t go through with this.’ He sighed. ‘I... I have no confidence.’

In a way, backing down didn’t come as a surprise to the unicorn. After all, failure was something he had mastered: his father was right. He hadn’t won a single court case in his entire career. He wasn’t respected by his own parents, his clients, his aunt, his friends. Try as he might, it was getting harder and harder for him to put on a brave face in front of his friends.

Cananor the jokester. Cananor the light-hearted, fun loving guy. Happy-go-lucky. Make them laugh. Keep it together.

They never saw him cry. Neither did his parents.

Were he to just forget about the whole adventure, it would just be another failure on the ever-growing list.

The lawyer’s eyes were drawn to his tower of comic books, the only items he took enough pride in to organise. Most were issues of Phoenix Flight, neatly stacked on top of each other in numerical order. He pulled the first book from the pile.

This comic was a little more special than the others: first of all, it was as old as Cananor himself. Secondly, it held humungous sentimental value to the unicorn – it was the first Phoenix Flight comic he had ever read, back when he was a colt, and the moment his eyes made contact with the cover he knew what he wanted to be when he grew up.

The stallion levitated the comic book to eye level. It was issue #1: a collector’s item, lovingly encased in a protective bag. The title read, “PHOENIX FLIGHT: GRIFFON OF JUSTICE!” in bold capital letters, a sparkling star hovering above the logo. The half lion, half eagle looked surprisingly snazzy in a suit and tie, his dark brown feathers smoothed back and shining in the light of the courtroom. His hero struck a heroic pose on the front cover, his paw raised in defiance and pointed toward the reader, and a speech bubble stating ‘OBJECTION!’ coming from the Griffon’s mouth. Cananor smiled. Try as he might, he could never say it the way he imagined Phoenix to say it, so full of confidence and spirit…

He flicked forwards a few pages. The story of issue one was arguably one of the best: Phoenix, then just a rookie working for the Feather and Co. Law offices, had taken the job of defending his childhood friend Minna, another Griffon, from allegations that she had stolen precious gems from the Prince. The first few pages were mainly building up his character, and then the plot. Fuelled by nostalgia, he skipped forward another few pages. A double paged image showed Minna crying in frustration, her whole family turned against her, and although she turned out innocent in the end, she was contemplating admitting to the crime. Cananor stopped and read the cartoon-ishly large speech bubble twisting from Phoenix’s powerful beak: “WHAT?” The words exploded from the page. “IS THAT IT? ARE YOU JUST GOING TO GIVE UP? MINNA, LIFE ISN’T FAIR! SOMETIMES, YOU HAVE GOT TO LOOK AT YOURSELF IN THE MIRROR AND SAY, ‘WHO THE HAY DO YOU THINK I AM?’”

Cananor laughed. Phoenix was known for his motivational speeches, but this was one of his best in the series.

The four colour lawyer roughly grabbed his printed pal by her tie and pulled her closer. “YOU’VE GOT TO LOOK OUTSIDE AND SAY, ‘WHO THE HAY DO YOU THINK I AM, WORLD?’ IF YOU ADMIT TO DEFEAT, YOU’LL NEVER SUCCEED IN ANYTHING! SO GET BACK IN THAT COURTROOM AND STAND UP TALL!”

Cananor heard the voice of the Griffon echo through the room. The illustration’s twinkling eyes, looking to the reader, pierced his soul. Phoenix was talking to HIM.

“AND IF YOU DON’T THINK YOU CAN DO IT...”

“IF YOU CAN’T BELIEVE IN YOURSELF...”

“THEN REMEMBER THIS: I BELIEVE IN YOU. BELIEVE IN THAT!”

Cananor’s heart skipped a beat. Unbeknownst to him, a small smile crept along his face. A twinkle of determination returned to his eyes. He mouthed out the next line.

“SOAR THROUGH THE HEAVENS... AND BEYOND!”

He turned few more pages to the end. It was just one image: Phoenix had won the case and saved his friend. The one panel page depicted Minna locked in a loving embrace with her father. “I’m... I’m so sorry I doubted you.” Her father chocked. “I know I haven’t always been there for you, but... I love you, Minna.” Phoenix stood in the background, forelegs folded in determination. His and Cananor’s eyes met.

“IF YOU ADMIT DEFEAT, YOU’LL NEVER SUCCEED IN ANYTHING!”

“I... I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“I love you, my child.”

“I love you, dad.”

“SOAR THROUGH THE HEAVENS... AND BEYOND!”

Cananor nodded in understanding, carefully placing the comic in his rucksack. He piled a few more issues in for good measure, before throwing the bag onto his back.

He poked his head out of his bedroom door. His parents' disembodied voices continued to argue with one another.

“Why are you always in competition with your own son?”

“I’m teaching him to be a stallion! If anything, it’s you coddled him too much... he needs to stand up for himself, be strong...”

“Oh! So suddenly I'M in the wrong? You wanted him to join the guard...”

“A fine profession!”

“Oy vey, this is TYPlCAL of you, Blue. I should have listened to my mother...”

“Don’t bring your mother into this!”

Cananor closed the door with a click. He took one last look in the mirror. His eyes burned with steely determination. His hoof ran through his mane, smoothing it back in one swift sweep.

One last thing...

The little colt looked so happy in the picture. He was held in the embrace of his father, holding him in both hooves and offering him the world. Both father and son looked so happy. They were laughing.

Cananor slipped it into one of his rucksack’s side pouches. A few seconds later, he climbed out of the window and into the night.

His breath was sucked from him as he felt himself falling, then a thump as his body hit soft earth.

‘I guess I miscalculated the distance between the window and the tree...’

The unicorn threw his muddy jacket to the ground and straightened his tie, before limping off into the distance. His parents' heated voices, still locked in conflict, followed him, carried by the wind, before fading into the quiet night sky.

Starfire was the last to show up, just shortly after Weatherstorm. When questioned, he merely gave the others a nonchalant response of, “I went to the library. To gather some reading material.” Belove noticed that was the same excuse Weatherstorm had made. He wasn’t convinced.

There they stood, five young stallions way out of their depth, on the road out of Ponyville. In the distance, past the rolling green fields and flat plains, loomed the Everfree Forest.

Belove grinded his teeth. ‘This is my chance to shine. My chance to achieve stardom... and rub it in Icarus’ stupid face.’

Weatherstorm wiped the condensation from his glasses. ‘Somewhere in there, Rarity waits to be rescued. And it’ll be I who does the rescuing. Soon, my love...’

Cananor stared down at the forest with all the determination of Phoenix Flight himself. ‘I need to do this. I need to prove myself to my father... and earn his respect.’

Starfire checked through his inventory one last time. Water? Check. Bananas? Check. Insulin? Check. Books? He gave a nervous glance to his comrades, who were pre-occupied with the sight of their destination. Check. He wanted to tell himself that he was doing this for the good of Equestria. That he was driven by morality, nothing more. But he wasn’t in the habit of lying to himself and he wasn’t going to start now. He only hoped Cheerilee would think of him as an adult, and his pupils as a teacher, after he saved the world. And it would look good on his employment résumé . ‘And maybe I’ll get to meet this ‘Twilight’ I’ve heard so much about... I would like to exchange a spell or two...’

Derky stood at the end. Nopony knew if he had an ulterior motive or anything to gain from this expedition, nor did anybody truthfully care. His body language was difficult to read at the best of times.

Our five heroes didn’t see the shadowy figure watching them from above on the town hall balcony. He stood overlooking their departure; his white face was contorted in hate.

“They may prove to be troublesome, sir.”

Captain Icarus turned to the newcomer, allowing his face to bask in the light bursting through the open double doors. Inside, he could hear the populace of Ponyville down in the main hall, chanting his name like that of their dear Princess Celestia.

“Pit,” the captain cooed to his second in command, a unicorn every bit as blindly white as Icarus himself. His curly brown hair blew in the wind. “My dear Pit. Worry not. I don’t think they’ll be too much of a burden to us. Besides...”

He looked back down at the stallions walking down the solitary dirt path, before they disappeared behind a grassy hill.

“They won’t last long in the forest. And if, by some miracle, they do survive...”

“...We’ll eliminate them ourselves.”

Chapter 4

“My hooves hurt.” Weatherstorm whined, gingerly applying a little more pressure on his injured leg. A sharp, burning sensation erupted every time it met with the uneven dirt path.

“Quit your whining,” Belove barked, his voice slicing through the cold. “We’ve only been walking for ten minutes. You have wings – use them.”

Weatherstorm pouted. “If I were whining you would know about it. And my wings are quite sore to boot.”

“I’ll boot you in a minute, all right. Shut up.” Belove growled. He certainly was not in the happiest mood tonight.

“Well, I apologise if my physical wellbeing is not paramount in your quest for fame, Belove, but you were adamant that I attend this little party and, as such, I expect you to pay full attention to any moan, gripe or complaint that passes my lips.” He lifted off his hooves and carried himself upwards, hovering a little off of the ground. He didn’t allow Belove to see the smirk develop across his face: annoying his friend was one of his favourite pastimes, especially during travel.

Ignoring the mild verbal scuffle behind him, Starfire lapped in the scenery. Flat, green fields, the grass neatly trimmed to perfection, surrounded him on both sides. Occasionally, the sunburst corn fields and golden wheat plantations were interrupted by another red-wood farmhouse. One farm stood out in particular, sitting proudly on a hill in the distance like a monarch on a throne, a solitary barn and farmhouse overlooking miles of apple orchards. Ponyville was already a pretty rural town, but they had really entered the countryside now. Living as a city pony for so long, it took Starfire’s breath away: he had never seen anything like it. Rolling emerald hills, fresh flat pastures, glowing carrot gardens... the whole image was captivating. The moon had certainly never looked as big as this in Fillydelphia. The city-pony took in a nice, big gulp of fresh, clean country air: it was thick and heavy, and even TASTED different than city air – like he could bite off and chew huge mouthfuls of oxygen. He swallowed another helping before he leaned in close to Cananor, silently trotting beside him, and whispered, “Why does he speak like that?”

Cananor shook his head a little, as though shaking himself free of a daydream. “Wh- What?”

“Weatherstorm, I mean.” Explained the blonde-maned one. “Why does he speak like that?”

Cananor shrugged. “Like what?”

“Like... THAT.” Starfire lowered his voice a little more so he was out of hearing range of the pony in question. The ears of corn leaned closer, eavesdropping their conversation. “I mean, it isn’t natural, is it? Surely he puts it on.”

“You know...” Cananor pondered. “I never noticed before. I guess you just get used to it after a while.”

“But... I mean, nopony ACTUALLY talks like that, do they? I’ve heard citizens of Canterlot with more brazen accents than him.” Starfire hushed.

“I hope you fine gents know that I can hear every word you are saying as clear as a crisp spring morning back here.”

The unicorn shut up after that.

The further they walked, the smaller Ponyville became, until finally the little ball of light in the night faded from view completely. The land began to rise up at a gradient, the sloping hills slowly overpowering the flat fields. More trees began to spring up, new saplings poking their curious heads up through the fertile soil like a mole. One could only wonder how long they would last with no sunlight. Farmhouses thinned out until, a few minutes later, they disappeared completely, thus signifying an end to civilisation and a beginning to the wild unknown.

Starfire felt a bead of sweat roll down his forehead as he climbed the almost vertical hill, making sure to dig his hooves into the crumbling dirt path least he tumble down and have to restart his ascent. ‘I’m... I’m not really this out of shape, am I?’

At least he wasn’t the only pony struggling. Derky and Weatherstorm were both finding the steep ascent a strain on their wings, and Cananor’s face was beginning to show signs of exhaustion. Only Belove, who had moved ahead to the front of the party, didn’t seem all that bothered by the mountainous path. Being a serving member of the Ponyville guard, an organisation would often partake in hikes across landscapes such as this, he was comfortable trotting along uneven territories for long periods of time when compared to his friends. He stopped at the top of the hill, giving the area below a quick scan, before turning back to his slowpoke friends and yelling down, “Hurry up! You’ll want to see this!”

The other four stallions huffed and puffed their way to the top of the hill, and were met by a majestic sight: all of Equestria lay before them. The Everfree forest sprawled out below them, a sea of trees, spanning untold miles. The forest floor itself was obscured by the thick, luscious tree canopy. Far in the distance, the capital city of Canterlot jutted out from the side of a mountain, water trickling down the rock face. The great Pegasi city Cloudsdale floated effortlessly to the far West, gleaming white columned temples atop a gleaming white cloud. Beyond this grand spectacle sat the town of Hoofington, Starfire’s home of Fillydelphia and Manehatton city to the East coast and Appleloosa to the Western deserts. Of course, all that these settlements appeared as were faint lights no larger than a pin, but their distance did not lessen the beauty of the view.

The group took a few minutes to soak in the sights.

“You don’t get views like that in the city, do you Starfire?” Cananor beamed, taking in the countryside.

“Nope. I was lucky to even see the sky downtown through the smoke.” Starfire replied.

“I apologise, but that’s nothing,” Weatherstorm disrupted the two. “The view one gets from Cloudsdale is nothing short of fantastical. The scenery is guaranteed to take your breath away. Don’t you agree, Derky?”

“The altitude took my breath away.” Derky said with a deathly serious face. “There wasn’t enough oxygen up there.”

Belove tapped his hoof impatiently. “If you ladies are quite finished...?”

They slowly and cautiously made their way down the other side of the hill towards the forest. After rounding another corner, a small woodland cottage came into view. It sat just outside the forest, on the sloped bank of a narrow stream that cut the earth in two, connected to the main path by a small and grassy bridge. Heaps of grass and hay grew over the roof and spooled out over the arched doorway, bursting from the gutters and sprawling over the windowsills. Bird-feeders and nests clung to the sides of the house, like the infestation of ivy which crept up the cream-coloured walls like snakes. Several trees encircled the residence, most acting as posts from which bee hives hung, surrounding the little mound-like-house in nature. A wooden gate, paint peeling from the splintery surface, lay open. No light shone from any of the windows.

Cananor ‘humpfed’ disappointingly. “It’s a cottage,” he said to Belove. “What’s the big deal? We're not going property hunting just yet.”

Belove hurried over to the front of the house, the old gate creaking as it swung open. “Don’t you know who this house belongs to? Fluttershy.”

“Well, good for Fluttershy.” Joked the unicorn. “What’s your point?”

The guard rolled his eyes and put on his best detective face. “Fluttershy was one of the six mares who went missing two nights ago. I say we do a wee bit of snooping around, see if we can’t find some clues as to what happened to them.” He walked up and tried the mahogany half-door, twisting the knob one way and then the other. It wouldn’t budge. “Locked,” he mumbled. “We’ll need to try and find another way in.”

Weatherstorm hesitated for a moment, nervous blue eyes dating left to right behind his glasses. “Excuse me, but isn’t this technically breaking and entering? I haven’t studied law as in depth as, say, Cananor here, but I’m fairly sure that’s illegal.”

Cananor laughed at the concept of ‘studying.’ When he had attended Law College, that was the last thing he did. Still, he was with Weatherstorm on this one. The idea of breaking the law wasn't a pleasant one. "I think he's right. I don't want to start my career as an adventurer by breaking into houses. It's not in the official hero handbook, last time I checked."

Belove scoffed off the idea of petty morality. “Listen, the place looks pretty abandoned. If it could help us find Nightmare Moon quicker, I say we bend the rules a little. Besides,” he tipped his helmet. “Who’s going to arrest us, sure? I AM the law.”

The others laughed at that. Belove wasn’t happy.

Starfire leaned in close to the window, wiping away cobwebs with his hoof. He pressed his nose against the glass, squinting into the dark interior. It was pitch black inside, too dull to make anything out, but he was sure he could see shadows moving in the gloom...

Weatherstorm stepped over another broken chicken coop as he made his way across the back yard. It was obvious that Fluttershy was keeping a poultry farm of sorts. There were no chickens present in the garden, but traces of them; white feathers lay scattered across the grass, blowing silently in the wind, leading up to the Everfree Forest. Perhaps when their master did not return, the feathered fiends took a desperate break for freedom...?

Turning his attention back to the house, Weatherstorm noticed that the back door was slightly ajar. The journalist carefully sidestepped a jagged roll of chicken wire protruding from the earth and wrapped his wing around the door knob. The brass was cool to the touch and sent a little shiver down his back.

With one sharp tug, the door swung open with a groan and Weatherstorm found himself face to face with a bear.

The bear, obviously as surprised as the pony, widened its wild eyes in surprise and dropped his teacup, saucer and all, ceramic smashing on the hard tiled floor in a pool of tea.

Weatherstorm casually closed the door in its face. He hastily walked off, wiping his glasses with the back of his wing. He definitely needed a new pair.

He placed the black, square rimmed spectacles back onto the end of his nose, adjusting the temples and earpieces over his flicking ears. It was then that he saw them: hoofprints in the grass, six pairs, all lined up neatly in a row. They lead into the Everfree Forest. He bent over and examined them closer, blades of fresh green grass tickling his muzzle. A little ladybird scuttled across one set of hoofprints that caught the Pegasus’ attention in particular: they were so dainty and light, barely disturbing the grass at all. They could belong to none other than Miss Rarity of the Carousel Boutique.

“Gentlecolts!” Weatherstorm called out to his friends, who were still trying to find a way to break into the cottage. “Excuse me, gentlecolts, but I appear to have found something of interest!”

Belove’s voice floated over the roof. “Is it a way in?”

“Actually, yes, but I would advise against it. I have, however, found something even better: that would be, the exact entry point of the previous party who entered the forest.”

There was a flurry of movement, and suddenly Weatherstorm was surrounded by excitable stallions.

“Hoofprints!” Belove squealed, his deep voice cracking a little. He cleared his throat, a little embarrassed, before continuing. “They’re pretty fresh, only made a few days...”

“Nights,” Starfire corrected him.

Belove shot him a dirty look. “...Nights ago. If we follow these prints through the forest, they could lead us straight to Nightmare Moon!”

“Or straight to our doom.” Starfire chirped in again. “Don’t you realise that following the tracks of six ponies that disappeared might lead us to the same fate?”

“He’s right,” Cananor sided with his fellow unicorn. “It would be like walking into a Ursa Major's mouth because it's holding a sign saying 'Warm and roomy.' Besides, you know the way, don’t you, Starfire? You know where Nightmare Moon is hiding out, yeah?”

Starfire shifted uncomfortably from one hoof to the other. “Well, I mean... I did say I knew a bit about her, and her... weaknesses, didn’t I?” He turned to Weatherstorm. “Didn’t I?”

Weatherstorm nodded. “Indeed you did.”

The look he gave Starfire was impossible for him to describe; it wasn’t really a smile, or a frown, but a stern sort of expression that said, ‘I know, Starfire.’

The unicorn gulped.

“But chalk this down as a rare occurrence, because for once, I actually agree with Belove. These tracks are recent, and will lead us directly to the missing mares. I say we follow them.”

Cananor sighed. “You’re just saying that because you’re so infatuated with Rarity that it clouds your judgement.”

Weatherstorm denied the allegations.

“Derky, we need your vote.” Belove called out to the Pegasus who was busy having a fight with a bunny over a carrot.

“Huh?” the ginger maned stallion turned his attention to his friends, thus distracting him from the scaled-down tug of war and resulting to a miniature roundhouse kick to the face. The rabbit stuck out his mischievous tongue, bundled his prize up and hopped in through the back door, slamming it behind him.

Derky clenched his sore jaw. It clicked a few times as he talked. “What did you say?”

“I said, do you want to follow these hoofprints left behind by the six mares that lead through the forest and directly to Nightmare Moon, or do you want to pointlessly crack on along that path until we reach the proper entrance to the forest, likely miles from where we have to be. Your choice, so it is.”

“Ugh...” Derky placed a hoof under his chin in thought. “I have to go with the first one. Final answer.”

“That’s just because he made the second option sound rubbish!” Cananor protested.

“It did sound rubbish, yeah...” Derky replied, only half listening. His mind was elsewhere: ‘Stupid rabbits...’

“Well,” Belove beamed with a clasp of his hooves, a cocky smirk prevalent. “That’s three votes against two. Sorry guys, but democracy wins. We’re following the hoof-tracks.”

Starfire grunted in annoyance. Belove clearly loved getting his own way and he began to wonder who the bigger poser was: Belove or Icarus. However, he was in no position to argue. He only wished Belove would trust him a little more, but the idiot likely was still under the impression that he was a spy.

Belove walked right up to the small opening in the thick undergrowth and parted a few of the bushes with his hooves. “This way. And be quick about it,” he barked. “I don’t want Icarus catching up.” With that, he disappeared into the forest, his short tail swishing behind him.

The others hesitated, obviously not showing his degree of enthusiasm to venture into what was possibly one of the most dangerous and least documented areas of Equestria.

“The Everfree Forest,” gulped Cananor. “I’ve heard plenty of stories about this place. They say that the plants in there grow on their own or something.”

Derky nodded. “I heard that the animals are all wild. Some of them have never even seen us ponies before.”

Weatherstorm’s teeth chattered. “An old sailor once told me a tale, that the clouds move all on their own, and that weather occurs without pony intervention.”

Derky shivered. “That’s weird. That’s really, really weird.”

“Rubbish,” the unicorn lawyer laughed. “Is that the same sailor who sold you that map to the forgotten underwater treasure of the sea-ponies?”

“That could well be real.”

“It was drawn on the back of a napkin. In crayon.”

Belove burst from the bushes, nearly giving them a heart attack. “Are you lot coming or what?”

The foursome grudgingly complied, Weatherstorm flying though first, Derky following, Cananor second last, which just left Starfire. He was halfway through the shrubbery when he turned behind him and took one last look at the natural world. Where he was going was anything but natural. The bright white moon winked at him, either wishing him good luck or mocking him. The unicorn took one last bite of the country air before he entered the claustrophobic, stuffy dark of the forest.

“My wings hurt.” Weatherstorm whinged, stretching the appendages above his head.

“Quit your whinging,” Belove growled, his voice cutting though the gloom. “We’ve only been walking for half an hour. You have legs – use them.”

Weatherstorm was silent for a moment, before replying with “Deja-Vu, I believe is the correct term.”

Belove face-hoofed.

The forest was certainly like nothing Starfire had ever seen before: or rather, it would have been, had he been able to see it.

But right now, the unicorn was having trouble seeing a few feet in front of himself.

Whilst not pitch black by any standards, it was still very dark in the forest, darker than what it had been in town. There were two reasons for this: the town had an ample supply of street lights that, although they obviously did not compare to the light of the sun, still managed to illuminate the area rather well and secondly the forest was just that – a forest. Very little of the moon’s natural light managed to pierce through the thick tree canopy.

The trees themselves were, from what Starfire could make out, nothing like any trees he had ever seen before. Despite having an interest, he hardly considered himself a master botanist, and Ponyville trees were nothing like these. Hundreds stood on either side of the weed ridden forest dirt path, worn away and eroded through years of use. Some were old, dark oak trees, branches snapped and missing random patches of bark, whilst others were weeping willows, crying green tears, their long and drooping branches swaying softly in the wind which carried their silent sobs. They lined in uneven rows, thousands as far as the eye could see, stooped over the narrow pathway like gnarled sentries, watching their every step. Perhaps it was just the dark playing tricks on him, but Starfire could almost make out faces in the trunks; evil, sneering smiles...

"I don't trust these trees."

Weatherstorm made Starfire jump a little in surprise, but the pegasus didn't notice. "What did you say?" Starfire stuttered, trying to return his erratically beating heart to normal.

Weatherstorm lowered his altitude a little, as well as his voice. "These trees," he whispered in the student's ear. "I know that it sounds rather childish and ridiculous, but... I don't quite trust them."

Starfire gulped and took a look behind him. He couldn't even see the entrance anymore, his vision obscured by thick, gooey blackness. A low lying branch scraped across his cheek, like a skeletal arm clutching at him with bony, lifeless fingers. He cringed, looking back up at the branch's owner: a towering wooden torso with a devilish grin engraved in the bark, it's eye-holes narrowed in sick perverted pleasure at his fear. A gust of wind blew through it's gaping mouth, a low, guttural moan rising from within.

Everypony stopped dead.

"I don't like this." Derky exhaled heavily. "I don't like this one bit."

Weatherstorm squinted his eyes into the darkness. "I must agree. Maybe we should turn back, find another route perhaps...?"

Starfire swiveled around, trying to determine where his friends were. The desolate path seemed to be growing darker and darker by the second. "Do we even know which way is 'back'? I can't see a thing."

"Quit being such babies, lads." Belove's teeth involuntarily chattered, his voice a lot less confident that what he wanted it to be. "They're only trees."

"I'm not sure if you guys be-leaf me, but I think these trees have minds of their own." Cananor swiped at a low lying branch which was shifting closer and closer to his tail, almost trying to clasp it in it's deathly embrace.

"Please refrain from over-doing it with the puns, Cananor. It's far too early into our journey to make us want to throw ourselves off of a cliff."

"But I was root-ing for a few more..."

"Wood you stop it already? Look, you have me making puns now."

"Oak-ay. Just trying to keep the mood light. It's times like these..." he shuddered, before continuing. "It's times like these that I remember what my father told me when I was a colt."

Weatherstorm felt a claustrophobic panic attack coming on. He inhaled sharply, trying to imagine himself in a wide, open field. "And... what was that, may... I ask?"

“Shut up and be a stallion for once in your life, you wimp.”

Weatherstorm cringed. “I fail to feel particularly motivated by that.”

“Yeah, my dad is kind of useless, I know.” The lawyer shrugged it off. “That’s why Phoenix Flight became my role model instead. And I know this: he wouldn’t be scared by a few stupid trees!”

Starfire felt another stick-like finger claw at his back. He spun around to find nothing. “I... I guess so...”

“You know,” Cananor continued, “I think he once sang a song about facing your fears. It was in issue #79, part 3, ‘Courtroom of Doom’, when...”

Belove interrupted his ramblings with a cough. “If you’re going to sing, then do it. Maybe it’ll take our mind off of the walk.”

The unicorn cleared his throat. “Okay, let’s see here... How did it go again... Oh, yeah!”

There was a flourish of aqua blue, his caramel coat camouflaging him into the darkness, as Cananor leapt atop a moss-covered log and stood up on his hind legs. “Ahem.” He took a deep breath.

Another deep, mournful moan rose from one of the tree’s wooden lips. Loud, and close.

Starfire shuddered a little, but stayed put. “Okay, Cananor, what were you about to...”

Cananor was the first to flee, already galloping as fast as his hooves could carry him.

Weatherstorm was right behind him. Starfire could hear his terrified, heavy breathing. Derky clung to the Pegasus’ tail, screaming rather loudly, allowing himself to be dragged along the rocky road face first. Even his panic was droll.

Belove hesitated for a second, bouncing from hoof to hoof on the spot, calling after his fleeing friends. “Come back!” He cupped his mouth, crying out in vain. “You pack of eejits! It’s only the wind!” He punched a nearby branch. The branch punched him back.

A few seconds later he was running down the path as well, kicking up leaves behind him, wailing “Wait for me!”

Starfire would have laughed at the over-confident, self-sure soldier reduced to a gibbering foal had it not been for his own perilous situation. Another bony hand brushed across his fur, parting the fibres like a rake. Then another. Hundreds of stick- like hands reaching for him, clutching at his mane, whispering death.

“You’ll never leave,” they sang sadly, a chorus of cries. “Join us.”

Terrified, the unicorn twisted away from the fingers and ran. He wasn’t sure which way he was running: they way he had came or the way he had yet to go. Maybe the way he had yet to go was really the way he had came? Where was the path?

“Guys!” he called out, blind in the dark of the forest. Another branch poked at his cheek. Starfire screamed, a shrill, ear piercing call for help. “Guys! Where are you?”

He dared look behind himself for but a second. It was enough time to see the thousands of hollow, lifeless eyes, the frail, skeletal frames, the malevolent, murderous mouths... tree guardians following him, plotting his demise.

Starfire tripped over another rock, collapsing face-first into a heap of decaying leaves.

Where am I? Where are the others?

He certainly wasn’t on the path anymore, that was for sure. The unicorn had no idea where he was at all. Everything looked the same: old, dead trees shrouded in shadows.

He looked desperately for a way back onto the road, to no avail. The whispering grew closer. The moans grew louder.

Starfire pushed desperately against the thick black dark, twisting this way and that, futilely avoiding the ensnaring grip of the dead trees. Another branch wrapped it’s bony embrace around his tail and began to tug, pulling him backwards into the dark.

“Come with me.”

Starfire felt himself falling, and let out one final scream.

And suddenly, he was on his back, staring into the comforting eyes of one beige coated unicorn. His saviour’s aqua – green mane drooped over his horn, ticking the student’s nose. His hoof was still firmly wrapped around Starfire’s golden tail, holding it aloft like a bunch of bananas.

Starfire shook the birds and stars from his head before shakily getting to his hooves. “What is your problem?” he groggily inquired. He swatted at the last remaining bird with his hoof, which burst into nothingness. “Why did you run like that?”

Cananor sighed deeply and dropped his friend’s tail. “I don’t know... I was scared, alright? I got SPOOKED.”

Starfire took a few seconds to analyse his surroundings. At least he could see where he was, several white shafts of the moon’s glow trickling down through holes in the ceiling of leaves. He appeared to be in a small forest clearing of sorts, cut off from the rest of the forest by a wall of hedges, perfectly circular and surprisingly peaceful, colourful wildflowers standing defiant amongst the common grass. And none of the flora looked like them wanted to cause him grieves bodily harm, so that was a plus. However, despite his somewhat calming environs, Starfire couldn’t help but feel uneasy: the forest’s aura was unbalanced, natural energies locked in a conflict with magical energies. As a unicorn, a magical being that was in tune with the feel of the world, he had felt it as soon as he had crossed into the forest. The whole thing felt highly unnatural, leaving the student a little weak at the knees.

Starfire’s heart stopped as he saw the bush he had been dragged through quiver a little, leaves shaking free and floating to the soil like ghosts. The bush rustled again, louder this time.

Cananor gulped. “Either that's the wind, or we've got...”

A light blue pony burst out of the bush, tumbling head over hooves a few times before coming to a stop on his face. The stallion’s trademark spectacles careered from his nose, abseiling across the length of the green before landing in the soil with a thump. He groaned dazedly, slowly picking himself off the ground. “Excuse me, gents...” he spat out a twig. “But could one of you kindly locate my glasses? I seem to have misplaced them.”

His spectacles were levitated back to their rightful home on the end of his nose. “Thank you.”

Another crash came from above them as another Pegasus joined them, this time falling through a large Derky-shaped hole in the tree canopy. He hit the ground with an unforgiving thump. “Ugh...” he snorted, testing his wings to make sure they were still in working order. “How... how did I get up there?” They decided not to ask.

The earth pony was the last to stumble into the circle of nature, literally rolling out from under the hedge like a sleeping bag. When questioned, he merely emptied his helmet out leaves and said, “Don’t ask.”

It was when he heard the rustling of leaves for the fourth time that Starfire realised they needed to get out of there.

“Wow, that was pretty intense, right?” Cananor laughed, his voice still shaking.

“Shh!” hushed Starfire. “Can’t you hear that?”

“Indeed,” Weatherstorm agreed. “I mean, I can’t quite recall why we were fleeing again, but regardless...”

“Be quiet!” Starfire warned, his eyes locked on the hedgerow. “I think...”

“Huh,” Belove sniggered coldly. “Speak for yourself. I wasn’t fleeing. I was just stretching my hooves.”

“SHUT UP, YOU FOALS!” Starfire’s sudden outburst had the desired effect. The chattering phased out instantly, and 10 ears pricked up, listening intently.

Derky’s voice lowered to a rasp. “What is it?”

“SHH!”

The bush quivered again. This time everypony heard it, and everypony saw it.

Belove’s ears flattened against his scalp in fear. “What do you think it is?”

Starfire's horn glinted slightly, just a tiny spark of blue magic that briefly illuminated the clearing, and five terrified sets of eyes.

“I’m not sure,” the unicorn replied. “But it’s getting closer. I can feel it.”

Somewhere behind them, a leaf crunched.

They span around, their hearts in their mouths, as another bush began to shake. Violently this time.

“It appears,” Weatherstorm gulped. “That it is moving around us. Encircling us, if you will.”

The five stallions assumed battle formation, striking a pose that looked far more heroic in their over-active imaginations.

Starfire took to the front of their arrow- shaped position, his head lowered and horn pointed straight at the vibrating hedgerow. Belove stood to his left, crouching low, ready to spring onto their imminent assailant. Behind him, Derky cowered, leaning against a mossy log for support. Fighting wasn’t really his thing. Well, he hadn’t discovered what his thing was yet, but he knew it wasn’t fighting. Weatherstorm floated like a butterfly to his right, his hooves balled into a classic boxing stance in front of him. His thousand-yard stare said a thousand words: he was both petrified and strangely excited. Cananor stood slightly away from him, his magic wrapped around a small, flimsy looking tree branch, poised at the shrubbery. His face showed signs of determination, but his eyes, wide and dilated, said otherwise.

Another crunch. This time, the snapping of a twig.

Starfire glared at the trembling shrub. He licked once at a bead of sweat and exhaled, blowing wispy air into a thin veil of moonlight. “Get ready. Here it comes...”

The monster burst from the bush with a squeak.

It took less than a second for Starfire to register the so called monster as a harmless woodland squirrel.

Breathing a sigh of relief, they lowered their guard, thankful that they had yet to be ripped apart by a savage, wild animal.

“Hello, little squirrel.” Derky cooed to the fluffy rodent, which was busying itself scurrying along the forest floor, shoving acorns into its cheek pouches which bulged to the brim.

Belove laughed as the squirrel looked up at the unicorn, let out a tiny shrill squeak of panic, and bolted back into the hedge from whence it came. “You know, I kind of expected...”

The monster leapt the hedge with a single mighty bound, its huge glistening clawed paws connecting with Belove’s back and sending him spiralling onto his chest. The earth pony didn’t even have time to cry out, let alone register what had just happened. He lay there for a moment on the wet grass, amongst the leaves and the flowers. ‘What in the hay was that?’

Groggily rolling onto his back, Belove came muzzle to muzzle with a ferocious Manticore, its gleaming white knife-like fangs glinting in the moonlight. The beast’s red lion’s mane was wild and untamed, and its fearsome red eyes glowed hungrily as it loomed closer to its prey. Licking its furred lips with a long, forked tongue, the half lion, half dragon placed two powerful paws on the earth pony’s hooves, pinning the squirming equine to the ground. It leaned in closer, so close that Belove could feel its hot, rancid breath part the hair of his mane. A long, armour-plated scorpion’s tail uncurled from behind it, the deadly spiked appendage poised directly at Belove’s face, swaying hypnotically like a charmed snake, a poisonous serpent spitting fatal venom.

The Manticore smiled, revealing rows upon rows of daggers protruding from its gums. It was going to enjoy playing with its victim...

Belove watched helplessly as the scorpion tail lunged forward. He closed his eyes and waited for the sweet embrace of darkness.

In fact, quite the opposite happened. The first thing Belove felt was a tremendous gust of wind blow over him, accompanied by a blindingly white flash of what had to have been lightning and a boom so deep it could have been none other than thunder, and then the weight on his chest was lifted.

Daring to peek with one eye, Belove saw the Manticore get propelled backwards by a focused beam of blue energy, blasting back over the hedge with a guttural roar.

Visibly shaken, Belove lay sprawled on the green grass for a few seconds. A butterfly lowered itself onto his nose, a stark contrast to the brief moment of violence that had taken place.

Starfire gave another nervous glance toward the shrubbery. His hoof outstretched toward the guards-pony. “Need a hoof?”

His invitation was rejected with a swipe, as Belove stumbled onto all fours, unaided. “I’m fine. Could’ve handled it myself anyway.”

The others stood in shock, their mouths agape. “What...” Cananor stammered. “...Just happened?”

“Manticore.” Replied Starfire, matter-of-factly. He still seemed uneasy. “I thought as such. I could feel its presence.”

“My dear Starfire, it appears that you are quite the hero.”

Belove scowled, brushing off the snail that had taken up residence on his chest. “I said I could have taken care of it myself...”

With another blood-curdling cry, the Manticore launched itself over the bushes and toward Belove, razor sharp claws aimed right at his head. The earth pony barely had time to give a small chirp of surprise and throw himself back to the ground as the glinting claws swiped at the air, slashing empty space where mere milliseconds ago his head had been.

The Manticore’s long fingernails sliced through Belove’s terrified whimpers and pierced the soft earth, jamming in the soil, immobilising it. Cananor took the opportunity to strike the struggling creature on the back of the head with his stick, which had little more effect on the towering predator than timidly blowing on it.

The creature tugged his claws free, tearing up blades of grass and clumps of soil in the process. Its long, copper mane brushed over it’s bloodshot eyes as it turned slowly, menacingly, towards it’s attacker, bearing it’s dagger-like fangs. A low, guttural growl rose from it’s throat.

Cananor gulped, the ice-blue aura diminishing from around the stick. It fell to the ground with a soft, muffled thump. “It was him.” He pointed to his neon blue pal.

The Manticore swivelled around to face the accused, snarling, saliva dripping from his black gums and making wet slapping sounds as it pooled on the grass.

“Excuse me?” Weatherstorm threw his hooves in front of him defensively. “I did no such thing, Mr Manticore. And I give you my word as a gentlecolt on that.” His eyes rolled to Starfire, who was struggling to keep himself on all fours. “Starfire, I don’t mean to rush you, but I would really appreciate another one of those... THINGS, you just did.”

Starfire inhaled sharply. “Give me a... minute.” He exhaled heavily. “Spells like that on a foe that big take a minute or two to recover from.”

“Oh, of course.” Weatherstorm nodded sarcastically. “But I doubt,” he continued to the seething beast, “That my word means much to a rather, how do I put this, UNCOUTH fellow such as yourself...”

The Manticore bellowed in rage at the blatant insult, its eyes flashing red in anger.

“Apologies, sir. I didn’t mean to cause insult but... Well, yes actually, I did. You can’t saunter around, attacking innocent ponies when you see fit to do so. Belove may be far from the perfect pony...”

“Hey!” Belove exploded, jumping back onto his hooves. “You take that back.”

Weatherstorm ignored him. “...But that is no valid reason for nearly ripping his head off.”

His words of wisdom fell on deaf ears.

“Derky,” he whispered to the Pegasus behind him. “You’re quite good with animals, aren’t you? See how you fare with this gent.”

“W-What should I do?”

“I don’t know!” Weatherstorm hissed. “Anything you can, that preferably does not get us ingested.”

Derky did what was quite possibly the most unexpected thing Starfire had ever seen in his life. He leaned back against the moss covered, fallen log, scooped up a poisonous snake that was slithering across it’s surface in a steady hoof, and casually threw the serpent at the Manticore with a grunt of effort.

The snake hit the half lion, half dragon square between the eyes with a wet smack, sliding down its emotionless face with a sound akin to a squeegee rubbing against a soapy window pane. It did nothing to better the monster’s mood. The snake gave a low, cold blooded warning hiss before slipping up a tree and into the high branches above.

“Really? That was your plan? Throwing a dangerous animal at an even more dangerous animal?”

The light brown Pegasus shrugged, his ginger mane falling over his gentle green eyes. “I’m not good with animals at all...”

Weatherstorm folded his hooves, trying to look as intimidating as possible, floating there in a pillar of creamy moonlight. In reality, he looked as intimidating as a baby kitten entangled in a ball of yarn. “Well, since we cannot settle this little squabble like civilised beings, I’m afraid I’ll have to get my hooves dirty and engage in combat with you. Now, before we begin, I say we lay down a few rules...”

The Manticore rushed towards him like a bull to a red flag, slapping him in his bespectacled face by the back of its paw so hard that the Pegasus was lifted out of the air and sent sprawling through the hedge wall, disappearing into the thick blackness outside their little sanctuary.

Belove saw crimson. “Don’t you dare,” he bellowed, “Touch Weatherstorm!” The Manticore had little time to bask in its recent victory before Belove pushed his powerful hind legs forward, bucking the wild animal square on the jaw with an almighty kick. His hooves connected with a sickening crunch, sending the Manticore stumbling backwards, clutching its mouth, dazed and thoroughly shaken.

The earth pony span around and flexed his muscular gaskins, ready for round two. The Manticore spat out a tooth: a long, curved fang. It comically poked at the hole in its gums with its flopping tongue, before issuing a deep, deliberate growl which slowly escalated in pitch and ended with a blood-curdling roar.

It was on now.

Belove champed his teeth, pawing at the ground with his hoof, ready to charge at his opponent. Hos opponent did likewise.

“Quit jumping out of those bushes and fight me, Pony on Manticore!”

The Manticore took up the challenge, rushing toward him, tail raised, like a speeding train. Just before he connected with Belove, the earth pony nimbly sidestepped him like a matador.

The Manticore realised his mistake too late. The hulking furred form smashed into a tree whose sneer turned into an open scream, snapping the trunk in two like it were a twig, sending shrapnel like wood exploding into the night sky.

Starfire wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass him by. He mustered up his remaining strength to levitate the idle fallen log from its resting place; dark earth trickling out from the holes on either side, placing the trunk in Derky’s outstretched hooves.

“Derky,” he commanded. “Now!”

The Pegasus nodded in understanding, positioning himself at quite an altitude above the dazed Manticore, cradling the heavy oak log like a child in its mother’s hooves.

The Manticore, staggering like it had consumed too much apple cider, shook away its concussion just in time to see the winged pony release his grip on the wooden block, sending it spiralling down at him, growing larger and larger.

The monster growled in surprise. It was a good thing nopony spoke Manticore, because what he was saying was most fowl. The log smashed into his face with a dull thump, sending the beast sprawling onto the grass. He didn’t move.

The onlookers cringed as the Manticore collapsed to the ground, which shook violently as though during an earthquake. It was at this moment that Weatherstorm fell back through the hedge into the circular clearing, re-adjusting his glasses.

‘If I have to climb through one more hedge today...’

His eyes widened in shock when he saw the unconscious form of the Manticore, drool dribbling down its cheeks. “Oh my... did you do that?”

Cananor came out from the tree he was hiding behind and rubbed his hoof through his aqua mane. “Well, I don’t mean to brag, but I handled that situation pretty well.”

Weatherstorm pointed to the stirring monster. It opened one bruised eye, and then the other, hungrily licking its lips. Slowly, like a cobra ready to strike, it rose from the grass, stumbling on all fours like a newborn foal. “No offence, but you didn’t do a very good job.”

Starfire groaned, not daring to turn around. “He’s a determined one, isn’t he?”

The Manticore regained his balance, gingerly feeling the bump on his forehead with his paw. He winced, then growled, his eyes narrowed and bent on revenge.

The five assumed their previous battle position, anticipating one heck of a fight.

The fight arrived, but just not how they expected it to do so.

It was Captain Icarus who burst through the bush first, a streak of white lightning as pale as the moon itself. His golden breastplate shone like a chalice, the blue feather of his Corinthian helmet a precious sapphire.

He was followed by another wearing the uniform of the Elite Canterlot Bodyguards, a nimble and slick looking unicorn with a curly brown mane. He had a serious face, the sort that suggested he smiled sparsely, and deep, piercing eyes, focused on the Manticore. Obviously a pony of few words and committed to his work.

The other three members of his squad, all identical in build and size, flew in after their leader, the scowls they wore showing they meant business.

Starfire, taken aback by the captain and his squad’s unexpected arrival, wondered if the hedge was actually a portal to another dimension. It would certainly explain the vast number of organic beings spontaneously jumping through.

A flicker of fear flashed through the Manticore’s primal eyes as Icarus uttered but one word, as triumphant as a war bugle. “CHARGE!”

The order was followed, the other four bodyguards rushing the beast with incredible speed. The unicorn was the first to strike, propelling himself skyward with a little help from one of the Pegasi. The Manticore was knocked backwards from the force of his atomic elbow drive, knocking what little sense the beast had clean out of his skull. It had little time to recover as one of the Pegasi swooped past his teetering body, his outstretched hoof catching the Manticore square on the nose.

Starfire winced at the resounding crunch the punch made. Even though it had nearly devoured him, he couldn’t help but feel strangely sympathetic towards the Manticore. These ‘Elite Royal Bodyguards’ were brutal, and that was putting it lightly.

Another of the Pegasi flew directly upwards, upper-cutting the Manticore under the chin. The thing’s eyes rolled backwards, barely able to hold onto consciousness.

Icarus watched the beating take place with an almost sick pleasure, his front hooves folded comfortably and smiling in glee. “That’s it, stallions! Keep attacking!”

He turned his head to the onlookers and removed his helmet, his amazingly blonde mane sweeping across his chiselled features. “Lovely!” He beamed, surprisingly cheerily. “How good to see you again!”

Belove groaned in utter disgust. “It’s BELOVE. And sure, we talked little over two hours ago, so we did.”

Icarus nodded, patting his ‘friend’ on the back with a powerful hoof that nearly sent Belove sprawling to the mud. “Ah, yes: Belove. I heard what sounded like a struggle,” He closed his eyes in pride. “From behind yonder hedgerow, so I ordered my squad to investigate.” The Pegasus motioned to his squad, who were relentlessly kicking the living hay out of the Manticore. “And I am sure you are thankful of the timing of our arrival. But worry not: there is no need to thank me.”

Belove snorted. “You’ll be waiting a long time for any gratitude.”

The earth pony’s cold tone seemed to displease the captain. “Regardless,” he said ,his smile diminishing. “You fine stallions can return to Ponyville now. We’ll take it from here.”

“I’ll think not. We’ll be rescuing the princess, thank you very much. Your days of fame are numbered, my friend.” Belove added with a wink.

Icarus’ face dropped completely, his wings suddenly standing to attention, casting an intimidating shadow. “I really suggest you return home and let the real stallions deal with this.”

Belove’s instincts kicked in, his muscles tightening instantly. “And I really suggest you kiss my flank.”

Surprisingly, Icarus laughed. He had a strange laugh; mocking, cold, calculating, patronising. “Well, my dear Belove, I was hoping that you may have had some sort of sense about you. It doesn't seem likely. Remember: you're making me do things I do not want to. You're the one forcing my hoof here.”

Weatherstorm voiced his opinion from the back. “Belove, can you please cease antagonising your nemesis and hurry up?”

Icarus grabbed for the guard with a snarl, baring his flashing white teeth which looked far less appealing in the dark of the forest. Belove ducked at the last moment, the hoof just brushing across his face, parting the fur. The earth pony recoiled in horror. “You... you tried to punch me!”

Icarus took a step back and flapped his royal wings once, a terrible look of malice in his eyes. “Attention, stallions!” He called to his squad.

Pit and the other three bodyguards stopped short, their hooves mere inches from trampling the poor Manticore’s bruised face. The defenceless beast let out a long, pained sigh of relief.

“As of this moment,” continued the captain. “These five stallions you see before you are to be treated as hostiles. I would like for you to forcefully remove them from the forest post-haste.”

The unicorn, Pit, rubbed his hooves together in violent anticipation. The other three Pegasi cracked their necks in a most thuggish manner, smiling. “It’ll be our pleasure, sir.”

They inched closer and closer, advancing on the group with their hooves outstretched, with faces of evil intent. "It's for your own good, stallions. It's for your own good."

The guards did not, however, see the long, twisting scorpion tail rise slowly above them. It was attached to a rather peeved Manticore, who was rather peeved at them in particular.

The low, gravelly growl caught them dead in their tracks. Wincing, they sluggishly turned back into the snarling jaws of the Manticore. One look at its face told them it was not too happy at being beaten about. The crack of its knuckles echoed through the clearing, scattering timid birds like leaves.

Starfire didn't wait around to see round 2, but he heard the panicked screams tear through the Manticore's roars. He took the brief distraction as a means of escape, ducking low to avoid the dazed body of a Pegasus swoop past, and followed Cananor, Derky and Weatherstorm through the bushes. He didn’t know what exactly lay on the other side, but whatever it was, it was better than here. “Belove!” the unicorn called back to his newfound ally. “Over here!”

The earth pony leaped over the Manticore’s wildly swishing tail like the most dangerous game of jump-rope ever recorded. “I know!” he called back, narrowly avoiding the tip of the scorpion tail which thrust into the ground mere inches from where he was standing, digging up dirt in an explosion of soil. “I’m capable of finding my own way out, thank you very much!”

The Manticore, however, was still locked in a brutal conflict with Icarus and his men. One Pegasus dared to fly too close, the only reward for his bravery a punch to the stomach. He fell to the earth with a grunt, winded, followed by a trail of white feathers. Another bodyguard leapt on the beast’s tail, thrown around like a rodeo champ, screaming as he was tossed this way and that. Finally, his grip on the scaled appendage diminished and he was sent sailing into a nearby tree with such force that the thing was uprooted, toppling dangerously, groaning in protest like a teetering drunk.

Belove didn’t notice the obvious danger hazard, but Starfire, watching from the bushes, did.

“Belove!” The unicorn screamed over the noise of the battlefield. “Look out!”

The earth pony stopped mid-gallop. “What? Are you acting the maggot?”

Starfire cupped his mouth with one hoof and pointed to the looming tree with the other. “That tree is about to fall!” He desperately warned. “Look out!”

“I told you!” Belove sneered. “I can…” A heavy, weary groan, like a zombie’s moan, was what it took to catch his attention. Eyes widened in horror, he watched as the old oak tree toppled to one side, barrelling toward him like a freight train. The sound of wood splitting and cracking burst through the air as the roots of the tree finally uprooted from the soil, ripping up weeds and flowers alike. The colossal wooden trunk gave one final breath of defeat, tired of holding onto life, and toppled forward. Belove was held rooted in fear for a few moments as he stared up at the falling tree, his flight or fight instincts in complete lockdown. The tree’s screaming, wooden face edged closer and closer to his, like a twisted lover’s embrace.

“Belove!”

“BELOVE!”

Starfire’s sharp, panicked tone brought Belove back to Equestria with a bump. The guard gave one quick glance back up at the falling tree before breaking into a full sprint.

The last thing he saw was Starfire’s outstretched hoof, and then nothing but black.

Belove?

BELOVE?

BELOVE!

He heard the unicorn’s voice bellow through the darkness. The rustle of leaves. The roar of a Manticore. The war cry of a certain captain.

And then light.

Well, moonlight, to be precise.

But a little moonlight was better than nothing.

“Belove!” Are you okay?”

The earth pony shifted uncomfortably. “Aye...” he replied meekly, his breath short. Something sharp was digging into his side. He only hoped he hadn’t been impaled. That would be most problematic in his quest for fame.

“Listen,” Starfire’s voice floated through the darkness. “You avoided the tree but got hit by a branch. I think you might have a concussion.”

Belove scoffed. “I think YOU might have a concussion.”

He heard Starfire sigh. “No I don’t. Listen, you’re trapped under the branch at the moment. I can levitate it off of you, but I need you to stay very still.”

Belove groaned. “I know you haven’t known me all that long, but staying still isn’t my scene.”

“Well, MAKE it your scene if you don’t want a branch growing out of your torso.”

“RIGHT, FINE.”

Starfire took a step back. He could clearly see Belove’s left hind leg comically sticking out from under the thick tree branch, adorned with thousands of green leaves. The pony this hoof was attached to was buried somewhere under all this foliage.

Behind the tree, Icarus and the Elites were tearing away at the Manticore, which was dealing out and taking in punishment in equal measures. If Starfire stayed here much longer, he knew a victor would emerge: he disliked the idea of being at the mercy of a savage wild animal and liked the idea of being taken back to Ponyville, head bowed in defeat and shame, by a group of psychotic soldiers even less.

Belove’s disembodied hoof tapped at the ground impatiently. “I haven’t got all day, you know.”

“Right...” The dark-blue unicorn scratched the back of his head with his hoof and nickered in frustration. In order to free Belove, he was going to have to lift the whole tree up, and that was no easy task. Far from it. In fact, it would be the heaviest object that the young unicorn had, up to this point, ever levitated.

Blue magic seeped out of his horn and around the enormous wooden frame, which vibrated a little. Starfire heard Belove’s muffled sniggers from under the tree. Either the leaves were tickling his face, or he had a strange sense of humour.

Starfire exhaled sharply as the tree lifted, ever so slightly, off of the sparkling green grass. Belove inhaled sharply as he felt the pressure lift, freeing the obstruction that was preventing air into his lungs.

A tuft of wet blonde hair fell over Starfire’s eyes, which were sealed shut in effort. ‘This is like... levitating... a THOUSAND pianos...’ Even his thoughts were out of breath.

Belove wriggled another hoof out from under his leafy-cell. “Don’t you dare go dropping this on me now!”

Starfire didn’t respond. He needed full concentration.

“Hey Starfire, pick up the pace!”

The interruption came not from Belove but surprisingly Cananor, who poked his inquisitive head back through a hole in the bushes. “We’re not here to enjoy the scenery, you know...”

His eyes fell over the scene before him; Starfire levitating a tree which appeared to have Belove’s hind legs protruding from it, amidst the backdrop of a Manticore fighting off a group of Canterolt guards.

“I knew Belove didn’t get on with you that well, but it’s no reason to drop a tree on his head...”

Starfire’s concentration faltered, resulting in the tree branch crashing back down on Belove’s hind leg, hard. The earth pony howled in pain.

“Gah!” The trapped leg twitched as though speaking. “You tool! You did that on purpose!”

Starfire sighed and swallowed, his throat irritatingly dry. “Cananor,” he puffed after summoning up a little more strength. “I need you to help with this. I can’t lift it on my own.”

The lawyer screwed up his nose and straightened his tie, looking past his fellow unicorn to the violence behind him. The Manticore was putting up a brave fight, but it was one it was loosing for the second time. It seemed fatigued, and the Elites were taking full advantage to exploit this weakness. “I would love to, but I don’t think we have the time. That show over there is coming to an end, and I've never been one to sit around for the after-movie extras. Can’t we just leave him here?”

“I heard that!” Belove called out from under the tree. His short, stubby tail swished in anger. “I may be trapped under a tree, but that won’t stop me from giving you a piece of my mind!”

“That’s horrible!” Starfire seemed genuinely shocked. “That’s awful! He’s your friend...”

“I was kidding!” Cananor blushed, avoiding Starfire’s judging eyes. “I was just kidding... Here, let me help.” The beige-coated one hastily trotted alongside his companion and combined his magical efforts to lifting the heavy wooden tree trunk.

Even with two unicorns, the thing was nigh impossible to lift, perhaps due to the fact that Starfire was still putting in 95% of the work whilst Cananor lazily whistled out an incoherent tune.

“It’s still too heavy. Can we get the others in here?”

Cananor yawned. The Manticore punched a Pegasus. “Hey, Weatherstorm, Derky; lend us a hoof here, will you?”

Weatherstorm’s head burst through the wall of leaves, hanging there like a disembodied ball. “I’m afraid I must decline. Heavy lifting is not my strong suit.”

“But if you don’t help,” wheezed the physically fatigued Starfire, barely managing to keep his hold of the vibrating tree stable. “Then Belove will be trapped forever.”

“And he will be sorely missed.”

“I heard that! You’re all rotten friends!”

Weatherstorm groaned in inconvenience. “Ugh... FINE. But if I get splinters in my hooves...”

He and Derky stumbled out from the undergrowth and, with a combined effort, they managed to hoist the fallen tree a few more centimetres, just enough for the earth pony to roll out from underneath, his one perfect armour dented and dinged beyond repair. He breathed a sigh of relief, glad to be back in the open, with an ample supply of fresh, clean oxygen. Starfire felt a warm smile creeping along his usually serious face. Working together as a team... it was a rare occurrence for him, but just like the incident at the Summer Sun Celebration, it felt heart-warming. That strange, foreign sort of feeling he couldn’t really describe: alien, yet familiar. Fuzzy and comforting.

Focus, Starfire. We need to get out of here. Fast.

“Oh!” Belove stretched his hind legs, arching his back like a cat. “It feels good to stretch my hooves.”

“Speaking of which, I hurt mine lifting a sizable amount of the forest off of you. I swear, it was just starting to feel better, as well.” Weatherstorm griped, cradling his injured hoof. “Please be more observant next time, Belove.”

The conversation was broken up by another roar of the Manticore, swatting at the Pegasi above him like parasprites. With that, the five stallions leapt through the bush, not really sure they were heading and not really caring where they were headed. Anywhere but here.

Starfire galloped until the sounds of battle faded into non-existence, enraged growls deteriorating into soft yips, and then nothing.

They ran for an extra five minutes, twisting around trees and obstructions in complete silence, carving their own makeshift path through the forest. Finally, in a part of the forest as utterly bland and indistinguishable as the rest, they came to a grinding halt.

Derky flopped to the ground, his wings exhausted. “Wow... I don’t think I can keep this up.”

“At least we got away from those crazies!” Cananor rolled his eyes and span his hoof around his head. “That Icarus isn’t as charming as some ponies make you believe.”

Belove spat a gob of saliva onto a nearby wildflower, running down the petals like a tear of disdain. “Yeah, we got away all right. No thanks to you.” The cold remark was thrown in Starfire’s direction.

The unicorn was taken aback. “Excuse me?”

Cananor defended his friend. “Whoa, Belove!” He blew out a whistled stream of air, uncomfortably. “What are you talking about? He saved your life. You could at least thank him.”

Belove slipped out his dented, crumpled chestpiece and threw his helmet down, clattering to the dirt with a clang. Both were past use. “Saved my life? He’s a spy!”

Starfire, Weatherstorm and Cananor collectively groaned. “Not this again...” They sighed in unison. Derky slinked away, notebook in hoof, quill in his mouth.

“Sure, think about it,” Belove continued. “How did Icarus know where we were? He’s working with them, I swear it. He’s trying to sabotage us!”

Starfire successfully defended himself, blinding the earth pony with simple evidence. “You do know that in order to’ spy’ on you, I would need to relay information back to him in secret, an impossible task considering you will not stop staring at me in suspicion. Furthermore, a Manticore’s roar is not impossible to track, especially for a trained soldier such as Icarus...”

“A Manticore he saved you from!” Cananor butt in. “Twice, no less. And he helped you escape.”

“If I may interrupt, I also aided our hasty retreat... and hurt my hoof in the process.”

Knowing he was fighting a losing battle, Belove grunted in frustration and kicked his helmet with his foreleg. The armour tumbled away into a nearby bush, which shivered as the cold steel slipped inside with a hush. “Thanks...”

“You’re welcome.” Starfire beamed. “I wasn’t really expecting gratitude, but...”

“Let me finish.” Barked Belove. “Thanks to that wee setback, we’ve not only got Icarus hot on our tails, but we’ve lost the hoofprints we were following.” He grudgingly turned back to Starfire. “Looks like you’ll be our guide after all.”

Belove saw the bead of sweat roll down the unicorn’s blue muzzle. “Oh... alright then.” Starfire gulped once, subconsciously, as Belove gazed at him with a stare like an eagle hungrily eyeing up its next meal. “Uh...” He scanned the goopy blackness, before settling on one direction in particular. “This way, I think.”

The others simply nodded and wandered off in the direction of Starfire’s outstretched hoof. As he followed them, filled with uncertainty, Belove pulled up close to him and hissed, “Don’t think I don’t know what you are doing, ‘Starfire.’ You may have fooled them, but you ain’t going to fool me. I’ve got my eye on you.”

With that, the Earth Pony jogged on ahead, scouting out the route like a sniffer-hound.

Starfire realised that things were going to be a lot more complicated than what he had thought.

“For goodness sakes, put some effort into it!” The captain spat out in disgust at his men. It shouldn’t have taken this long to deal with a simple woodland creature, surely.

“We’re trying sir!” Pit screamed, narrowly avoiding the thing’s wildly swiping claws. The instruments of death cleaved an arc through the black sky and into the trunk of a nearby tree, whose gaping wound bled sap.

It didn’t deter the beast from using its other paw, however, nailing the unicorn on the side of the head, the vibrations causing his golden helm to ring like a dinner bell. His ears shrivelled in pain at the sudden burst of sound.

Icarus sighed with impatience. There’s an old saying; if you want something done right, do it yourself.

Casually, Captain Icarus flew right up to the Manticore’s face, showing no fear. The animal snarled, flashing him its intimidating teeth. Icarus snarled back.

Its tail rose like a rattlesnake, poised and dangerous. Icarus hovered there, showing no signs of moving.

“Are you going to take all day?” He taunted it, sparking the exact response he was hoping for. When the tail came swooping down towards him, he grabbed it with both hooves, flipped the entire Manticore over his shoulders, and threw it to the ground with such force that the unconscious monster was encased in a crater of soil. The last thing the Manticore felt was shock at how unnaturally strong the Pegasus was, and then it was all over in the blink of an eye.

“There.” The captain clapped his hooves together as if little had just transpired. “Was that so hard?”

Pit winced as he peeled himself off of the ground, groggy and shaking. “Sir... the stallions... they are getting away.”

Icarus said nothing for a moment, looking off into the distance at the sprawling metropolis of trees that lay at every angle.

“Let them go.” He finally answered.

“But, sir... won’t they possibly affect our objective?”

Icarus shrugged. “I cannot say. The Earth Pony is a stubborn one, but there is still a chance that I can work him around to our way of thinking.”

“So is it wise to let them escape? We can still catch them if we hurry.”

He was dismissed with a wave. “No, no. I’d rather not get my hooves dirty. It might prove too difficult to explain. Better the forest take them.”

“Are you sure about this, sir?”

“I think they will no longer serve us any problems. You can see how divided they are. In fact, we may just get what we want yet.”

“The Earth Pony is too suspicious. Do you really think we can win him over?”

“But of course. I always get what I want.”

Chapter 5

“Will you please stop staring at me?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Starfire gave his vigilant watcher a deep, solemn frown. “I can’t concentrate with your eyes burning into the back of my head, thank you very much.”

“Very well...” Belove’s voice trailed off, sounding as sickeningly innocent as he possibly could. From the corner of his eye, Starfire saw him give Derky a strange, indecipherable signal of sorts. Derky merely nodded in response.

The brown Pegasus let out a squeak of surprise as his hoof connected with an un-earthed root, creeping low along the dark green ground like a long, twisting snake. He stumbled, but managed to regain his balance with some deft hoofwork, nearly swallowing a mouthful of daisies. “Are you sure you know where we are going? We’ve been walking for ages.”

“I told you, I can trace Nightmare Moon’s magic.” Starfire said with a lot less confidence than he had hoped. “I can see the path to her in my mind.”

Belove gave one, small laugh from behind him. “Ha! What a load of rottin' stink.”

The student teacher stopped, hesitated for a moment, then veered off to the right, changing direction yet again. “This way... I feel her magic coming from this way.”

Cananor wanted to believe his new friend knew where he was going, but even he had doubts. Starfire was changing course so often it felt like they had been walking in circles for the past hour and a half. He was sure he had seen that rock before, and that bush shaped like Sherclop Bassneigh...

Granted, there wasn’t much evidence to back up his backtracking theory. Everything in this blasted forest looked the same; just miles of trees, rocks, bushes, dirt, and the occasional wildflower which splashed a little vibrant colour over the otherwise bland, green-black environment. Apart from this, the forest was dark and gloomy, the infinite and unforgivable blackness so thick and gloopy that it actually took extra effort to even walk through it. The lawyer hoped his mental accusations were fabrications of his own imagination, and that Starfire really DID know where he was leading them. He had no desire to tread through such misery for all eternity.

Starfire stopped again, his train of followers nearly blindly stumbling into his backside.

“Apologies.” Weatherstorm dusted himself off. “But I cannot see the tip of my own nose in such dreary conditions.”

Starfire agreed. “I know. Hold on...” The unicorn lowered his head, closed his eyes, and concentrated. His felt his magic channel through his entire body, starting with a tingling sensation in his hooves, like the tickle of a feather. This electric tingle rose up his legs and into his stomach, along the length of his spine and ending at his unicorn horn. It was there that his magic gathered and compiled itself, forming a ball of electrons that gave off little sparks of miniature lightning. All this happened in less than a second.

He opened his eyes as his magic released, a ball of blue energy rocketing off with a whoosh of air as it streamlined toward a nearby tree. There was a scaled down explosion as the magic ball connected with the dark bark, light energy seeping through the pores in the wood with a sizzle of smoke. Less than a second later, the tree was turned into a makeshift lamp, blue veins running the length of the trunk and illuminating the area with a hum akin to that of an insect, causing everything in the surrounding area to grow and contort in an eerie blue haze of light, shadows dancing and twirling like woodland sprites.

With newfound light, the fellowship could see their surroundings clearly. There was little of any significance to comment on: trees and bushes are the most common components of a forest, after all. One towering, cragged mountain stood out in the gloom in particular, however, piercing the heavens and thrusting through the clouds, the tip disappearing into the night sky. It stood watching over a narrow dirt path which veered off in two separate directions and was lined with trees. It was a relief to finally get back on a proper trail and not have to worry about traipsing off the beaten path any longer.

“What... what’s that? Over in the distance?” Cananor widened his eyes in surprise at the sudden appearance of the mountain, the blue of his iris amplified by the light of the makeshift magic candle.

Starfire squinted. “A mountain, by the looks of it.”

“Well, how the hay didn’t we notice that huge thing before?”

“They way I see it,” Weatherstorm spoke up. “There are two possible reasons why it may not have been visible to us at first glance. Number one, the dark form of the mountain blended in perfectly with the horizon. Or number two, we are idiots.”

“That seems the more likely reason.”

But there was something else, snuggled away in the darkness...

From what Starfire could make out, there was a gaping black hole in the side of the rock-face, beyond the reach of their light source and their vision. It sat there, crouched like a bridge-goblin, beckoning them to come closer with mischievous intent.

“Is that a cave?” Derky’s tired eyes brightened up. “I think that’s a cave!”

Belove laughed and made some obscured, sly remark under his silent breath. The pegasus heard, and he hurt, but he said nothing.

“My throat is sore from being so funny. Think we could rest in there and call it a day?” Cananor inquired.

“Night,” he was corrected.

Belove shook his head before anypony else could voice their opinions to the idea. “No,” he said quickly, emotionlessly. “We’re not resting until this is all over.”

Derky groaned uncomfortably, hopping from hoof to hoof. “But my hooves are really sore. And my wings. Can’t we just have a little break?”

Cananor nodded. “I agree. I’m wrecked. We can at least sleep until sunrise...”

“No such thing.” He was corrected again.

“You know what I mean. This whole, ‘no sun’ thing is really confusing. ”

Starfire was quick to agree with Cananor and Derky. “Well... I don’t think having a quick rest would do much harm. After all, my... magic is... weak from, uh... tracking Nightmare Moon for so long.” He paused, as if considering what to say next. “I need time to, um... meditate. Yeah.”

Weatherstorm screwed up his nose. “Is there nowhere else we could settle for the night? Somewhere less... well, less of a cave?”

Cananor laughed. “What do you want, a bed and breakfast? A hotel?”

“It would be nice. However, considering I am hardly spoilt for choice here and I am the type of Pony that needs my sleep, I suppose I shall have to grin and bear it.”

Belove crossed his hooves in defiance. “Can you lot still hear me? I said no. N.O. Not a chance. Don’t you remember that Icarus is back there, hot on our tails? We can’t waste time!”

“For the last time,” Starfire let out an exasperated sigh. “I refuse to let myself get dragged into a petty rivalry between two over-proud fools. This isn’t about Icarus; it’s about stopping Nightmare Moon, and since the moon isn’t going to lower itself any time soon, I figure we have a little time to spare.”

“We are NOT staying here, and that’s final!” Belove stomped his hoof in temper, bringing it down hard on a small but jagged rock. He winced but said nothing, swallowing his scream.

Starfire casually turned to his comrades. “Who here thinks we should rest for the night?”

Three hooves shot up, and then a very hesitant fourth from a very germophobic, claustrophobic Pegasus.

“And those against the idea?”

Belove was alone.

Starfire gave Belove a small, self confident smile, something he had never done before. But as far as he was concerned, the Earth Pony deserved it, and he could allow himself a few moments to feel smug. “Four votes against one. Sorry, Belove, but democracy wins.”

If looks could kill, Starfire would have been, at that moment, fairly lifeless. “Fine,” The guard shrugged off his defeat reluctantly. “But we need to leave first thing tomorrow.”

Crunching over dry, dead leaf litter, the five stallions snuck their way over to the cave, the mountain growing larger and more profound with every small step they took. It burst through the tree canopy like a giant, moonlight gushing through, a waterfall of milky light. The mountain expanded into a cliffy path near the base, but part of the cliffside had broken away, crumbled into a mound of dirt at the bottom, likely over time. The top of the mountain was obscured by thick, cumulonimbus clouds which sailed through the sky like silent spectres, or sheep, depending on one’s interpretation.

After walking for another two minutes, they reached the cave entrance. The mountain smiled eerily at them, mouth agape, ready to swallow them whole if they dared set foot in its black depths. A faint dripping sound emanated from within.

“Meh, it’s still too dark.” Cananor said, leaning in as close as he could without actually going inside. “Can you do another one of those thingamabobs you did, Starfire? My magic is pretty limited.”

The unicorn silently agreed, shooting off another magic bolt of blue light in through the makeshift doorway. They listened for the tell tale fizzle of the magic ball hitting the wall of the cave. They were met only with silence.

Cananor whistled in surprise. “That’s one big cave. It still hasn’t reached the other...”

There was the distant sound of a pop, a waft of smoke, and then light came bursting from inside the cave. It illuminated dark grey walls, cracked stone covered with a thick layer of vines and moss, which seemed to stretch on for several hundred meters before reaching a back wall. Stalacites and stalagmites drooped from the cave roof and burst through the limestone floor like jagged, crooked teeth. Droplets of water squeezed their way out of pinprick holes in the ceiling, making soft plinking sounds as they hit the ground, forming shimmering clear puddles of water. The blue light burnt for a few more seconds, then fizzled and went out.

“Looks alright to me!” Cananor beamed. “Pretty roomy.” He put one hoof inside the cave perimeter but felt himself being pulled back sharply, his hooves kicking up dust. “Hey! That hurt.”

Starfire spat out the lawyer’s tail. “Sorry, but you can’t go rushing in there. We have to make sure it’s safe.”

Belove pushed past the unicorn, his powerful shoulder nearly ramming him headfirst into the wall. “He’s right. Dragons often reside in caves, so they do, and don’t take too kindly to ponies wondering in to their territory. They’re gold hoarders, you see, and so they...”

“We all know what a dragon is.” Cananor interrupted Belove, "They're a pretty HOT TOPIC at the moment."

Weatherstorm’s eyes lit up like jewels behind his glasses. “Ooh!” His hooves clasped together in glee. “Dragons? Do you think there is gold in there? Diamonds, jewels, treasures... do you think Rarity would prefer a crown or a tiara...”

Starfire snapped him out of his romanticised, materialistic daydream. “I doubt it. Cave this size isn’t big enough to house a dragon, and I certainly didn’t see a mound of treasure.”

Weatherstorm lowered his head in disappointment and wiped the lens of his glasses with a spotted handkerchief. “Oh.”

“It's more likely that we'll be dealing with a bear of sorts, which is still no less of a threat.”

Belove cracked his neck, and his hooves in anticipation. “So, how are we going to do this?”

“I’m not as aware of militarily techniques as you would be, Belove, but I think a slow, organised sweep of the perimeter in two groups will do. We should keep noise, and light, to a minimum, to attract less attention...”

Belove ‘pfft’, showering the unicorn with spittle before he could finish the plan. He knew that the unicorn was right, but the unicorn was not in charge. “Forget that, you wimp. Let’s just check the place out. The sooner we do, the sooner we’re back on the road. And if some cave-dwelling chancer is STUPID enough to take these bad boys on...” His voice trailed off as he flexed his powerful leg muscles. With that, he sauntered into the darkness, brimming with over-confidence.

Starfire sighed and face-hoofed. This cocky fool was sure to get them eaten. “Derky, would you like to come with me? Cananor and Weatherstorm, if you would like to pair up...”

“On it!” Cananor zipped off into the cave without a second glance, with as much confidence as Belove. He certainly was eager to prove himself a hero.

“Oh, I’d rather not, all the same.” Weatherstorm said, hesitantly. “I’ll be of little use, and I’ll probably get cobwebs in my mane. And my glasses will likely steam up. I can keep watch out here.”

Starfire put a hoof on his shoulder. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. I’ll stay out here. Mind the... trees.”

Starfire turned to Derky, who was letting a ladybird crawl up his leg. He watched it with childlike interest, occasionally laughing as it tickled his fur. He grew considerably less interested in the insect’s beauty when it climbed in his ear.

“Derky, do you want to come with me?” The unicorn inquired.

“Yeah, sure...” The Pegasus cocked his head to one side and hit the side of his scalp a few time with his hoof. After the fifth hit the ladybird barrelled out and landed on the grass with a plop. Derky kicked it away.

The two stallions joined their comrades inside, leaving Weatherstorm outside, alone. He shivered as a cold wind blew over him, just for a moment, then passed overhead, carrying leaves like paper planes. He waited until his two friends disappeared completely, voices and all, before he moved. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t want the others to see, but perhaps it was just because it didn’t concern them. She was HIS love, after all. Or maybe it did concern them? Regardless, the stallion snuck off from the cave entrance, over to the area where the cliffside had given away. Roots of plants sprung out of the damaged dirt, which crumbled from above him in a shower of soil. Weatherstorm peered up at the mountain. A narrow, hazardous path ran around the edge of the cliff, one route leading to a road covered by trees, the other running the length of the mountain and disappearing off into the distance.

It winked at him from the mound of clumped dirt at his hooves. Pawing through lumps of worm-infested soil, he unearthed the object and his heart skipped a beat. He felt just like Daring Doo herself when she made an astonishing archaeological discovery.

There, almost buried like a chest of treasure, was Rarity’s mirror.

He’d noticed it glinting out from its resting out of the corner of his eye, well before they had even reached the cave. That was one skill he had honed in his career as a journalist: keep a keen eye out for the unexpected. The mirror came loose with a sharp tug, trailing a long earthen root along with it. It was caked in dried muck.

He pieced together the story in his mind; Rarity and her party had been travelling along the high road when the cliffside had collapsed, likely under the collective weight of their hooves. However, there was no sign of her, or any of the other girls, meaning they must have been unharmed, backed up by the fact the soil was free of any point of impact that would have been caused by the fall. One question remained, however: if the girls had been travelling along the high road, which was unreachable from the point of entry to the forest Weatherstorm and his company had taken, that means that Rarity had taken a different route into the forest. If that were the case, then who had made the hoofprints they were following...?

Holding the object of his desire in his hoof, Weatherstorm blew away little specs of dirt and wiped the glass clear of mud. His reflection, though slightly distorted, stared back at him from behind swirling, brown-speckled spectacles. The Pegasus couldn’t help but wonder dreamily how many times the perfect white unicorn had had lent her starry gaze to the glass, styling her beautiful mane. He dearly hoped that she was okay...

He swallowed a gasp as he saw something move behind him, reflected in the mirror. He didn’t dare look behind him, keeping his wide eyed gaze staring straight ahead into the mirror. They say that, in times of unparalleled terror, the body will freeze up in fear, which was certainly true for Weatherstorm. The dark, shadowy figure crept up behind him, slowly, deliberately, eyes glowing red like hot coals. They illuminated the figure’s face.

And that’s when he saw IT.

Derky sneezed, unfortunately all over Starfire.

“Sorry,” He whispered, as if the dark walls of the cave were ready to come crashing down on him for daring to disturb them. “It’s all this dust. Goes right for my allergies.”

Starfire cringed, stuck out his tongue in disgust, and wiped the sticky fluids from his face. “It’s alright,” he spat out, barely managing to keep his lunch down. “Can’t be helped. But next time, sneeze AWAY from me, or at least cover your mouth.”

Derky flashed him a high-hoof. “Sure thing!” He beamed.

The unicorn didn’t have time to return the gesture before Derky sneezed in his face again, phlegm dripping from his nose like a tap. “Sorry. I forgot.” The Pegasus blushed a deep, vibrant scarlet.

Starfire controlled his temper. If there was something in there with them, he had to be very quiet. He did not have a deep desire to die covered in the contents of Derky’s nose. He could only hope the other ponies search efforts were turning out better than his.

Belove busied himself near the back wall, his eyes scanning furiously through the dark of the cavern. One tiny droplet of water manoeuvred its way out of the rocky ceiling, sliding down an icicle-like stalactite which hung from the ceiling like a bat and landing on the stallion’s head with a soft plop.

The earth pony squinted into the darkness. WAS it a...?

The bat hissed and unfurled its black, leathery wings with a resounding flap, which echoed through the hollowed rock.

Belove jumped back in fright as the bat took to the air, awoken from its thousand year slumber. It gave one low, horrifying gasp for air as its beady little eyes, small and blind, rolled over his quivering form, before sailing through a crack in the rooftop into the night sky above.

The guard allowed his heart to return to normal, taking in a big, deep breath, and then releasing it. At least he didn’t scream. He wasn’t going to give that stupid unicorn the satisfaction...

Belove screamed as another bat burst out of nowhere, gliding through the darkness with a shrill sonar shriek. He felt the beast’s fur slide through his mane, wet and greasy like slime. Recoiling in terror, he staggered backwards, brushing against the wall. He didn’t see the huge spider’s web nestled innocently in the corner of the cave, but he felt the silky, thread like fibres wrap around his body like the deathly embrace of a ghost; strangely soft and comforting. The wisps of white wrapped around his throat, strangling any cries that passed his lips. The more the Earth Pony thrashed to free himself, the more he managed to tangle himself into a pony-cocoon. Panicking, the stallion jolted his head upwards and saw an eight-legged freak crawling menacingly towards him, the huge furry form licking its fangs at the concept of another meal. Its 4 pairs of eyes feasted off of his fear, its pincers glistening with saliva. “Oh, no,” Belove whispered faintly, too scared to protest as the thing edged closer. “No, no, no...”

Starfire burst through the web like Daring Doo cleaving a way through jungle vines with a machete. “Hold on.” The unicorn commanded. Belove was just glad that he hadn’t told him to ‘hang in there.’

The student ripped apart the thin strands of web with his horn, rending and tearing at them, using the appendage like a makeshift joust to rip apart the web, thread by thread. At last, Belove felt himself fall to the ground, free from his spidery-shackles.

“Sorry about that.” The Earth Pony heard Starfire having a conversation behind him. “I’m sorry about the damage. He’ll be more careful next time.”

Was that unicorn having a conversation with the monster?

Belove turned to see an ordinary common or garden spider, shaking one of his many arms at him in rage, squabbling in some squeaky, indecipherable language. Not a huge, mutant spider at all. Just a little pipsqueak.

“Again, very sorry.” The unicorn shook one of the spider’s legs. “We meant you no harm, and I certainly didn’t mean to ruin your house.”

Derky came bounding through the web with the boundless enthusiasm of a dog chasing a ball. The last verges of the arachnids’ home fluttered to the ground behind him. “Ooh! A spider!” He cooed, hooves outstretched. “I love spiders. I’m going to keep him, and call him Spidey. Or maybe Mr. Spider...?”

‘Spidey’ or ‘Mr. Spider’ to allow him a formal title, gave him a tiny growl, turned, and shot a stream of webs which splattered all over the Pegasus’ face. “Why, Mr. Spider?” He cried, half blinded. “I thought we had a bond!”

Belove did find it strange that most animals, from the lowliest insect to the loyalist pet, took an instant disliking to Derky. Perhaps it was just his goofy face.

The Earth Pony staggered to his feet, blushing claret red. “I... didn’t see the web.” He explained to his ‘saviour’, half hushed.

Starfire nodded. He had learnt not to expect any form of gratitude from the stubborn guard.

"How do you know what the wee creature was saying, anyway?"

"Second year biology," Explained the student teacher. "Had to keep the class spider, Archie, every weekend. It's not a complicated language to pick up."

“Say, where’s Cananor?”

The lawyer span around in a blind panic. Where was he? Where were the others? And most importantly, where was the exit? The cave was deceptively large and blacker than black.

Something small and furry scuttled past him, the unicorn letting out a small ‘Eep!’ of surprise and jumping to one side. Something flew over his head with a shrill screech. The unicorn launched himself to the grimy, dusty floor with a thump as it passed overhead.

He waited for a few moments before rearing his head, staring off into whatever dark crevice the thing had wedged itself into.

He hated it here already; caves, forests, outdoors in general. And worse still, he had to SLEEP here. Still, though, he supposed that it wasn't much cleaner than his room back home...

That’s when it glinted in the darkness. Just a little slither of light as he moved his head, then gone. Curious, Cananor rose to his hooves and dusted the dirt from his twisted tie, speckled with grime. The object shone again in the darkness, giving off a radiant, spooky green glow, just for a second.

His eyes adjusting a little to his dark surroundings, Cananor edged further towards the light source. Behind him, he heard Belove and Starfire talking, but their words were hard to make out. Strangely, he wasn’t even remotely interested in following their source anymore; he felt unnaturally drawn to the flashing green haze like a glowbug to light. He reached the far end wall and the object shimmered emerald green one last time, then phased out and took on a shiny glaze. Up close, he was able to recognise its shape: a pickaxe, shiny and smooth, was lodged in the wall of the rock, jutting out at an angle, poised upwards. The head appeared to be made out of aqua blue diamond, the same shade as his mane and tail, with small notched chips around the curved point. Who knows how long the tool had been there? Instinctively, he wrapped his magic around the pick’s wooden handle. The pickaxe gave one small quiver, then dislodged itself from the wall.

The wall dislodged itself from the ceiling moments after, a large section of the rock simply collapsing altogether in an explosion of dust. Cananor coughed and dropped the pickaxe as powdery stone invaded his lungs: not exactly good for his overall health, he could hazard a guess.

And that’s what happens when I touch anything.

The lawyer’s first response was to swivel around on the spot and gulp, “I didn’t do it, honest,” a line he had found himself repeating more times than he should have in a courtroom. However, there was nopony to accuse him.

He turned his attention back to the wall of the cave he had just inadvertently deconstructed and, to his surprise, there lay a chamber behind the rubble.

It was a small room, hidden from the rest of the cave, around three meters wide. The stone walls were draped with silky spider webs which hung like curtains, blowing softly in the draught. The secret chamber was bare, indistinguishable from the main body of the cave, dark and dusty and with a stench of wet moss. However, a small crack lined the ceiling, from which rich, creamy moonlight poured through, particles of dust amplified as they floated through the pillar of light. It illuminated the only objects that sat in the room; six chickens.

Cananor edged closer into the room, parting the clouds of settling dust. The chickens had grey skin and blank, lifeless eyes. It took the unicorn a second to realise that the birds were made of stone; statues, gargoyles... garden furniture? But then, why were they here, in this cave? Why were they huddled against the back wall? Why were their foul features frozen in fear? He nudged one with his hoof. The stone bird teetered on rock hard talons for a few seconds, before falling to one side, a dull thump throwing up a cloud of smoky dust.

“What is it?”

Starfire’s soft voice behind him forced his hand. The trump card was deployed.

“I didn’t do it!” He stammered, jumping in front of the fallen statue. His hoof jolted out, knocking over another chicken, which set off a chain reaction like dominoes. “I didn’t do that either.”

“I heard something crash, so I hurried off to find you. I didn’t know you knocked half the cave down.” Starfire walked slowly past the defensive lawyer and inspected the stone statues. They stared back at him with glazed, wide eyes, their beaks twisted in terror.

Ugly statues. I wonder why they are here...

The student’s heart skipped a beat as a crazy thought invaded his mind.

“Cananor, this is a crazy thought, but... I think these statues...”

He was interrupted by a chilling, bloodcurdling scream. It came from outside.

“WEATHERSTORM!”

Belove was the first to reach the cave opening, bursting out of the darkness and into the wide, open forest. What he saw confused, shocked, and ultimately terrified him.

His feathered friend lay on his back in the grass, squirming and wrestling with a dark shadow, sitting on his chest. His assailant, for that is what it looked like, was small and round, wriggling furiously this way and that, trying to break free from the Pegasus’ grip. The thing’s head, or at least what the Earth Pony assumed was its head, was bowed menacingly towards its victim, its long nose rubbing against the stallion’s muzzle. Weatherstorm was futilely trying to keep the thing at bay, pushing it as far away from himself as he could. His head was jerking from left to right, his eyes shut tightly, his mouth curled up in fear. The journalist’s glasses were lying about a meter from him, on the small dirt path.

“Starfire?!” The Pegasus yelled out, turning his head and squinting his eyes. His eyesight without his glasses was poor, at best. “Derky, is that... Belove? BELOVE, HELP!”

“Hold on!” The Earth Pony bellowed, rushing forward, nearly slipping on the grass. With a burst of strength, Weatherstorm hoisted his attacker skyward, holding it away from his body like a golf ball nestled in a tee. The unidentified thing turned its shadowy head, barely catching a glimpse of Belove before the guard spun around and bucked it with his powerful back legs sending the thing blasting from Weatherstorm’s hooves and spiralling through the air like a football, letting out a most horrible otherworldly screech. It walloped into the mud with a splash, skidding for a few meters further on its face.

Weatherstorm was aided onto all fours by Belove. Coughing, the Pegasus brushed himself down and pulled a twig from his mane. “Nasty, rotten beast...” He cursed it under his breath. “Thank you for aiding me.” His spectacles were hastily reapplied.

Belove ignored his friend’s thanks, and stared off at whatever it was he had just saved him from. It rose slowly, dazedly from the ground in newfound light. Facing away from him, it reared its head, and Belove got a quick look at the monster.

“A CHICKEN?” Belove stammered to Weatherstorm, gobsmacked. From what he could tell, it WAS a chicken. “I just saved you from a CHICKEN?”

“Belove my friend, I assure you, that is no mere chicken.”

Belove laughed in his pal’s face. “This is pathetic, even for you!” He mocked, much to Weatherstorm’s dismay. “I had to save you from a chicken? I mean, look at it...”

“DO NOT LOOK AT IT!” Starfire screamed, bursting from the cave with such haste that he skidded, nearly tumbling head over hooves. “DO NOT EVEN LOOK NEAR IT!”

Belove span around to face Starfire, joined now by Cananor. Both unicorns seemed deeply concerned. “What is going on here?” He jeered, shrugging his shoulders. “Have you all gone doolally? Do you all suffer from electricophobias or somethin’?”

“Alektorophobia.” Weatherstorm rolled his eyes. “I think you might have invented a word.”

“Whatever.” Belove sighed, angry being proven wrong. “You know what I mean. It’s only a chicken, for Celestia’s sake.”

Starfire swallowed loudly, still watching from the mouth of the cave. “I know it looks like a chicken, but it isn’t. It’s a cockatrice.”

Although he was just as terrified, Cananor was still immature enough to giggle. “You said coc...”

“I KNOW WHAT I SAID!”

“For the last time, you eejits, stop getting so worked up over a CHICKEN.”

The ‘chicken’ fluttered off of the ground, flapping its wings, and turned to face Belove. The red-coated guard got a good look at his so called ‘chicken’ and instantly wished he hadn’t.

Whilst it certainly had a chicken’s head, from the neck down it was a hideous, writhing snake. It had horrifying, dark green wings, covered in scales and resembling those of a dragon. Its tail squirmed like a live worm behind it, long and sickeningly thick, covered in blood red spines. It had sharp talons, like gleaming swords, strong enough to cut through steel. Slowly, evilly, the ‘cockatrice’ as it was now to be referred to as, opened its malevolent eyes. Belove couldn’t help but feel drawn into them, as if in a trance. They were huge and bulging yet sat far back in its head, sunken into the thing’s hideous skull. They glowed, nay, BURNED like hot coals on a fire, heated and sustained by the embers of fury and hate. The Earth Pony took one hypnotised step towards the beast then another. Every step he took seemed to take more effort like he was getting heavier. The cocaktrice’s beak opened wide, revealing rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth. It beckoned him closer.

“Belove! Don’t look in its eyes!”

Belove didn’t hear Starfire’s desperate cries. All he could focus on was those captivating, deep red pools. They shimmered like sunset, an orange-red haze sinking beyond the horizon.

Surprisingly beautiful, in a way...

It took a good hoof sandwich from Weatherstorm to bring Belove to Equestria. Despite his outwardly ‘fru-fru’ characteristics, the journalist could sure pack a mean punch, he’d give him that.

“Snap out of it!” Weatherstorm shook theearth pony, who was clutching his battered nose with a shaking hoof. It wasn’t broken, but it hurt like heck. “You must snap out of it, Belove!”

For a moment, Belove felt inclined to punch the Pegasus back, before he realised that he had actually done him a favour.

“Wha... what happened?” Belove managed to snap his eyes away from the twin fireballs and into Weatherstorm’s deep eyes. The Pegasus apologised for punching him, but assured him it was for the better good, and that he only enjoyed it a little.

Starfire galloped forwards, pushing between the two. “Never look a cockatrice straight in the eyes. Any who look too deep into their eyes turn to stone.”

Belove huffed and folded his hooves. “I like how you only told me that now. It’s almost like you wanted me to turn to stone...”

“I tried to tell you several times, actually. You were too stubborn to listen.”

“Was not!”

“Belove, I agree with Starfire. We tried to warn you...”

“Shut up Cananor. Whose side on you on?”

“I wasn’t aware there were ‘sides’...”

“Yeah, well, if you want to ally yourself with that TRAITOR.”

“’Stormy, can you punch him again?”

“With pleasure.”

“Guys, where is the cockatrice?” Starfire asked, interrupting the squabble before it escalated into a full argument.

The cockatrice was gone, leaving behind little trace of its existence but for a flattened patch of grass where it had fallen.

There was an uncomfortable, unnatural stillness about the forest. It was silent; too silent.

“Where did it go?” inquired Weatherstorm, cautiously glancing around the area with sceptical eyes.

“Do you think it gave up and went home? Maybe it saw Belove and got scared.” Cananor said, breathing heavily.

“Darn right.”

“Because of how weird he looks.” He finished his sentence.

The earth pony growled and raised a hoof, itching for a fight. Starfire roughly grabbed his leg and forced it down again, against his will.

“A cockatrice never gives up. It’s around here somewhere.” He gestured to the thick forest of trees that surrounded them from every side. “It could be anywhere, waiting for us to go to sleep...”

Cananor nodded in understanding, backing against Weatherstorm. The Pegasus did likewise. “So, we’d better get looking then.”

“Exactly.”

They split into two groups of two, Weatherstorm and Cananor taking one side of the road, Starfire and an openly hostile Belove taking the other.

“Listen, Starfire,” Belove hissed in the unicorn’s ear as they scanned the dense forest for any signs of movement. “I know you are trying to undermine me all the time, trying to turn my friends against me, but I’m telling you now: It won’t work.”

Starfire couldn’t even be bothered replying by this point. The earth pony honestly had the most vivid imagination he had ever seen; in his mind, everypony and everything was out to get him. Starfire was no psychologist, but he was beginning to think that Belove’s constant accusations and general cockiness was nothing more than a cry out for attention.

Or maybe the guy was just a bit of a jerk. The latter seemed more likely.

The thought of an invisible threat had Cananor on edge. Somewhere, in that ever-flowing sea of trees, was a vile and lethal monster, lurking in the shadows, waiting for them to make one wrong move...

“This is pretty freaky right?” He whispered to his partner, who visibly jumped when he spoke.

“It is,” Weatherstorm whispered back. “And you are not helping. My nerves are shot as is.”

The unicorn apologised. “Right, right. Sorry.” He was silent for a few moments.

“Being turned to stone must suck.”

Weatherstorm groaned.

“Do you think you can still hear what’s going on around you?” The panic was clear in his voice. "I mean, I already have rock-solid hearing."

“I don’t know, Cananor, and I don’t...”

“How long do you think it takes?"

“Cananor, please!” Weatherstorm cried, a little louder than he had anticipated.

Cananor frowned. “Whoa, you wanna keep your voice down? You’ve probably given away our position by now.”

Weatherstorm removed his glasses and wiped his eyes. “I simply cannot deal with this, Cananor. Why don’t you check those trees, and I’ll check over here?”

The unicorn gave him a timid salute as the Pegasus wandered off in the opposite direction, holding his head, likely in dire need of a headache tablet.

Cananor bravely stuck his head through the nearest bush, bursting through the other side with a cry of “A-ha!” There was nothing but darkness beyond the leaves. No cockatrice.

The lawyer sighed in relief and checked behind him to make sure Weatherstorm wasn’t there, hooves folded. He was alone.

Who was he kidding? He could put on a brave face as much as he wanted in front of his friends, but that didn’t change how he felt inside. For how long would he have to keep this facade up? He was scared by TREES, for Celestia’s sake! His dad was right. He was pathetic, through and through.

“CANANOR!” Phoenix Flight screamed at him, exploding through the tree canopy with a crash. “YOU AREN’T GIVING UP YET!”

Not surprisingly, the unicorn jumped back in surprise. He tried to call out, but no sound escaped his throat, shut tight in fear.

The griffon, towering above him on two mighty paws, flexed his majestic feathered wings and roared, hot air blasting out of his beak like a bugle. “DON’T DOUBT YOURSELF, EVEN FOR A MOMENT! YOU’RE BETTER THAN THAT!”

Cananor began to protest. “B-but... Phoenix Flight? You're just a comic book character! How...? Wha...?”

A quick slap across the chops put him in his place. The lawyer was roughly bundled up in the griffon’s talons like a ragdoll. Screaming, he was brought closer to the heavenly attorney’s wide eyes, staring into his soul. “I NEVER WANT TO HEAR YOU SAY THAT!”

“W-what?”

“THAT!”

“I didn’t say anyth...”

He was smashed across the face again by the back of Phoenix’s paw. “DON’T ARGUE WITH ME, I’M A FIGMENT OF YOUR IMAGINATION!”

“Then how can you hurt me?” Cananor grimaced, expecting another painful wallop.

“BECAUSE YOU KEEP HURTING YOURSELF!” Phoenix’s talons opened, and Cananor was re-introduced to the ground with a thump. “INSIDE! I KNOW RIGHT NOW YOU THINK YOU’RE WORTHLESS, PATHETIC, USELESS...”

“I get it.”

“WIMPY, WEAK, UGLY...”

“I don’t think I’m ugly!” Cananor defended himself. He was slapped again.

“WELL, YOU ARE!”

“Why are you saying these things?” Sobbed Cananor, cradling his face in his hooves.

“I’M NOT! YOU ARE!”

“Wha...”

SMACK! The force of Phoenix’s griffon-punch lifted the hapless stallion straight off his back. His frail body cracked as it collided with an aged oak tree, which spat bark upon his sudden and painful arrival. Branches snapped and leaves fluttered down upon his bruised and battered body as he lay slumped there. He had often wondered if stars and birds circled one’s head when dazed like in the comics, and it appeared the answer was yes. Or maybe those were REAL birds; after all, a nest had just dislodged itself from the upper branches and made its new home in his mane. The parents did not look pleased.

Phoenix Flight neatly lowered himself back to the ground on all fours with a powerful, resounding thump. “CANANOR!” He boomed, pointing one righteous clawed finger towards him. “YOU NEED TO FACE YOUR FEARS!” For some strange reason, the griffon had adopted the inexplicable ability to both duplicate and merge simultaneously. It was quite bizarre.

“I was meaning to ask...” Cananor gave the griffon a gap-toothed grin, his head teetering from side to side. “What way did that song go again? The one you sang in issue #79?”

Phoenix shrugged. “I'M NOT REALLY HERE, IDIOT! I'M JUST YOUR CONSCIENCE IN THE FORM OF A FICTIONAL CHARACTER! IF YOU CAN’T REMEMBER, HOW THE HAY AM I SUPPOSED TO! POINT IS, THAT COCKATRICE IS UP THERE!”

The unicorn followed the direction of his outstretched talon. “Up where?”

“THE HEAVENS! YOU MUST PIERCE THE HEAVENS!”

“The tree?”

Cananor looked up to the leafy foliage of the tree, and saw a pair of glaring red eyes staring back at him.

It was then that Weatherstorm came back, and not a moment too soon. “Cananor, who are you talking...”

He stopped short. His friend was there, bundled against the trunk of a tree. The unicorn was frozen in fear, staring wide eyed up the length of the tree. The cockatrice, however, was slowly edging its way down the trunk, out of the bushes, stalking closer and closer to its powerless victim.

“LOOK OUT!” Weatherstorm zipped off of the ground, throwing himself in an ark towards his in-trance comrade. For the Pegasus, everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, like the rest of the world came to a grinding halt. The hissing of the cockatrice drew out into a low, monotone hum, the rustling of the leaves droned out into the sort of sound one would hear a rainmaker create. Everything passed him by in what seemed like a lifetime, when in reality, it was in the blink of an eye.

Weatherstorm, hooves outstretched, reached Cananor milliseconds before the cockatrice did, both ponies exploding through the hedge and back onto the main dirt path outside the cave, wrapped in each other’s embrace.

“Wait, what?” Cananor shook away his hypnosis, fixing his wildly rolling eyes back to Weatherstorm. “Where’s Phoenix?”

Weatherstorm had little time for idle chat. “I’m afraid to say that I have not a notion as to what you are talking about, but we must make haste, for...”

For not the first time in his life, Weatherstorm took far too long saying “Let’s go” than he should have. The half chicken, half snake, all attitude monster jumped from its hiding spot, enraged at having lost such easy prey. The leaves of the bush seemed to part as it breezed over, almost out of fear. It landed on its scaly chicken’s legs on Weatherstorm’s chest, knocking him to the ground out of pure vengeance, and the Pegasus found himself in a familiar situation.

Winded, Weatherstorm collapsed onto his back, his left wing sharply bending at an angle. Sucking in pain, the journalist stared down the face of infinite evil, making sure to look anywhere but in the eyes. “Cananor!” He struggled to keep the thing away from his face. “Don’t stand... help!”

Cananor bounced from hoof to hoof, unsure of which plan of action to take. His green-blue tail flicked wildly behind him.

“Uh... I’ll get help!” He eventually called back. Up in the trees, he was sure that for a brief second, he saw Phoenix Flight glaring back down at him, cracking his knuckles. The beige unicorn gulped.

“Cana... Come back!” Weatherstorm rolled to one side, his saddlebag digging deeply into his right wing, tearing one of his neon blue feathers free. He grimaced in pain, the cockatrice screeching in his face, as he reached around to his saddlebag. If he could... just... reach...

There! The flap came undone with a flop of fabric and out fell Rarity’s hoof-mirror, pink plastic caked in earthy soil.

As quick as a flash of lightning, Storm scooped up the looking glass in his hoof and held it directly in front of him, smiling in victory. The cockatrice let out a squawk of surprise, but it knew it was already too late. Its own reflection stared back at it, eyes glowing red. The cockatrice couldn’t help but admire its reflection.

It had... such lovely eyes. Such deep, mystifying eyes...

Slowly, the beast began to change, its legs hardening to rock, its tail growing paler and paler, losing its green colour to a dull grey. It was, essentially, turning ITSELF to stone. And no matter how hard it tried, it couldn’t force itself away from the reflection.

It had been a shot in the dark really. Weatherstorm had no idea whether a cockatrice was immune to its own reflection, but, luckily for him, they were not. Looking back on it, he wished he had thought up a witty pun to accompany the cockatrice to its stony demise: something along the lines of “Nice to see you,” or “Reflecting on yourself?” or even just “Freeze!” but alas, his pounding heart prevented him from saying little.

What he did say, however, was “DERKY! WHY!” as the Pegasus in question stumbled from the blackness of the cave. The stallion, tumbling head over hooves in clumsy excitement, barrelled over the wrestling duo and knocked the mirror clear from Weatherstorm’s hoof. The journalist watched in dismay as it tumbled from his grasp, whistling as it sailed through the air and shattering under the weight of Derky’s misplaced hoof, shards of glass littering the forest floor.

“Oh, Hey, ‘Stormy. I finally found the exit and... what’s that?”

The orange maned ex-removal worker started down in confusion at the scene before him. Weatherstorm was on his back, gasping for air as... what was that slapping his face with its wing?

“A CHICKEN!” Derky beamed with quiet joy. “I love chickens, I do! Well, maybe not as much as ducks, but I hate swans.”

“Der... run!” Weatherstorm struggled to not look into those violent alizarin eyes, consuming his body as they took in every aspect of his figure. “It’s not... chicken... it’s a cocka...trice!”

The Pegasus sniggered. “Hey ‘Stormy, you said co...”

“I KNOW WHAT I SAID! GET HELP!”

“Hey Weatherstorm,” he continued, “Can I pet it? I’ve always wanted to pet a chicken.”

“DERKY, NO... I”

Without another word, Derky simply scooped up the cockatrice under one arm, flailing and squawking uncontrollably in protest. Weatherstorm watched in disbelief as his featherbrained friend cooed at the beast like an infant, rubbing the top of its head with a hoof, brushing through its comb. The cockatrice itself seemed as dumbstruck as Weatherstorm. This was new...

“Hello there, little chicken cockadoo.” He sang softly and sweetly in the beast’s face. “Who’s a good little freak of nature? You are!”

Weatherstorm wasn’t sure what to say in a moment like this. There was no word for it other than bizarre. “Derky, whatever you do, DO NOT LOOK INTO ITS EYES.”

Derky laughed innocently. “Why? It has lovely eyes.”

The cockatrice had had just about enough of this little intrusion. Still confused, it deployed its defence mechanism, glaring directly into Derky’s pupils, eyes glowing with crimson murderousness; a look that, by the natural laws of the universe, should have paralysed poor Derky and turned him to stone. Not so.

“Hey!” The Pegasus pouted, narrowing his eyes like a mare giving off to her child. He roughly bundled up the beast in a ball, holding it upside down by its feet. The cockatrice squawked loudly, a hiss of warning, its tail and wings madly thrashing, longing to be free. “Don’t you look at me like that, mister.”

The cockatrice, swaying dizzily with all the blood running to its head, hissed and swiped at Derky with its jagged tail. This was met only by a slap from the usually docile stallion. “No!” he scolded, like talking to a dog. “Bad!”

Lowering its head in what was perhaps shame, the cockatrice decided it was going nowhere with this blatantly insane pony and threw in the towel, admitting defeat. It allowed itself to go completely limp, dangling there upside down like Cananor’s rubber chicken toy.

When Cananor arrived back at the scene with Belove and Starfire, they were amazed and confused by what they saw.

“Derky!” Starfire stuttered, flabbergasted. “What did...? I mean, how?”

Derkington merely shrugged. “He just needed a little discipline, that’s all.” He turned and peered down into the cockatrice’s face. It cowered in fear. “Answer me honestly: have you been going around, turning animals to stone?” It meekly nodded in reply. “Well, shame on you doing that!” He ‘tut-tut’ showing his disapproval. “You had better go un-stone them, right now!” With that, he released his grip on it, sending it spiralling to the ground with a trail of feathers. It got up, dusted itself off, and glanced up at a rather cross looking Derky, hooves folded.

It hastily ran into the cave, and a few seconds later it ran out again, this time accompanied by a trail of wildly clucking chickens. They pattered off as fast as their little legs could carry them, likely back home to Fluttershy’s cottage. The cockatrice did likewise in the opposite direction, glad to be rid of those judging eyes.

“That... that was amazing!” Starfire smiled, still in utter disbelief at what had just happened.

Belove snorted. “It wasn’t THAT amazing...”

“Yeah, Derky, that was AWESOME! You totally handled that like Phoenix Flight himself.” Cananor instantly covered his mouth, just in case the Griffon in question was up in the trees, listening to his every word.

“You know,” Derky said, watching the cockatrice stumble away, bumping into trees as it went. “When this is all over and we stop Nightmare Moon, I’m coming back here and taking him home with me. He can be my pet.”

“Derky, I do not want that... THING anywhere near your house. I wish not to be petrified next time I visit.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Belove interrupted, breaking up the congratulation ceremony. “Derky did good. I get it. Now, since you were so insistent, can we please work on getting the cave ready?”

Chapter 6

Starfire slipped away from the rest of the herd unnoticed, whilst Belove tried and failed to pitch a tent. Obviously, this attracted quite a crowd, who aided their friend by comically condemning his efforts.

He nestled himself in the hidden room, the dust now settled, where nopony would think to look for him. Taking one cautious peek outside into the main chamber, he debunked the possibility of being watched.

His horn illuminated with blue magic as he made himself comfortable, leaning up against the rocky wall behind him. Trying not to make too much noise, he slid his saddlebag off of his back and unzipped the flap, levitating a dark reddish-brown hardback titled 'Elements of Harmony: A Reference Guide,' from the confines of the cloth. Any previous tomes he had read on the subject of Nightmare Moon had always led him back to this particular book.

“Let’s see...” He said to himself. “Where was I...” Using his magic, he flipped forwards a few pages in the old tome, dust spraying from in-between each dog-eared page. It tickled his nose, but he stopped himself from sneezing. “Ah. Here we are.” He read the passage of black text aloud.

‘There are six elements of harmony, but only five are known. Kindness, laughter, generosity, honesty and loyalty. The sixth is a complete mystery. It is said, that the last known location of the five elements is in the Ancient Castle of the Royal Pony Sisters. It is located in what is now The Everfree Forest.’

On the next page was a map of the Everfree Forest, a big red ‘X’ drawn over what he assumed was this ‘Ancient Castle’ that the tome spoke of. It was drawn on the book in red ink, akin to the classic ‘X marks the spot’ seen on the pirate treasure maps of old. It was almost certain that, if Twilight and her group were armed with this knowledge, they are captured in the Castle itself, and were likely still there with Nightmare Moon.

‘Well, at least I know where it is that we’re headed. As long as I follow this map exactly.’ The map was crinkled and dog-eared, yellowed and faded, but he could still make out the route he should take in order to reach his goal. Satisfied, he turned back a page.

“Elements of Harmony.” he found himself repeating, reading the passage over and over again, eyes picking the words clean until nothing was left but bare bone. “Elements of Harmony.”

Kindness.

Laughter.

Generosity.

Honesty.

Loyalty.

Why did the previous expedition fail? Could they not find them? Is it but a myth?

No. Everything else he had believed to be but old ponies tales was coming to life. Why should this be different?

Perhaps they failed to represent the elements correctly? Perhaps they were unsuitable?

Kindness.

Laughter.

Generosity.

Honesty.

Loyalty.

He said them over and over in his head.

Five elements. Five stallions. Was this meant to be? Were they really prophesied to save Equestria from the evil of Nightmare Moon?

He shook the crazy notion away, locking it back in the deep dark depths of his mind.

Hardly. There are SIX elements, only five are known.

Kindness. He thought for a moment. Although he didn’t know him quite as well as the others by now, Starfire still recognised the kindness in Derky’s heart. He had a good, caring soul; he loved and cherished animals, and wanted only to look after them: it was just a shame that they liked him considerably less.

Laughter. Cananor was obviously the joker of the group, somepony with real character and spirit. He seemed to know what to say at just the right times, and his one-liners were hilarious, or hilariously bad, which was just as good. A natural born comedian, his jokes even made Starfire laugh, and that was no small task. How he was destined to be a lawyer, Starfire would never know.

Generosity. Weatherstorm, perhaps? He seemed the generous sort of fellow, which was instantly obvious when he helped Starfire and the children into the Summer Sun Celebration, instead of freezing their flanks off outside. He had told him that night that ‘such generosity was oft unheard of...’

Honesty. That was a tough one. Starfire prided himself in being an honest individual, but he HAD lied to the others, reassuring them he knew where he was going when he obviously did not. Belove was honest in the sense that he would tell a pony what he thought of them to their face. Brutally honest, maybe? It was something to think about, anyway.

Loyalty. Was that Starfire? Could he represent this element? Try as he might, he couldn’t imagine it. Could he say he was loyal to his new friends? He would like to think so, but he had never really HAD friends until a few nights ago, so he was unsure... No. It just didn’t feel... him. There was still another element, one that he might be a better suitor for.

But if all six elements were needed to stop Nightmare Moon, who would represent loyalty? They were one member short in their five stallion party.

Somepony loyal to their country? Their princess? Loyal to the point where they would do anything...

...ANYTHING...

...For their country?

The unicorn’s mouth went dry as he made a startling revelation.

Icarus.

We have to work with Icarus.

“Engaging read?” One minute the entrance to the hidden room was bare, the next it was occupied by a certain bespectacled blue Pegasus pony.

Starfire jolted in fright at his sudden appearance, the blue tint that engulfed the room extinguishing at once as he dropped his book. It fell to the stone below with an echoing thud.

“WEATHERSTORM!” He gulped, wide eyed, his heart racing. “Ahem, I mean... Weatherstorm. I did not see you there.”

The journalist’s face displayed no emotion. His monotone tone did not falter. “I can be fairly quiet when I wish to be. And quick.”

Starfire gave the Pegasus a nervous, false cheesy grin. How long had he been there? What had he seen and heard?

“Yes, it is an engaging read,” Starfire tried to sound as innocent as he could, nonchalantly pushing the fallen tome behind him with a rushed swipe of his back leg. “So engaging I didn’t hear you approach.”

“Well,” said Weatherstorm, leaning up against the side of the makeshift doorway, running a hoof through his magnificent gelled manedo. “Perhaps I can have a quick look at it as well? I simply love books. The smell, the experience... there’s nothing quite like it.”

Starfire hoped that Weatherstorm didn’t see the thin bead of sweat work its way down his brow. “Anything for a fellow bibliophile. I’ll make sure to lend it to you once I am finished with it.”

He thought that would be enough to satisfy Weatherstorm’s curiosity. But no. The Pegasus simply cantered into the room and sat down in the middle, making sure to brush the immediate area free of dirt before his body made contact. “Well, I was rather hoping we could read together. As in now. Anything to get away from the fellows out there. No offense to them, but having a civilised conversation is nigh impossible.”

Starfire agreed with a smile and silently cursed his comrade. Perhaps he couldn’t help being so suspicious: being a journalist must have been in his blood. “Where was it...” The unicorn reached behind himself, out of view from prying eyes. His hoof brushed over the hardback tome that lay behind him, and kept on moving. It reached his saddlebag, where he randomly pulled out the first book he came into contact with.

He had to check for himself what book he had pulled from the lucky dip of literature before continuing; just a quick and deft look out of the corner of his eye. “Ah. Beastology: A study of creatures in Equestira. Have you read it?”

“Can’t say I have, sir. I lean further towards fiction.”

“Oh, it’s fascinating,” Starfire bluffed, pulling out facts he had learned at school. “Part of a series. This tome delves into the years after the unification of Equestria," he struggled to remember his old history lessons. He specialized in science, after all. He quickly switched gears back into biology. "A personal favourite section of mine discusses the Changeling race, who feed off of...”

Weatherstorm silenced him with a gesture. “Well, that all sounds engrossing and I shall have to borrow it some time. However, at this present moment I wish to read the tome that you were reading prior to my arrival.”

Starfire jumped up defensively. “What are you talkin’ about?” He stammered, looking far too nervous for an innocent stallion. “That was what I was reading.”

The Pegasus tilted his black rimmed glasses. “Really? I’m afraid my eyesight must be going, for that does not say ‘Elements of Harmony: A Reference Guide,’ to me, but I apologise if I’m wrong."

Starfire silently cringed and waved his hooves above his head, motioning for him to be quiet. The others were only in the next room, after all. Weatherstorm did as he was told and sat there looking not smug, but somewhat pleased with himself.

“How,” Starfire whispered, a little too loudly. He adjusted his pitch. “How did you know? How long?”

“Since before we left.” Answered Weatherstorm, crossing his forelegs on the ground. “I had a little chat with Rarity’s darling little sister Sweetie Belle who directed me to the library, in search of a particular book whose identity was concealed at the time. However, the dragon at the library was ever so helpful when I asked, giving me the name of the book I was searching for. Obviously he missed his companion and was really clutching at straws. However, there was a snag; the book I was searching for,” he nearly said the title out loud before stopping himself, not wanting to risk any nosy ears catching wind of Starfire’s little secret. “You know the one, had already been checked out earlier by a unicorn matching your description. You just beat me to it. That leaves me with a question, however; why?”

As much as he hated to admit it, this Pegasus was good with a capital excellent. “I don’t know.” He sighed. “Maybe it was the thrill of being in a new town that clouded my judgement. Maybe I just wanted to feel part of something, and maybe I did it to prove to Cheerilee, my class, and the scientific community that I can be responsible. Deep down, I knew that it was to help Equestria in its time of need, but... I don’t know. I should have left it to the professionals but there’s something about Icarus I don’t trust. Did you see how hasty he was to grow hostile with us back there? We are technically interfering, but... I can’t shake the feeling there is something he isn’t telling us.”

Sensing that the student was cleverly attempting to change the subject, Weatherstorm brought it back on track. “So tell me, what do you know about Nightmare Moon?”

“Not a substantial amount. I completed a course in Equestrian Mythology back in high school, but my knowledge is sketchy at best. I know her name is Luna, Celestia’s younger sister, who was banished to the moon when she refused to lower it out of jealousy for her sister’s popularity 1000 years ago. That’s about it, I guess.”

“And,” Weatherstorm was firing out the questions like a tennis ball serving machine. “This talk of ‘tracing her magic...’”

Starfire hesitated. “I know that I’ve been leading you in circles, but I needed you to believe me long enough for me to get a good look at this map. I’m not trying to lie to anypony, it just sort of... happened.”

“So if we lose that map, we’re lost. Excellent.” Weatherstorm cynically sighed.

“You won’t tell Belove, will you?” Starfire’s voice cracked with panic. He took a second to compose himself. “He doesn’t trust me as it is. If he finds out...”

Weatherstorm placed a re-assuring hoof on the unicorn’s shoulder. “Of course I won’t. I’m no common snitch, I assure you. Besides,” he gave him a warm, comforting smile which made all of Starfire’s problems melt away. “You’re a brainy sort of fellow and I trust you, and I am still in your debt for helping me. So worry not. Your little secret is in safe hooves.”

Starfire’s face lit up. “Belove won’t find out?”

“He won’t hear a word from me. And you have my word as a gentlecolt on that.”

“Celestia darn it!” Swore Belove, bringing the hammer down on his hoof for a third time in a row. This sparked a chorus of laughter from his less than helpful friends. The guard turned and glared. “I’d like to see you muppets do better.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re pitching a tent Belove,” replied Cananor. “Just grab your sleeping bag and lie in here for the night.”

Belove gulped and looked back into the cave. It wasn’t the darkness or the confined nature of the cave he was worried about, it was the creepy crawlies. Although he was too proud to admit it to his friends, spiders scared him. Bats scared him. Heck, even certain types of flies scared him. And he knew that all of the above, as well as other unidentified horrors, lurked in there.

“It’s perfectly simple, like,” He brimmed with over confidence. “I know what I’m doing, so I do. They teach us how to do these things in the AAAGGHH!”

The hammer missed its target, a large wooden stake, and came crashing down on the Earth Pony’s hoof for a fourth time.

The tool instantly fell to the grass with a thump and his hoof instinctively went in his mouth, battered red and throbbing with pain.

“Did they teach you to do that too?” Cananor’s response was met with an uproar of laughter. "Have you been drinking? Because you seem HAMMERED to me!"

The tent, barely in an upright position and struggling to maintain so, crumpled to the dirt seconds later. Belove frowned. “But you’re right. Despite going against military procedure, a cave will do.” He hurriedly pushed the useless tent to one side, reaching back into his saddlebag and producing a copper red bundle of material, before joining his friends in the cave.

They had certainly spruced the place up in the few short hours they had been there; several candles burned brightly placed in dips in the walls, illuminating the cave in a much more inviting and aesthetically pleasing glow. Some of the idle cobwebs that fluttered from the ceiling like streamers had been taken down by the Pegasi, and the majority of the loose rocks and rubble had been cleared away by the unicorns. Four sleeping bags lay on a flat area of the rocky ground in a semi-circle, huddled around the skeleton of a campfire. Several rocks had been placed in a circle shape in the middle, and all that was needed was a little kindling. Not too hard to source, considering they were in a forest.

Dragging his saddlebag behind him, Belove unfurled his sleeping bag and flapped it once, snapping through the air like a whip. Then he gently lowered it to the floor.

Probably rats, too. And cockroaches.

He shuddered. He wasn’t scared. Of course not. It wasn’t like they’d crawl all over him whilst he slept...

What really worried him was the spider he had annoyed earlier. What if it wanted to extract vengeance during the night? What if he awoke to find himself cocooned in a web, his screams muffled by spidery fibres, slowly digested?

That’s stupid. Honestly, you’re worse than ‘Stormy now.

Speaking of which, he was starting to grow extremely suspicious of the Pegasus. He had seen him sneak off to the far end of the cave, where he and Starfire had talked in hushed, whispered voices. Belove couldn’t decipher what they were saying, but it all seemed a little strange to him. And when they had finished, they simply returned as though nothing had happened.

Both looked like they were harbouring secrets. Secrets that he wanted to know. Secrets he would to find out.

One way, or another.

“...And they were never heard from again. They say on clear nights during a full moon, much like tonight, you can still see the horrifying ghosts of the cowponies, looking to expand their cursed herd.” Cananor finished his ghost story with a chilling laugh. The only pony who he seemed to have scared was himself. He quickly threw a blanket over himself to disguise the shaking.

Derky reached over and stuffed his face with another mouthful of marshmallow. “Wow. That’s pretty heavy,” He spat out between chews, gooey sweet treats stuck to the roof of his gums.

Of course, Belove disproved the story at once. “That’s rubbish. There were no cowponies around these parts. That story is fake.”

“Way to ruin the mood there, killjoy.”

“Derky, pass the bag.” Starfire asked, scooping up a handful of marshmallows with his hoof. He attacked one to the end of his stick, roasting it over the blazing fire until the puffy white exterior turned a rich golden hazel. He blew on it once, and then into his mouth it went.

He had to admit, he was quite enjoying the company of the others. Back in Fillydelphia, he hadn’t many friends. Not that he didn’t have any, but he didn’t really share that much time with them. They weren't the sort. Out here in the country, however, he felt like he was having a real boys own adventure, one that was nigh impossible in the city. And he was taking a shining to his new comrades. Belove was still fairly hostile, but he was sure that, as time went on, they would trust each other a little more. In a way, making such good friends made him a little sad: when he finished his degree and moved back home, it would be back to mundanity.

The unicorn didn’t dwell on those thoughts. He was here on a mission. Whatever the future may bring, now was not the time to think of it.

The only pony not huddled around the campfire was Weatherstorm. He sat on a rock a little distance away, scribbling on a piece of paper with a quill. Every now and then he would pause, look up at the ceiling, and then continue to write.

Cananor snuggled in closer to his blanket, munching on a s’more, making unsavoury ‘nom’ sounds with every bite. “Ey Reatferstum, o you nah eny got ghos stores?”

The Pegasus looked up from his work, unsure of whether Cananor had said his name or not. “Pardon?”

“Ah shed, o you noh an good scery stroies?” He repeated, completely undecipherable.

Weatherstorm sighed. “Can you please swallow before asking me again?”

Cananor obeyed, the s’more ceasing to be. “I said, do you know any good ghost stories?”

Weatherstorm shook his head. “No, I’m afraid that I do not. Why do you ask?”

Cananor rolled his eyes. “Uh, because you’re the CREATIVE one, duh. Are you writing one now?”

“No, I’m...”

“Can I see?”

“No.”

“What is it?”

“It’s...” He hesitated for a moment, expecting laughter. “It’s just a little poem that I’m writing for Rarity.”

Belove held back a giggle. “You’re writing a poem? Can we read it, then?”

Weatherstorm held the sheet tight to his chest. “No,” he said sharply, with a hint of annoyance. “It’s not finished. Keep your filthy hooves off of it.”

“Yoink!” Despite his protests, the journalist’s sheet was magically snatched from him in an ice blue aura. Like an obedient dog, the magic returned to its owner and dropped the scroll into Cananor’s outstretched hooves. “Thank you.”

Weatherstorm jumped to his hooves in a desperate bid to protect his property, but it was too late. Cananor began to read as Weatherstorm sulkily slunk back to his seat.

‘She’s an angel

White and pure

Like snowfall

And a breath of winter’s chill.

Her laugh like a heavenly bugle

Is dainty and feminine

Yet fuelled with raw power

And drops whole armies to their hooves.

Every time I gaze

Upon her beautiful form

I can’t help but feel

Alive, overcome

With both sadness and joy

With love and remorse.

She’s perfect, no matter what

Others say, absolutely

Perfect, like she was molded

By the hooves of a god

As she molds her

Works.

A true Rarity,

I yearn for no other.

Burning with desire to be

Hers, and for her

To be mine.

Love at its purest,

For it is true love,

I look at her,

Just another face

Out in the crowd

And I feel lost.

I love her from afar

And dream

She loves me back.’

The room was silent for a moment, before Belove burst out laughing. “That’s it? No offense, my friend, but stick to writing articles. It didn’t even rhyme.”

Blushing, Weatherstorm swooped past and snatched back his poem, quickly folding it up and cramming it into his saddlebag. His voice shook as he spoke. “Thank you for the public humiliation, Cananor. It wasn’t meant to rhyme. The free verse symbolises my unbound, unrestricted love for her. It’s romantic.” He furrowed his brow. “And like I said, it isn’t finished.”

Belove smirked, opening another can of oats that he magically produced from his bag. They were left burning over the campfire. “You really like that mare, don’t you?”

“If you’re referring to Miss Rarity then yes, yes I do.” Weatherstorm grumpily replied, sitting down with the rest of the group. “I thought that was fairly obvious by now.”

“She is pretty good looking.” Belove smiled, sticking a spoon into his can of military grade rations. “I’ll say that much.”

Starfire was curious. He levitated another marshmallow from the packet before asking. “What about you, Belove? Do you have a very special somepony?”

The earth pony licked his face clean with a slurp of his long equine tongue. “Yep. She’s probably back in Ponyville, eagerly awaiting my victorious return.”

“I doubt it.” Cananor chirped in, molten marshmallow smeared across his face. He pulled a comic book from his rucksack, which was brimming with useless trash and junk food. "She's too much like you. I wouldn't be surprised if she's hitting on that big red guy who works up on the farm right now."

“What about you, Cananor? Is there anypony that you’ve taken a fancy to?”

The unicorn didn’t look up from his comic. “Nope. Phoenix is the only love of my life.”

Starfire raised an eyebrow at the statement. “Really? Nopony at all?”

“Well,” Cananor peeked over the top of his book, giving them only half of his attention. “There was one.”

Belove slapped him on the back, the comic he was reading slipping from his grip and nearly sailing into the flames of the open fire, which crackled and spat at him like vicious animals, had it not been for Starfire who managed a magical save.

“Would you be careful you brute?” Cananor growled angrily at Belove. “That’s a collector’s edition!”

Of course, the Earth Pony was too proud to apologise. “I didn’t know you had a crush! Who is it, Lemon Hearts?”

“Nope.”

“Amethyst Star?” Derky inquired.

“I’m pretty sure she’s married, so... no.”

“In my humble opinion, I think you and Pinkamena would be quite the match.” Weatherstorm offered his input. “After all, she’s funny, you’re funny...”

“You mean Pinkie Pie? Yeah, she’s great. We started up a little ‘Phoenix Flight’ fan club back in the day. We were the only members in Ponyville, don’t you know! But no, my heart belongs to another.”

“I can’t take it!” Belove grabbed his unicorn friend by the shoulders. “Who is it already?”

“You wouldn’t know her.” He gave him a sly smirk. “She’s not from Ponyville.”

“Tell me already!” Whined the guard, eager to get the juicy dirt. Weatherstorm, too, leaned close.

“Well, a few years back, my aunt had to go to the official ribbon cutting for the new settlement of Appleloosa, what with her being Mayor of Ponyville. Appleloosa is way out in the countryside.”

“Even more rural than Ponyville?” Asked Starfire. Coming from a city, Ponyville was about as rural as his mind could allow him to imagine.

“Way more rural. Heck, this was out in the middle of a desert. Anyway, I went with her. Any excuse to get away from my nag of a mother and bully of a father, you know? Whilst I was there, I laid eyes on the most beautiful mare I have ever seen. Such gentle, captivating green eyes...” Their friend began to drift away from them and back to the sandy streets of Appleloosa in a wonderful, romantic daydream. “...and luscious candlelight orange hair. She was a real country girl.”

“What happened, may I ask? Did you express your feelings for her?”

“Naw, man.” Cananor came back to his senses. “She was fairly popular round those parts and I was only one suitor out of many. Besides, I knew that my father wouldn’t, well... ‘agree’ with my romantic interests. He’s just like that.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Starfire offered him his sympathy. “What was her name?”

Cananor smiled, imagining the pony's face in his mind once more.

“Braeburn.”

Weatherstorm looked up from the hypnotising dancing of the campfire’s flames, which licked at the shadows of the cave.

“Braeburn? Forgive me, but isn’t that a stallion’s name?”

Cananor spat out his mouthful of chewed up foodstuff upon realisation of what he had just said. “BRAEBELLE!” He screamed loudly, the name echoing through the cave like a disembodied chant. “I meant Braebelle.”

The unicorn’s embarrassment burned with more of a red hot glow than the campfire did. Starfire decided it was time to change the subject, to spare the poor fellow from further ridicule.

“I thought your poem was very nice.” He said, this time to Weatherstorm. Belove began to protest that it was ‘rather rubbish’ but stopped himself. Starfire was allowed to continue, uninterrupted. “You got your cutie mark for writing, didn’t you?”

Weatherstorm nodded, emotionlessly. He looked down at his cutie mark, a rolled up scroll beneath a shimmering moon. “Something like that. I wrote for the school paper when I was a foal.”

“Oh?” Starfire leaned forwards, head cupped in his hooves. “Would you tell us how you got it?”

“It’s not really that interesting.” The Pegasus seemed a little uneasy when Starfire asked the question, squirming uncomfortably. “I just wrote an article and it appeared.”

Belove yawned. “Aye, it sounds really dull. Now, the story of MY cutie mark...”

Everypony instinctively groaned. They knew what was coming.

“...Is far more interesting. Here, scooch closer, because this story is so exciting it’ll knock your socks off.”

“We’re not wearing socks...”

“Quiet! I’m beginning my story.”

As you can guess, I was a pretty special foal. The doctor said so when I was born. At school I was getting top grades, of course, and I was very talented. Aye, my parents adored me, and I couldn’t blame them.

“Mam!” The little earth pony beamed as he flung open the wooden half-door to his family home, his end of year grades held aloft in his hoof like a sacred parchment, flapping in the wind. “Mam!”

Belove lived in a modest household, which was a polite way of saying that he lived in a shoebox. Little more than a pile of mud and bricks on the outskirts of town, his one story residence was barely able to house his mother, his sister and himself. Proud owners of a few acres of dust, their farm was hardly a successful one. They had little in the way of commodities and their life was a simple one but, to that little colt, home was home.

He was taught to make do with what life gave you.

He happily pronked his way through the doorway, grinning from ear to ear. The door slammed shut behind him, rattling on its hinges, literally held on with rust. An idle can rolled across the barren room, encased in filth. “Mam! I got the test results!”

It took the colt a few moments to get a response. First, the sound of creaking, rotting floorboards, then the kitchen door swung open, and there stood his mother to greet his arrival.

“Son,” she croaked, forcing a smile and leaning on the rickety old planks of wood they called a table for support. “You’re home. How did you do?”

Belove’s mother was a frail earth pony, with a green coat and wiry grey hair. She wasn’t particularly old, but she was very sick and tired, and years of running a farm alone had taken its toll on her body. Belove had never known his father, and he was rarely brought up in conversation. Any attempts made by the colt were met only with silence by his mother.

The colt cantered up to his parent and embraced her lovingly, for every child idolises their mother. “Here, mammy!” He said, his voice full of cheer and innocence and dripping with everything good in the world of Equestria. He gave his grade sheet to his mother, eagerly awaiting her verdict, for mother’s verdict was law.

As you can well imagine, both my parents were pleased with my results. But then, why wouldn’t they be?

“What is this?” Belove’s mother pushed her son away from her. Despite her skeletal figure, she was still fairly strong. “You got a C+?”

Belove tried once again to hug his mother, to no avail. He gulped, knowing that those stern, focused eyes meant business.

He lowered his head and flattened his ears against his scalp in shame. “I thought... you’d be happy.”

“HAPPY?” Belove’s mother’s voice shook in anger and frustration. She crumpled the sheet in her hoof, tossing it into the small trashcan that lay beside her, overflowing with foul smelling garbage. “Why would I be happy? Begorra, you’re better than a C+, for crying out loud!” Her knees buckled and her breathing became erratic, forcing the youngster to ease her into a creaking old, termite infested chair.

“Mam?” He asked, concern growing for his unwell mother. “Mam, are you okay?”

“I’m... fine.” She wheezed, leaning back in the chair. “But these grades are unacceptable. You should be getting A+, not a stinkin’ C! Your sister got A’s all round... so why...” She coughed; a raspy, chesty hack. “...Why can’t you? You're just as brainsmart as her.”

Belove was having a hard time as of late. His mother was a strong willed mare, but that can only get you so far. Over the past few months, she had become far too sick to look after the farm by herself and, without a stallion of the household, it fell on young Belove to pick up his father’s tools, farm the land and make money for his deprived family. Whilst he enjoyed working outdoors, having a full time job was having a serious negative effect on his schoolwork. However, his mother would hear none of it. She was the hard-headed sort who, in her mind, was always right. He knew better than to argue, so he said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” He whimpered, tears forming in his eyes. “I’ll do better next time, I swear.”

They were so pleased, in fact, that I got a special treat. But then again, that was nothing new.

“Aye, you will.” His mother sighed, breathing heavily. She closed her eyes. “Go to your room and study. You’re going to do a LOT better next time, or Celestia help me...” She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to.

Belove politely excused himself, hurriedly scurrying past her judgemental glare. He could feel her eyes on him, burning a focused beam into the back of his head like the sun’s rays amplified in a magnifying glass.

He waited until he reached his matchbox of a bedroom before he slumped to his bed, defeated. Outside, the sun was setting over the horizon, rolling green hills. The outside world, where the possibilities were endless. Undiscovered countries, new, interesting life forms... he dreamed of adventure. But no: his place was here, looking after his mother and younger sister.

He waited until he heard his mother’s unsteady hooves clop along the hallway to her closet of a room before he put his face in his hooves and wept. He wouldn’t let her see him cry. He was too proud.

And he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

Cananor screwed up his nose. “I don’t get it,” he said in-between mouthfuls of potato chips. “You keep talking about your school grades. When do we get to the bit where you get your cutie mark?”

Belove lowered himself back down onto his seat. “I was getting to that part. You’re so impatient, so you are.”

“I’m find this hard to believe.” Starfire admitted. “You say your father was a rich oil tycoon? I didn’t even know there was oil reserve in Ponyville.”

“Aye, because somepony who has lived in town for a few months knows all about the town, yeah? Keep out of it, city slicker. This is MY family and MY cutie mark we’re discussing here, right? I think I know what I’m talking about.”

“Right." Starfire said, annoyance there for all to hear. "Sorry.”

“Anyway, where was I?”

Oh yeah, it was school sport’s day, and I was raring to go.

Belove felt sick to the stomach as he took his place on the starting line, nestled amongst his fellow pupils. He felt so tired. The hot, heavy summer’s sun beat down furiously upon his back, and it was days like these that he wished that he hadn’t all this cumbersome fur.

He blew his long, oak mane from his eyes once more. He was meaning to have it cut. In this brief window of visibility, he saw the other contenders and his stomach did a summersault. There, three places down, was Thunder Charger and his lackey Barry Brick, the school bullies.

Thunder’s face meant business. He flexed his handsome white wing and stretched his long, slender hooves, rearing for a race. The young Pegasus nudged his rather dim witted friend upon Belove’s timid arrival. Belove caught a glimpse of the two sniggering, talking in hushed, malevolent voices. They were talking about him, he was sure of it.

Gulping, he turned up to the bleachers where his mother sat, barely visible amidst the multitude of other ponies, proud parents giving their foals some last minute encouragement. It took him a few moments to find his mother’s pale, sullen face wedged in between so many pastel coloured others. He waved at her, seeking words of encouragement like a nervous child does. She merely gloomily glared back at him. It did nothing to heighten his spirits.

His teacher trotted onto the circular dirt runway, dressed in loose fitting black and white garbs, reminiscent of a zebra. The crowds grew silent. Belove grew pale.

The teacher brought the whistle to her lips, then paused, giving the participants enough time to get into position. “On your marks...” She boomed into the loudspeaker, her voice so powerful it shook the spectator stands.

Belove heard his name called, barely above a husky whisper. He anxiously turned his head, already knowing what was to come.

Thunder gave him one of his cocky, sarcastic smiles and violently ran his hoof across the length of his neck. “Hey BeLOSER,” he jeered, accompanied by his companion’s cruel laughter. “Why even bother? You’re finished!”

The little earth pony tried his best to ignore them, focusing instead on getting himself into position. He had to come first. He had to get gold. His mother expected nothing less than first place. She was watching his every move. One slip up...

“Get set!” Everypony raised their flanks, front hooves spread, back legs ready to propel them forwards in a moment’s notice. Belove didn’t feel up to this: not today. Working the farm day after day had left him weak, fatigued, and drowsy. He shook himself awake.

‘No,’ he thought, squinting his eyes, trying to keep himself focused. ‘I can’t lose. I NEED to win. I need...’

“GO!” The whistle took him by surprise, piercing through his skull like an explosion. He barely had time to gather himself before nine young foals flashed past him, jolting from their positions at incredible speed, leaving him quite literally in the dust.

The earth pony forced himself forwards, already far behind the others. To his sides, he heard the bellows of the onlookers, chanting their children’s names and cheering them on. The only name he didn’t hear was his.

Nearly stumbling over his own hooves, he passed one of his classmates, a unicorn colt by the name of Twinkle. He was trying his best, but the poor thing wasn’t in great shape, and was finding it difficult keeping up with the others. Belove galloped by him with relative ease, almost feeling sorry for the guy as he heard his tragic huffs and puffs grow fainter and fainter into the distance.

I was miles ahead of the competition, naturally.

Belove’s chest heaved as he ran as fast as his body would physically allow, trying to make up for lost time. He passed another of his fellow students, Pinkie as she was known by her friends, happily bouncing along the track at her own pace without a care in the world. Her family lived on a rock farm near his house, but her parents were far less strict than his own mother. They cheered for her from the sidelines, blowing their party horns with genuine enthusiasm. In a way, he envied her.

‘Two places down,’ He thought. ‘Not good enough.’

The earth pony pushed himself harder, hooves kicking up dirt and grass from the track in great clumps, edging closer to the main bulk of the racers. Lowering his head in effort, he passed the new kid, then Toffee Treat and Gumball Surprise, Sparkler and finally Cananor on the second turn. The sun blinded him for a moment as he made the second turning, bleachers and grandstands no longer shielding him from direct sunlight.

‘Come on,’ he urged himself to keep going, images of his mother’s scornful face fighting off the urge to sleep. ‘I HAVE to win. Only two more places.’

Barry Brick was in second place, perhaps on purpose. The huge, hulking beast of an earth pony was not what you would call an ‘independent thinker’, rather he took his orders from his only friend, Thunder Charger. And it seemed that the strategy here was for Barry Brick to keep any brave enough to get close away from Thunder Charger, so he could win and lap up all the praise as usual.

Upon hearing the sound of galloping hooves, Barry turned to find Belove hot on his tail. That wouldn’t do at all.

What Barry Brick lacked in brains, he made up for in brawn and, surprisingly, speed. Belove was, admittedly, a fast runner, but he was having a hard time keeping alongside the lumbering brute.

The towering meat stack glared angrily as the colt ran alongside him, edging closer and closer forwards. Belove didn’t have time to wipe the sweat from his eyes. He continued on, blind, running on nothing but self determination and a little bit of fear.

The first blow came out of nowhere, Barry Brick slamming into Belove in a sideways swipe, nearly knocking the colt right off of his hooves. The Earth Pony stumbled as a result of the assault, but managed to recover before tumbling to the ground in a pathetic pile of disappointment. Barry shot him another glance, this time more worried.

I’m sorry to interrupt your delightful little story, Belove, but is this the same Barry Brick who is now a serving member of the Ponyville guard? The very same that Starfire and I had the delight of conversing with on the night of the Summer Sun Celebration?

Aye, the same. Now whisht, it’s getting good. The brute tried to ram me again; big mistake. He went crying back to his mammy after I had finished with him.

Belove winced again as Barry’s powerful body collided with his, trying desperately to run him off the track. To Belove, it was like running headfirst into a brick wall. His name was certainly appropriate.

Winded, he somehow managed to muster up the willpower to continue, pain from both the running and constant battering spreading through his chest like a wildfire. His legs ached. His chest ached. His head throbbed. Yet he continued to run, like his life depended on it.

Barry snorted. Since Belove couldn’t take a hint, it was time to break out the big guns. And by that, his plan was to ram the troublesome fool. Really hard.

Belove gasped as he saw big ol’ Barry break away from his side, veering to the right of the track like a stampeding Buffalo. He reached the edge of the dirt track at the third corner, gave Belove a rather gormless yet malevolent smile, then charged sideways, muscular shoulder poised like a battering ram.

His war cry of “RRRRAAAAAAGGGHHHH!” as he barrelled closer forced Belove to take action. Right before Barry’s shoulder became familiar with Belove’s face, the earth pony slammed on the breaks, skidding to sudden and, for Barry, unfortunate stop. Unable to stop, Barry Brick’s front heavy body pulled him sideways; crashing with all his weight into one of the newly planted apple trees that the Apple family had kindly donated to the school. Belove resumed running as Barry stumbled dazedly, choosing to waste as little time as possible. He had a race to win, after all.

Giving one quick glance back, Belove spotted an ever shrinking Barry Brick stagger to his hooves, trying to stand after such a collision. A few apples were shaken loose from their branches, falling from heaven like holy vengeance, each one landing on his scalp with a dull thud. What little sense young Barry had was knocked clean out of his head that day.

Belove couldn’t help but smile as he sped ahead. ‘That felt pretty good.’ He smirked. ‘Pretty darn good.’

With a newfound rush of adrenaline, Belove flew down the racetrack like a professional racehorse, closing the gap between himself and Thunder Charger.

This was between me and him now, and Thunder was the only obstacle standing in the way of victory.

Thunder Charger did not expect to see Beloser rattling towards him like a freight train, steely gazed and smiling. He was shooting along at phenomenal speed, and was only meters away from stealing Thunder’s gold medal, which was rightfully HIS.

Belove enjoyed the little spark of fear in his opponent’s eye. He knew that the gold mdeal was going home with him.

They were coming into the final corner now, neck and neck, pony packed stands whizzing by in a blur of colour. Thunder Charger, straining with effort, gasped, “You... can’t... win, BeLOSER.”

Belove sneered back, staring deep into his eyes, sweat gushing from every pore like a waterfall. “Watch me.”

‘Watch me,’ I said, and Bam!

Cool.

So what did you do? Cheat?

Ah, no way. I won that race fair and square.

Belove’s hoof shot out to the side in a flash of forceful fury mid gallop, slipping right under Thunder’s madly thrashing legs as they approached the finishing line. Thunder let out a barely audible ‘eep’ of surprise as he felt himself tripping, falling, victory falling from his grasp and slipping through his hooves. He hit the dirt face first, skidding in the dirt for a few meters, his hooves an entangled mess which trailed behind him.

The crimson colt sailed across the finish line as a chorus of cheers erupted from the bleachers. He slowed his pace to a jog, and then stopped altogether, looking up at those happy faces above him. They all chanted his name, like he was some sort of royalty; he liked it.

His teacher cantered alongside him, levitating a gold medallion from a fold up table and hanging it around his neck. Belove shivered as the cold metal pressed against his skin. It was delightfully heavy and shone like the sun itself, casting a winner’s glow whichever way he turned his head. #1 was engraved in the gold. He followed the shape with his hoof as he was led to a podium, taking his place on the middle step, displaying his dominance over the others like a king overlooking his kingdom.

‘All these faces,’ Belove thought, his eyes filled with wonder. ‘Looking at me. All these voices, chanting my name. I... I love it.'

I can’t describe what it felt like. All that praise. All that attention. I was being rewarded, for doing well. And it was just... magical.

I thought you were used to that? It certainly sounded like it.

Uh... Aye, of course I was.

Belove had never experienced such attention before. They spotlight was on HIM, and he found the experience exhilarating. For once, he felt valued. Like he was somepony. And something changed in that shy little foal that day. He found himself questioning, ‘Why can’t I have ALL the attention ALL the time?’

The truth of the matter was, he liked being praised. It was a foreign feeling, but one he could certainly could get used to.

“Young man,” came a husky, gravelly voice behind him. The little earth pony turned to find a stranger, a fairly well built unicorn, wearing the uniform of the Ponyville guard. Though a scar ran the length of his face, his smile was warm and welcoming. “Young man, that was fine racing.”

Belove put a hoof to his chest. “Are you talking... to me?”

The unicorn nodded, swishing his grey mane behind him. “Indeed I am, son. Fine racing. If only I could say the same about my Cananor.”

It was then Belove realised that this stranger was Cananor’s father. Cananor didn’t talk much about his dad, which was understandable as, neither did he. But now that he had seen him, in the flesh, he seemed magnificent, like the dad Belove had always yearned for.

“You know,” he continued, placing a hoof around the child. “You seem the sort who likes adventure, don’t you?”

Belove’s eyes sparkled. “Adventure?”

“You know, action! Exploration! Visiting faraway lands, meeting new ponies!” The unicorn continued, his eyes curling into a grin. “Does that sound good to you?”

Belove cradled his medal, turning it back and forth like a good luck charm. “Yeah... yeah, it does!”

Cananor’s father laughed. “Good man! The Ponyville guard could use somepony like you. Somepony with a ‘can do’ attitude!”

“Ponyville guard... me?”

The grizzled unicorn gave him a friendly wink and a nudge. “Think about it.” With that, he trotted off to collect his son. He turned before he went through the gate. “Congratulations on your cutie mark, by the way!”

“Huh?” Belove span around and inspected his flank. There, shining just as bright as his treasured reward was a shining gold medallion. His cutie mark.

Wait, you were talking to my DAD?

Aye, I called him ‘Your dad’ like, four times.

Then why don’t I remember this conversation?

Because he talked to me in private. Duh. Now shush. I’m almost finished.

That’s a relief.

Belove’s mother walked him home, back to his farm, a dustbowl of ashes and dead-end dreams. “Belove,” she rasped, holding her child by the hoof. “You did so well today. I'm very proud. I saw you talking to Captain Blue Brigade. What was he saying?”

“He was just... congratulating me, mammy.”

"Is that so?" She raised an eyebrow, her wrinkles tunnelling their way up her forehead. “Was that all?”

Belove stroked his medal tenderly. “And... he told me about the Ponyville guard.”

His mother pulled her hoof away from his, leaned over with a grunt of effort, and stared the colt straight in the eye. “No, Belove. You’re not joining the Ponyville guard.”

He avoided her gaze. “But... why not? I want to see the world, mam, I want to...”

He was silenced by his mother’s hoof pressing softly against his lips. “I know I’m a wee bit harsh on you Belove,” she explained, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “But it’s for your own good. I want to see you do well in life...”

Belove pushed away. She held him in place.

“I want to see you get an education. I want to see you attend university. I want to see you get a good job, have a good future. You're a smart lad. I know that Blue Brigade's words sound tempting now...” She squeezed her foal closer to her. “...But it isn’t much better than THIS. This farm. You’re better than that.”

Belove pulled away from her grip. “No!” He screamed. “Blue Brigade told me it’s an adventure! He praised me, he likes me, mammy, he... he loves me!”

“Sweetie, I...” she coughed, tears blinding her. “I love you, so I do. You know that. Please, come... come here, Belove.”

Belove broke into a gallop. He didn’t know where he was going, but he needed to get away. His eyes had been opened, and there was no turning back now.

His mother called after him, but that just caused him to run faster, further.

He waited until he heard his mother’s desperate voice faded away into nothing before he put his head in his hooves and wept. He wouldn’t let her see him cry. He was too proud.

And he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

Starfire seemed a little surprised by the ending of the story. He took another swig of cool, refreshing water from his canteen before he asked, “You ran away from home?”

“Naw,” he shrugged in response, poking the fire with a marshmallow adorned stick. “I was back by dinnertime. But my mam... a-and me da, too, they didn’t want me joining the guard.”

“But you did anyway?”

“Well, I’m a smooth talker. Even though they would miss me terribly, they knew that I was ready to fulfil my destiny. Besides, the Ponyville guard needed tough, fearless ponies like me. Cananor’s dad said so himself.”

“I don’t remember that conversation at all, so I think you’re talking garbage.”

Sensing another row, Starfire attempted to defuse the situation. “What about your cutie mark story, Cananor? How did you end up with a pair of scales?”

“Eh.” Cananor clambered to his hooves with dismissive wave of his hoof. “I’ll tell you on the night.”

“It is the night, stupid.”

“I meant another night, Belove.”

“What about your cutie mark story, Derky?” Starfire realised his mistake too late, covering his mouth his hooves like he could squash the words back in, or at least prevent any further thoughtless comments escaping his lips.

The blank-flanked Pegasus said nothing for a few seconds, simply staring blank faced at the wall before he finally looked down at the fire, dancing flames reflected in his big, lime green eyes and muttered, “I’ll go get more firewood."

He slowly trotted out of the cave without another word, trailing his hooves behind him.

They watched him go, a metaphorical raincloud hanging quite predominantly above his head. Belove didn’t help matters.

“Aye, I think you’ve upset him.” With that, he frowned. “Don’t think you can get away with upsetting my friends, newbie. I’ll thrash you good.”

“Leave him alone, Belove, you big red jabroni.” Cananor barked sharply, reading his sleeping bag. He turned his attention to Starfire. “I know you didn’t mean to, but I think you’ve hurt his feelings. I would go talk to him, if I were you.”

Starfire bit his lip. “You think he took offense?”

“I dunno. You should apologise anyway.” He nimbly slipped into his sleeping bag like a worm, squirming his way down towards the bottom. He reached over and blew out one of the candles nearest to him. “Goodnight.”

Weatherstorm yawned, a polite little intake of breath, and removed his glasses, placing them in a side compartment of his saddlebag. “I am also rather ‘bushwhacked’ as it were. I might call it a night as well. Gute Nacht.” He too slid into his sleeping bag and was asleep in a matter of minutes.

Starfire hurried out of the cave, expecting to have to start up a little search party in order to locate the missing stallion. In actual fact, he didn’t have to search very hard at all. Derky Bells was directly outside, sitting there like a lost puppy, looking up through the canopy clearing at the full moon.

Starfire approached him apprehensively from behind, juggling the notion of announcing his arrival with the notion of hoping the Pegasus didn’t hold a grudge, and heading back inside.

“I’m not angry, you know.” Derky finally spoke, still facing away from the unicorn. How soft his little voice was. “Sit down if you want.”

Starfire complied, settling down on a nice spot of grass beside him. He sighed and lowered his head. “I’m sorry. It was insensitive, and I wasn’t thinking...”

Derky shrugged it off, like water off a duck’s back. “It’s alright. I know you didn’t mean anything by it. Uh, I have thick skin.”

Starfire blushed as he stumbled over his words. “I mean, I hope you didn’t... you know, I wasn’t making fun...”

“It’s okay, really.” He laughed. “I just needed some fresh air, that’s all. It’s bleh stuffy in that cave.” He frowned. “Caves. Bah. I don’t like caves.”

“So, uh...” Starfire scratched the back of his head, nervously. “You’re not upset?”

Derky took a deep breath, then released it, forming wispy smoke which floated effortlessly into the night sky. “No. I’ve had a lot worse, really. I, eh... I was bullied a lot at school. You get used to stuff like that.”

Starfire shook his head in disgust. “Nopony should have to experience that. Why?”

“You know, the usual.” He tried his best not to cry, memories flooding back like a horrid tsunami bringing with it disease and pestilence to eat away at his mental wellbeing. “Because of my mane. Because I am not smart. Because I was a blank flank. What didn’t they make fun of me about?”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Derky. Didn’t you tell your parents?”

“My parents?” Derky swiped at a flower with his tail. “My parents. Have, uh... have you ever heard of Bell Incorporated?”

Starfire thought the question a little irrelevant. “Everypony has. The chemicals company that operates Cloudsdale’s Rainbow Factory. I don’t see...” Like a ton of bricks, realisation hit Starfire. “Wait, you mean... ”

Derky nodded. “I thought you would have known, Starfire.”

“But that means you’re a millionaire!” Starfire gasped excitedly. “Multi-millionaire!”

Derky Bells shuddered from the cold, reminiscing about his traumatic childhood. “Money don't buy you happiness. My parents were too caught up in their fancy-pantsy lifestyle to even remember I existed.”

Starfire was still in shock from his recent revelation. He took a moment to suspend his belief. “Didn’t you have anypony to talk to at all?”

“I grew up in Cloudsdale. Despite how nice it looks, the floating city was really a... not a nice place. Weatherstorm was my only friend back then, and to be honest, I think he was only my friend to get close to my parents. I wouldn't blame him: maybe he saw something in them I didn't. Sometimes I think that he might have been the son they wanted after all..”

Starfire found it strange that, although he had fewer chances to speak to Derky as he had the others, he had penned him down as the rather ‘dim’ one. However, speaking one on one to him as he was now, he saw that this was not the case. He wasn’t exactly ‘stupid’ rather he was an inward thinker; somepony who kept their thoughts and emotions to themselves.

Ponies like this tended to find it difficult putting what they wanted to say into words. Yet something about Starfire must have comforted him, for words, as basic was they were, were flowing freely.

“I was one of the the only ponies in my class without my cutie mark,” he continued, gazing at the moon like it would suddenly fix the past. “And they made fun of me day after day. It started with just saying, ‘Blank flank’ but soon they got even worse. And it got to the stage where I would come home from school and I would just cry, alone and afraid. I'm always glad I had Weatherstorm, really. We helped each other. I had to be strong. For him.”

“So what happened?”

“My family left Cloudsdale, moved into a big house in Ponyville. I didn't want to leave my only friend, but I was still young at the time so I had to. Maybe I would, uh... meet new ponies, find my true talent. Little did I know that foals are just as nasty no matter where you are.”

Starfire couldn’t help but feel sorry for the mournful Pegasus, who lived a life of such luxury yet had such a sad childhood. “They made fun of you in Ponyville, too?”

“Not everypony. Just two; Thunder Charger and Barry Brick. They made my life very, very sad, that was, until help came from a strange place.” A gentle breeze blew though the tree cover, playing him a sweet melody like the pluck of a harp. “I never did discover my special talent after all these years and at first I thought it was a curse. I guess now I see it the other way; I don’t pretend to be smart, but I heard a wise old pony once said, “A cutie mark only limits what a talent can be, but a blank flank offers a world of endless opportunities." Or something like that, I guess. I don’t know about you, but that sounds okay to me. That’s why I came here in the first place: I guess I just want to feel valued, like I’m useful for once. I want to be good at something, I do, I do.”

Starfire nodded slowly. The unicorn knew that Derkington was speaking from a raw place. “I know what it’s like to feel worthless, Derky. When I failed my entry exam to the Royal Academy, my cousins, my aunt, my uncle... all scholars, they said I was too young and volatile I believed them. I gave up on my dream listening to others, Derky. Don’t let others deter you from finding yours.”

“Thanks.” Derky turned back to the moon, pale and beautiful, and whispered, “The moon sure is pretty tonight. Big, too.” He sighed, then forced a smile, before casually making his way back inside.

Starfire sat outside for a few more minutes, looking up at those wonderful twinkling stars in the sky and found himself captivated by their beauty. The little talk he had with Derky reminded him of dreams, how he had never achieved his, and how Derky had never discovered his. Yet stars kept on shining, like a shimmer of hope in the distance, a promise of good things, wonderful things, to come if he reached high enough. Like eyes guiding him through the good times, and the bad.

One billion eyes winked at him, and he winked back.

Belove was the only one still awake when Derky came back inside. Both Cananor and Weatherstorm were curled up in their sleeping bags like newborn foals, occasionally stirring and mumbling incoherent nothings under their restful breaths.

The Earth Pony was poking the flames of the fire, infant flames rising up from the ash and dancing at his hooves. He looked as Derky made his way carefully, silently into the cave, tiptoeing least he wake the others from their peaceful slumber.

“Get more firewood?” Belove said a little loudly, Weatherstorm stirring for a brief moment, then turning and hugging his pillow with a soft, delicate groan. Belove continued, quieter this time. “Did you?”

Derky gave one swift nod and dumped a few errant twigs on the fire, the flames consuming them hungrily. “There.” He watched the flames engulf the wood, quickly burning the sticks to ash. Then he yawned, and turned away. “Well, I’m really, really tired. I think I’ll go to sleep now as well. I want to dream of marshmallows.”

He was stopped by Belove. “Stall the ball, Derky.” His voice lowered to such a low tone that Derky could barely hear what he was saying. The earth pony glanced nervously back to the front of the cave, where Starfire sat with their backs to them, watching the night sky, unmoving. “I saw you had a nice wee chattin' session with Starfire, there.”

“Yes, I did.” He smiled innocently. “What’s the problem?”

“My problem,” Belove huffed, grabbing the Pegasus gruffly by the hoof, “Is that everypony is talking in secret all of a sudden, and I don’t like it. So you’d better tell me what all that was about.”

Derky broke away from Belove and scowled. Belove had never seen his companion scowl before, and somehow, he pulled off the expression pretty well. “When I wanted to come along, you gave me one task. To keep an eye on Starfire.”

Belove’s eyes widened. “You mean, you were spying on him all along?”

Derky Bells threw Belove’s notebook back to him. The pages were full to the brim with unintelligible handwriting. “I wasn’t spying, I was getting information.”

Belove hurriedly bundled up the book and flipped through the pages. “Nice! And?”

“And,” Derky poked Belove in the chest with his hoof, driving him back a few steps. “I think he is a really kind pony. He listens to me, and he cares about me. He doesn't treat me like I'm an idiot. I know you think I’m stupid, Belove, but...”

Belove attempted to put his arm around the upset stallion. “Here, you hold on a wee moment. I never said that...”

“But I can tell. You all think so, but not Starfire. You have been very rude to him all day, when all he wants to do is help, because you’re jealous of him. You don’t like somepony else being in charge. He’s not the bad pony here, Belove. You need to say sorry.”

Belove was so shocked by the sudden outburst that, for a brief moment, he was speechless. First his face contorted in confusion, then anger, but then he sighed and lowered his gaze to the floor. The book fell from his grip. “I’m... I’m sorry you feel that way, Derky. I really am.” He sat down on a nearby boulder by the campfire and put his hooves to his face, defeated. “I guess I have been a wee bit hard on him. It’s just...” He sniffed, and if Derky didn’t know the hard-headed stallion any better, he would have sworn he was crying. He could only assume he caught a cold. “I don’t know what I’m doing out here, Derky. Everypony thinks I do but, I... I just don’t. I don't know why I say things sometimes.. But that doesn’t excuse the way I’ve been acting recently. I’ve been a real jerk, like.”

Derky said nothing but sat down beside him, sharing the warmth of the raging fire.

“You know,” Belove said after a minute. “You’re right. Tomorrow, you’re going to see a different Belove. I swear. And I owe Starfire an apology, too.”

As if on cue, Starfire gave one last fleeting look at the blazing moon and burning stars, then turned and made his way back into the cave.

Belove jumped to his hooves and finished his heart to heart with Derky by whispering, “And if you go blabbin', telling him ANYTHING I said, I swear I’ll...” He couldn’t find the word to fit, so instead he just angrily shook his hoof. Then he zipped off at the speed of light, propelling himself into his sleeping bag as though he were asleep the whole time.

Starfire trotted happily into the cave, humming quietly to himself. He stopped when he saw Derky sitting beside the fire, watching it burn away. “I didn’t know anypony was still up. You coming to bed, Derky?”

Derky shook his head. “You know, I’m not really sleepy. I’ll just stay here, rest my hooves, keep a watch on the camp for the night.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Starfire protested. “You need sleep.”

“Please let me keep guard. I want to feel like I’m of some use here.” He gave Starfire his big, green puppy dog eyes. They melted Starfire’s heart. “Besides, I want to see if that mean old cockatrice comes back. If he does, I’m going to give him the cuddle of a lifetime.”

Starfire dearly wanted to assault him with a slew of effects that sleep deprivation have on the body, but gave in. “If that’s what you really want, then make sure to keep the campfire burning. It’ll keep Timberwolves away.”

The unicorn left Derky to his own devices, poking the fire with a stick in his left hoof and eating chocolate chip cookies, courtesy of Cananor, with his right. Trying to make as little noise as possible, he nimbly stepped over Belove’s sleeping form, unzipped his own sleeping bag, blew out his candle and went to sleep, dreaming of what tomorrow may bring.

What he didn’t know was that Belove was not asleep. The Earth Pony lay to one side, eyes open and darting through the dark.

‘Derky’s right.’ He thought to himself. ‘I’m some kind of wretch.’

Subconsciously, his hoof found its way into his saddlebag, wrapped around his most treasured item. His eyes, heavy from exhaustion, slowly fell to a chorus of crickets as he ran his hoof up and down the length of his medallion which he won all those years ago.

He allowed himself to fall carelessly into the deep black void; the sweet, comforting embrace of sleep.

Chapter 7

When they awoke, everything was gone.

Belove was first to wake, gingerly rubbing his sleep encrusted eyes with the back of his hoof. Still caught in the rift between dream and reality, the earth pony slowly sat up in his sleeping bag, expecting to hear the popping crackle of the, presumably, still roaring fire. The cave was silent. Vision still blurry, he felt nauseous at having awoken so quickly, blood racing to his pounding head. He slumped back down, letting out one long, deep sigh as his tired eyes adjusted back to dark surroundings, staring up at a blank ceiling.

A cold sensation pressed against his chest. A little surprised, his hoof shot towards the foreign feeling. Fumbling a little, he pulled his medal from deep within the confines of his sleeping bag, hanging limply from his neck by a pale blue ribbon.

‘Must have left it on overnight.’

The ribbon was silky and the gold of the medallion smooth to the touch. He held it in his outstretched hoof for a few minutes, admiring its quality craftsmanship, before he slipped the thing from his neck and, dangling it like a cat with a mouse, reached his other hoof over to his saddlebag.

His hoof groped around at empty air.

The guard was confused. He was sure he had left his saddlebag right beside him the prior to drifting off. He waved his hoof around blindly, brushing against nothing but the dusty cave floor, scattering small pebbles and pieces of gravel.

Panic creeping in, Belove sat up with a jolt. He pushed his hoof back into the thick, pure blackness, sweeping the area for his missing possessions. His search came back fruitless. In a cold sweat, Belove bolted upwards, almost entangling himself in his cocoon-like sleeping bag as he stumbled to all fours.

His saddlebag was nowhere to be seen.

“This is bad,” he muttered to himself, desperately scouring the floor for his rucksack. He hoped that his eyes were playing tricks on him, that the bag was cleverly camouflaged into the darkness, or perhaps that he was still asleep. A quick pinch on the cheek debunked his last theory. “This is very bad...”

Belove’s ramblings did not go unnoticed. Weatherstorm stirred under Belove’s groans and curses, first stretching his facial features into a wide mouthed yawn, then following suit with his forelegs, stretching them above his head with an audible crack. “Good morning Belove.” He croaked, his voice still groggy. His friend didn’t seem to acknowledge his presence, seemingly too preoccupied with whatever he was looking for.

Sitting upright with his lower half still tucked cosily away under his duvet, the Pegasus gave one flick of his mullet of hair and reached for his glasses.

He reached several times for his glasses.

He had no glasses.

This was an odd occurrence, by any standard. He was sure that he had tucked them away in their little case, like putting a foal safely to bed, and set the case upon a flat surfaced rock to his left. And yet when he reached out for them, there was nothing.

No case, no glasses, nothing but smooth rock. Had he perchance knocked them off of the edge during his slumber? It was unlikely. He was a peaceful sleeper, and rarely would he toss and turn, so the spectacles’ disappearance was obviously not due to an error of his own.

“Belove,” he drew out the name, turning his attention back to his scurrying friend. “Belove, I don’t suppose you have caught sight of my glasses as of late, have you? I really rather need them to see, you see.”

“I don’t believe it, but it’s gone.” Belove whispered back, only half listening to his friend. His slumped form was frantically pawing through the dirt, shifting and swaying in Weatherstorm’s less than sterling eyesight.

“What is?” Weatherstorm shot up, bringing his sleeping bag up along with him. He kicked himself free and flew over to Belove. “Please don’t tell me my glasses.”

“It’s... it’s gone.”

“What is?” Weatherstorm burst uncontrollably, grabbing the Earth Pony by his shoulders. “What’s gone?”

“EVERYTHING.”

“Oh no...” Weatherstorm tumbled back over to his sleeping bag which lay in a crumpled heap. He yanked the material from the ground and threw it to one side. Sure enough, the area was clear and devoid of his saddlebags. All his possessions, gone.

With a high pitched squeak of surprise, Weatherstorm darted to Cananor’s sleeping bag, which rose and fell with every breath its snoozing occupant took. He shook his unicorn companion gently but hurriedly, his hoof shaking in fear and confusion.

“Not now, Dad.” The sleeping Cananor mumbled under his breath, swatting at the air in discomfort. “School isn’t for another 2 hours.”

“Cananor!” The Pegasus hissed, snapping the stallion awake. “Wake up!”

Cananor took a moment to get his bearings, eyes spinning dazedly before locking onto target. “Oh, hey Weatherstorm.” He screwed up his nose at the sight of his red-faced, heavily panting friend leaning over his body in a worryingly provocative manner. “Uh... what’s going on?”

“I don’t want to panic you,” Weatherstorm spoke softly, calmly and deliberately, yet there was a wavering fear in his voice. “But I’m afraid we may have just been robbed.”

Cananor sat up and eyed Weatherstorm suspiciously. “Robbed? By who, the squirrels? I’m going back to sleep.” He lay back down and closed his eyes.

“Whilst I wouldn’t put it past those disgusting little rodents, I’m afraid to inform you that this is no joke. May you please check your rucksack?”

Cananor grumbled in protest and sat back up. “Fine.” Without looking, he reached over to where his saddlebag was. “But I don’t appreciate being woken so soon, and...” He stopped short. “What have you done with my rucksack?”

Weatherstorm rolled his light blue eyes, which were much smaller than Cananor had remembered now they were no longer magnified behind square rimmed spectacles, and said, “Implying I value your collection of comic books enough to steal them. Let me say this again; we’ve been robbed.”

Cananor’s face twisted in horror. “My... my LIMITED EDITIONS!”

Belove sped past the duo as a crimson flash of red. “We need more light. Where’s Starfire?”

“Starfire?”

“Starfire?”

Starfire found himself at the gates of Canterlot, with no recollection whatsoever of how he had got there in the first place. The last thing he could remember was telling Derky not to let the fire go out, and then nothing. Had he slept-walked?

The very thought was staggering. Imagine, hiking the whole way through the expanses of the Everfree Forest to the capital city some few hundred miles away, asleep no less, with no memory of the incident? He COULDN’T imagine it.

The gates to the city were grand and welcoming, yet Starfire felt nothing but a strange sense of dread. It rose from his stomach like a case of bad indigestion, bubbling and stewing up a storm. The open drawbridge beckoned him inside, almost against his will. As he walked through into the city, the cast iron portcullis slammed shut behind him.

There was no denying that Canterlot was a fine city. Primarily inhabited by unicorns and the upper classes of Equestria, it reflected the mystic architecture of the buildings and golden hoof-paths. Starfire had only been to Canterlot once before as a foal, but it was an experience he would rather soon forget.

What struck the unicorn as odd was the emptiness of the place. Being such a large capital city, Canterlot was usually far from quiet and yet, the streets were absolutely deserted. Starfire, it seemed, was the only soul around.

“Hello?” he called out, the wind blowing his echoing voice through the narrow, winding streets. No reply came but for the creaking sway of a cafe sign.

The towering spires of high rise buildings enclosed him, watching his every move, leaning closer towards the solitary pony. A sheen of light suddenly blinded him, reflected from one of the shop windows. This was when Starfire looked up and, for the first time, saw the sun hanging high in the bright, afternoon sky.

He took a few seconds to process the sight of the huge, flaming star of hydrogen and helium. It seemed almost strange, after around 48 hours of black skies, to see the sun back in its rightful position, looking down at him with a burning desire.

He turned away as the sun blinded him, spots of orange and red drifting across his field of vision.

‘But if the sun has returned, that means Nightmare Moon...’

The feeling of teleporting was one that would make any unicorn nauseous, and Starfire was no exception. Teleportation spells were hard to master; not every unicorn could successfully perform them, and the results of doing them wrong could be...painful. Starfire knew this better than any other pony: as a foal, perfecting his magic took time, effort and true determination. He’d spent more than a few nights in Fillydelphia general hospital and even now he had practiced the complex spell to perfection, he rarely used it for fear of undesirable consequences and a few more broken bones. It was a spell that took an extraordinary amount of concentration, having to picture where you were and where you wanted to be simultaneously with no journey in-between, and nothing else, which was a feat far harder than it sounds. This was what surprised Starfire, as he found himself teleporting without warning, with no idea WHERE he was teleporting. He felt his horn buzz with electricity and his hooves tingle. He felt the bubbling and churning in his stomach intensify. He felt his body compress itself, pushing and squeezing and changing form into nothing but particles and then...

The floaters faded from his sight, and Starfire found himself standing in Canterlot castle hall. This was very odd indeed; teleportation spells were strictly short distance, usually amounting to no more than a few meters at most. Canterlot Castle was on the other side of the city. It was physically and mentally impossible to undertake such a journey.

The hall was crowded with ponies, bustling to the brim. Shakily rising to his hooves, Starfire felt the nauseous feeling in his gut intensify, and his head began to throb with such force it drowned out the cheering.

He swallowed whatever was rising up his throat and turned dizzily to the nearest pony, a light blue unicorn mare with a white striped mane and a gleaming smile. “You there,” he spluttered, trying to keep teleportation sickness at bay least he spit something undesirable in her open mouth. “I’m... I don’t know how I got here. What’s going on?”

The mare didn’t reply, nor did she even seem to see Starfire. She simply continued to stare forwards with blank eyes and a painted on smile. Her mouth didn’t move as she cheered.

“What the heck?” Starfire looked away from the unicorn, a little unnerved. Turning behind him, he saw, nestled amongst hundreds of other smiling faces, the couple he had met in line at the Summer Sun Celebration. The aqua green unicorn had her hoof wrapped around her marefriend’s shoulder in a loving embrace. Both stared straight ahead through Starfire, wide eyed and cheering.

“What are you looking at?”

Squirming to see over the heads of those in front, Starfire caught a glimpse of the throne. There, on an elevated platform in front of thousands of spectators, was Celestia. She was bowing humbly, her head lowered with elegant grace, eyes closed and her face stretched into the same grin as everypony else. Yet there was another figure beside her; another Alicorn. She was smaller in size, but retained wings and a horn similar to Celestia’s. Her coat was a dark, midnight blue and her mane a wispy cornflower blue. Like Celestia, head was bowed, eyes closed, and smiling.

Starfire fell back down on all fours, confused as to what he had just seen. Was that Nightmare Moon? Despite her youthful looks and gentle demeanour, there was a striking resemblance between the two.

Princess Luna?

Starfire’s headache grew more severe. He clutched at his scalp as what sounded like native buffalo war drums burst through his skull on a path of destruction.

‘What does this mean? Has Nightmare Moon been defeated? Has peace been restored?’ His head was literally pounding now. ‘Did we succeed? Did Twilight’s company succeed? Why can’t I remember anything?’

Starfire stood on his hind legs again for a better second look. The two princesses were side by side, looking up in admiration at a mysterious figure perched high on the throne. Although it were encased in black shadows, it was in a vaguely pony shaped form. It looked out across the length of the hall, red eyes scanning the hall hungrily, evilly. Black tendrils and tentacles erupted from the mass of shadows every now and again, twisting and writhing as the figure’s shape contorted and shifted, constantly changing. The light from the huge stain glass windows that ran the length of the back wall was blocked out by the colossal form as it grew larger, enveloping the entire throne and stage.

Starfire was horrified, not only by the anonymous monster which was growing at a rapid pace, but by the Canterlot citizen’s reactions to it, or lack thereof. Their expressions did not change, the cheery grins still plastered across their chillingly happy faces. They continued to stare straight ahead, chanting and cheering, glazy eyed and open mouthed.

Starfire shivered as the thing’s cruel eyes, nestled away in shadows, passed over him like spotlights. Scared but trying to avoid detection, he quietly turned back to the mare beside him and whispered from the corner of his mouth, “What’s going on here?”

No reply.

“What is that thing?”

No reply.

“What’s wrong with you?”

No reply.

“WHY WON’T YOU ANSWER ME?” He threw his hooves, balled into fists, at the unicorn, striking her on the side. Although he had barely tapped her, he instantly regretted losing his temper on a female. However, the mare’s expression didn’t change. In fact, she didn’t seem to even register the hit. Her face was still frozen in the same white-toothed smile as before, her eyes still locked on the writhing mass of black.

Then she began to teeter to one side. Her cheering did not stop. Her smile did not fade. She fell to the floor with a thump.

Starfire looked down at her body, and that’s when he realised, to his utmost surprise, that she was a cardboard cutout.

Not a real pony at all. She was literally two dimensional, lying on the floor with her painted on smile and hand drawn features, like a pony that had experienced an unfortunate accident with an industrial steamroller.

“W-what the...?” Starfire backed away from the cutout, nearly trampling her face with his hooves. He backed into another pony, a brown coated unicorn stallion whose mouth was turned up into that same, creepy grin. He too toppled before flittering gently to the ground, nothing but 2D cardboard.

Starfire jumped backwards, accidently knocking over the happy couple behind him. Both mares fell to the ground, still cheering.

Starfire lost his cool. “WHAT THE HAY IS GOING ON HERE?”

The black figure swivelled around to face Starfire instantly, their eyes locking. Still sitting atop the throne, it reached out one long, twisting tendril which split into sticky black fingers, and pointed at Starfire.

What Starfire assumed was the creature’s mouth opened in a wide, sneering grin, revealing jagged white fangs. It issued a low, gravelly growl in his direction. He wasn’t sure what it said, but it sounded like, “GET HIM!”

Starfire backed away, knocking over another inanimate equine. He couldn’t bring himself to look away from the black form as it began to twist and convulse, stretching and growing, shadowy spires of wispy smoke erupting from its body. It hissed again, baring its deadly fangs, and lunged.

Starfire ran.

Ploughing his way through waves and waves of paper ponies, Starfire burst through the doors and found himself back outside, in the winding streets of Canterlot. The dark presence was right behind him, churning itself into a tornado, ripping off the roof of the castle altogether. Evading the shower of bricks and tiles, Starfire didn’t dare look back as the evil force tore its way out of the building, and spiralled down the street after him.

Starfire’s chest heaved as he sped down the street, twisting this way and that in a bid to lose his pursuer... thing. He wasn’t sure which way he was going, but he knew he needed to get away: fast.

Ducking into an alleyway, Starfire peered over a low lying yellow-brick wall at the monster which was chasing him. The unicorn could barely call it a monster at all; it was more like a hurricane, which spun through the empty streets like a cyclone, tearing apart anything in its path. Shops and homes were literally obliterated in its wake, exploding in clouds of plaster and glass. It seemed as though he had lost it for the moment, the black mass of writhing tendrils thrashing past the incognito Starfire and disappearing down another street.

Starfire took a moment to regain his breath. “What is going on?” he said aloud. “And what is that THING?” He had never seen such a creature in his life, nor even read about such a creature.

Suddenly, the building in front of him exploded outwards in a smoke of bricks and mortar, and behind it hovered the creature of unspeakable. Its eyes cast a deadly green glow on the street below, capturing Starfire in their gaze.

“STARFIRE!” It spat with an un-earthly cackle.

It knows my name.

The student barely had enough time to clamber up the wall and throw himself down the other side before a thick, black tendril came thundering down upon it, spitting bricks in every direction. Starfire found himself back on the main road, running for his life as the thundering terror behind him edged closer and closer.

Starfire nearly stumbled as he launched himself over an overturned apple cart, which had spilt its load over the road. It didn’t seem to stop the unknown presence behind him, however, which simply consumed the cart, sucking it into its dark depths.

The unicorn didn’t have time to read the broken street sign as he skidded around another corner, the hideous monstrosity hot on his hooves. The sky was rapidly darkening much to Starfire’s dismay, the cheery blue skies overpowered by a rich, blood red. Sunset.

Or was it? Hurriedly crunching over loose bricks which lay scattered across the hoof-path, Starfire squinted into the distance and saw hundreds, nay thousands, of stars blazing in the dusk sky, each one burning brighter than the sun itself.

Blasting through grey thunderclouds, Starfire’s eyes widened in terror as he recognised the approaching objects not as stars, but meteorites, each one ripping through the atmosphere at incredible speed, leaving behind a trail of green.

Starfire dived for cover as the first comet thundered overhead, crashing with monumental force into the cafe across the street. The red and white striped banner was ignited instantly by the sheer temperature of the object. Wood and debris was torn from the building upon collision, flaming chunks of wall littering the ground below.

As if he didn’t have enough to worry about, this was just the motivation that Starfire needed to get the heck out of there, and fast. Scrambling forwards on his stomach and narrowly avoiding another meteor, Starfire clambered to his hooves and took off, destructive force still in pursuit. Meteors landed in front of him as he ran, barely managing to avoid a fatal fall into the smouldering hot craters in the road they made.

As he turned another corner, Starfire noticed the road ahead was blocked, the shell of a burning, collapsed building sprawled across the length of the street. Sensing the evil force behind him, he dashed through an open doorway to his left, galloping through the wreckage of a boutique, mannequins silently screaming as their plastic faces dribbled away into molten puddles at their inanimate hooves. The dark force followed him inside, choosing not to use the door but to tear the wall from the building, such was its raw power.

As long tentacle-like fingers grasped at his legs, Starfire managed to reach the other side of the store and throw himself through the back window, head first. He knew it was a stupid risk to take, but he was left with little choice.

He landed on soft, green grass. A yellow daisy tickled his muzzle. Confused, the unicorn opened his eyes to find himself back in the Everfree Forest. Had he just teleported again? Truthfully, he didn’t really care. The familiar scenery was strangely comforting to the unicorn, and even though it was still a hostile environment, he’d rather have been in Tartarus than Canterlot.

He breathed a sigh of relief. It was still dark, the moon out in full, but at least there were no comets lighting up the sky with their alien glow. For a moment, he even felt a little bit happy.

For a moment. A familiar, husky voice rose up from behind him. “Starfire...” it croaked. “Starfire...”

The student teacher tried to stand up, but to no avail. He felt himself being held down by some invisible force, as the black abyss closed in.

“Starfire...” getting louder, more aggressive. “Starfire...”

“No,” he whimpered, covering his eyes with shaking hooves. “Leave me alone.”

He felt himself falling, falling, falling into the deep, black darkness, an empty space, a dark void lost in time.

Clawed fingers scratched at his fur. “Starfire...”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” He cried.

“Starfire!”

“STARFIRE!”

The unicorn awoke with a start, drenched in sweat. Weatherstorm sat over him, shaking him vigorously by the shoulders, calling his name and trying to snap him out of whatever nightmarish delusions he was having. The Pegasus sighed in joy as Starfire’s eyes flitted open, wide and darting.

His breathing was heavy and erratic, shivering yet sweating as he uncurled from his sleeping bag. He blinked a few times, trying to blink away the nightmare, and studied his trembling hooves.

He was alive. He was safe.

Just a nightmare. Only a nightmare.

Yet it felt so real.

He tried to control his breathing, but the expression on Weatherstorm’s face was one of concern and confusion, and didn’t exactly help sooth his nerves. “Weatherstorm...” he stammered. “What’s wrong? Was I making too much noise?”

“Listen,” Weatherstorm replied sharply. “There is no other way to put this other than... we’ve been robbed.”

Starfire jumped to his hooves in a flash. He instinctively grasped for his saddlebags, which to his unfortunate surprise, were not there. “Oh no... NO! WHERE ARE THEY?”

“I told you!” Weatherstorm said, trying to act calm and collected, acting out the little performance rather unconvincingly. “We were robbed during the night!”

“It’s always night!” Cananor’s voice chirped in from somewhere in the darkness.

“R-robbed?” The thought of being robbed was positively mind blowing. Back in the city, robberies were a fairly common occurrence. Although he lived in the higher class end of Fillydelphia, he wasn’t untouched by crime; Starfire’s house had even been burgled one night when he was a foal. But out here, in a dense forest barely touched by civilisation, who was there to steal one’s possessions? “By who?”

Weatherstorm snorted. “How do I know?” he shot back sarcastically. “They didn’t leave an IOU notice, would you believe it.”

“Don’t you see?” Starfire pushed past Weatherstorm, shooting him a distraught glare. “THE MAP WAS IN THE BOOK. THE BOOKS WERE IN MY BAG. SEE WHERE I’M GOING WITH THIS?” He paced the ground angrily, staring at the ceiling with bloodshot eyes. “This is not good. NOT GOOD!”

“Starfire!” Belove beckoned him over. He didn’t sound all that pleased and honestly, Starfire couldn’t blame him. They’d all been knocked for six. Getting robbed of your possessions isn’t something that should be taken lightly. “We could use some light over here!”

The unicorn obeyed, his horn carving a path of light through the darkness like the Equestrian Games torch. With newfound light, the four stallions, Starfire, Belove, Weatherstorm and Cananor, could fully see the extent of the cave-invasion.

Everything was gone. Not just their own saddlebags, but their entire supply was missing, vanished into thin air. Their rations of food, their flasks of water, Weatherstorm’s migraine pills...even the toilet paper was gone. The campfire had gone out during the night, no longer illuminating the vast expanses of the cave with its soothing warm glow. A few of the rocks, which made up the campfire, tumbled away from each other, clattering whilst they did so. Ash was strewn lazily about the campfire’s remains, twigs having burnt themselves out. It drifted through the night’s air like millions of little bugs, or stars against the black sky like canvas that was the cave walls.

Derky lay near the extinguished fire, slumped against one of the stalagmites which erupted from the otherwise bare floor.

He was out cold and snoring loudly.

Belove saw red, and it wasn’t just the red of his balled up hoof, raised in rage. “DERKY!” He bellowed, charging forwards with all the strength of a raging fire and all the force of a great typhoon. The Pegasus smiled in his sleep, smacked his lips, and then opened his eyes, only to be blessed with the sight of Belove charging at him like a bat out of Tartarus. His face said it all; he wasn’t a happy bunny.

“DEEEEERRRRKKKKYYYYY!” He roared so loudly that the cave walls shook and shuddered, loose rocks tearing free from the ceiling under the raw power of his voice.

The poor shaking stallion was unsure as to what to do as he saw the hulking great pony bound towards him, literally steaming at the ears. Should he run, or dodge, or roll? In the end, he just held his hooves up and said, “Whoa.”

Belove crashed into him with burning vengeance, lifting the confused Pegasus off his backside and launching his against the back wall. He had little time to recover before he was gruffly hoisted onto his hind legs and slammed back against the wall, Belove’s hooves entangled tightly in his chest fur.

Derky winced. “Agh, Belove... I’ve got a really sore head.” He tried to reach a hoof around to feel the back of his head. It was denied by a quick slap from Belove, forcing the hoof back down.

“YOU STUPID IDIOT!” Belove exploded shaking Derky again and again, rattling what brain he had around so hard that it could well have went sailing out of his ears and lost itself in the dense undergrowth outside. “HOW COULD YOU HAVE LOST OUR STUFF? HOW COULD YOU BE SO STUPID?”

Cananor couldn’t stand idly by and watch Derky take such abuse. It was like watching an elephant kicking a puppy. He literally had to tear the two apart with a powerful shove. “What the heck is wrong with you, Belove? Cool it!”

“C-cool it?” The Earth Pony stammered. “You’re telling me to cool it? We’ve been robbed! Our food, our water, everything we needed to survive in the wilderness has been taken from us, right under our noses! We’re going to starve out here, because he couldn’t keep his eyes open for longer than five minutes!”

“10 minutes, actually...”

Weatherstorm spoke up in Derky’s defence, but Starfire could hear the anger in his voice growing, not just towards Belove, but everypony. “Leave it be, Belove. It’s done, and you can’t place all the blame on one pony. It wasn’t Derky’s fault.”

Belove let a physically shaken Derky Bells fall to the floor.

“Oh no, it wasn’t Derky’s fault... it was HIS.” With that, he shot an accusing hoof in Starfire’s direction.

Whilst Starfire jumped back in shock like a common criminal, Cananor just sighed and counted to 10. “Please Belove, not this again.”

“Listen to me Cananor, our little ‘friend’ Starfire is...”

Cananor shook his head. “Belove, don’t...”

“Actually...”

“NO.”

“...A spy.”

There was a collective groan from the whole group, including the accused. “Belove, we thought you were over this...”

“He knew,” Belove continued to throw out accusations like they were going out of fashion. “That Derky was incapable of keeping guard the whole night. Then Icarus...”

Everypony groaned again, twice as loud this time. “Why is it always about Icarus with you, Belove?”

Poor Derky was huddled into the corner, scared of what Belove might do to him in such an emotional state. “I tried my hardest to stay awake, I really did. I don’t even remember falling asleep.”

“Yeah, well your best wasn’t good enough, now was it? And,” he continued, really letting loose on the defenceless Pegasus. “You’re darned lucky we didn’t get torn apart by Timberwolves during the night.”

Starfire stepped in. “Look here, Belove, you need to lay off Derky. It couldn’t be helped...”

Considering what Belove was to say next, and the instant effect it had, his tone was surprisingly calm and, one might say, dripping with malevolence. “You know,” he said, slowly. “It’s funny how you’re so quick to stick up for him, Starfire. I hope you both enjoyed yourselves with that little heart to heart you had last night, because innocent old Derky here hasn’t been exactly straight with you.”

Starfire narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Belove rummaged around in the ashy shell of the burnt out campfire, finally producing a small hardback notebook from within. It was covered in soot and singed around the edges, but otherwise in good condition. “Last night, I was kind of hoping that the fire would have burnt this evidence to a cinder. I felt it was the right thing to do, for both Derky and yourself. But now, now I’m glad that the fire was put out. Saves me the bother of explaining.” He threw the booklet to Starfire.

With a sense of dread, Starfire levitated open the first page and blew the ash away. Despite having some minor burn marks, the page was readable. The first few lines were fairly irrelevant, something about sweet rolls, but the next page caught his eye. And as he flicked through more and more pages, his eyes grew wider and wider in both shock and horror. Able to read no further, he turned to Derky, still reeling. “You... you were spying on me?”

Belove sneered, content after dealing his soul crushing blow. “Aye, it doesn’t feel all that nice, does it?”

Derky rose to his hooves, flattened his ears to his scalp, and kicked at the floor. A pebble clattered off into the darkness, making a soft, distant thump as it reached the other side. “Starfire, I... I just wanted to come along. I didn’t want to be alone... We’re still friends, right?”

Starfire didn’t reply. Still reeling, he could neither deny nor confirm the question.

Sensing Starfire’s weakened state, the red earth pony lashed out. “I say we leave Starfire here and continue on without him. Who here is with me?”

He expected a show of hooves. To his surprise, there were none.

At first, Belove wasn’t exactly sure how to react. He felt shocked at first, then saddened at his friends’ fragile sense of comradeship, and then this slowly turned to not only anger, but disgust. He felt all of these emotions in less than a second, which was one second longer than he needed to say something he would regret later.

“So be it!” Belove hastily rolled up his sleeping bag. “I knew it was a bad idea bringing you. All of you. You’ve caused me nothing but trouble since we got here and frankly, I’m sick of it. If you’re going to stick with that traitor then fine, but I’ll not be there when he stabs you in the back. I’m going to save Equestria... alone. I would say good luck, but to be honest, I wouldn’t mean a word of it.”

By this stage, nopony even attempted to intervene, to talk him out of it. They simply let events run their course. Belove gave one last look back at his ex-friends, almost as though he wanted them to talk him out of his suicidal venture, or even better, apologise. They did not. He snorted, mumbled something under his breath, then left. The sounds of his hooves crunching against the soft grass faded into the distance.

Good riddance.

The cave was silent, and the air with thick and heavy and awkward. Cananor squirmed uncomfortably, Derky chose to avoid eye contact, ‘Stormy’s temper was brewing up a storm and Starfire just seemed... lost.

The lingering silence was sliced apart by Cananor’s voice. “Who needs him, huh?” His voice wavered, and didn’t come across as half as confidently as he would have liked. “I mean, he doesn’t even have a map.”

“Neither do we.” Weatherstorm replied sulkily, lowering to the campfire’s ashen remains and burying his head in his hooves.

“Yeah, but we never did, remember? Starfire here,” he put his hoof around the rather unresponsive pony’s shoulder. “...Is our map. He’ll lead us in the right direction, with or without Belove. Isn’t that right, Starfire?”

The student teacher couldn’t bring himself to tell the cold, hard truth. Not now. “I, uh...” He hesitated for a second, and gave Weatherstorm a fleeting glance.

“Listen, Starfire. It’s over. We have no book and no map. Just tell the truth.”

Starfire bowed his head, closed his eyes, and said what he thought was right.

“Of course I can.” He sighed, not daring to look up. His heart couldn’t take it. “I can lead you to Nightmare Moon. I can...” he paused for a moment. “...Sense her magic.” He whispered the last part, trailing off, defeated.

Weatherstorm jumped to his hooves. “Don’t you get it? I’m afraid it’s over, and if we’re to salvage anything from this train wreck of an expedition, we simply must trust each other. And that means being straight with each other. So either you kindly inform Derky and Cananor on our current situation, or I will.”

Starfire could tell by Weatherstorm’s face that he was near breaking point, and that was no mere empty threat.

Cananor forced a nervous smile. “What, uh... whatcha talking about, ‘Stormy?”

“Since Starfire is evidently happy to lead you down a pretty little primrose path of lies to your doom, it rests on me to deal out the cold, hard truth. You see...” The spectacle-less Pegasus gave Starfire one last look, as if giving him one last chance to come clean. Instead, the unicorn mouthed but one word.

Please.

“...Starfire has, to put it bluntly, no idea where in the world we are going. He can’t ‘sense Nightmare Moon’s magic,’ he can’t ‘envision the path in his mind’ and he barely even knows who Luna is. In short, without a map, we’re hopelessly lost.”

Cananor’s smile slowly faded. His chin wobbled. “Starfire, is... is this true?”

“You promised me you wouldn’t tell anypony.” Starfire mumbled. His eyes were still glued to the floor as his light diminished, once again throwing the cave into darkness.

“No, I promised that I wouldn’t tell BELOVE. And I kept to that promise.” Weatherstorm seethed.

It was then that Starfire realised just what sort of pony Weatherstorm was. Under the facade of a well mannered, gentle young stallion lay a manipulative and shady character, who used others to fulfil his own needs. A silver tongued devil, he believed the term was. He, like countless others before him he had no doubt, had been lured into a false sense of security by his honeyed words. His ‘word as a gentlecolt’ was made out to be a stamp of approval, perhaps a guarantee of safety and secrecy, as though his ‘word’ was law, fair and just. Little was he aware what his ‘word as a gentlecolt’ was actually worth. Starfire remembered what Derky had told him last night.

‘Weatherstorm was my only friend back then, and to be honest, I think he was only my friend to get close to my parents.’

He had just been using them all along, using them to reach his own fruitless objective of unobtainable love. Just as he had been using Derky all those years ago.

Perhaps he only had himself to blame: had he just listened to his common sense and not his heart, then he wouldn’t have even been in this predicament.

Starfire felt a strange, foreign anger build up in him. He swallowed, and raised his voice. “I can’t do right from wrong, can I? I try to help, and... this is the thanks I get? I get lied to,” he swung a hoof in Derky’s direction, “and deceived?”

Weatherstorm furrowed his brow. “Forgive me if Belove already said this, but it doesn’t feel all that nice, does it?”

The blast of magic was so powerful that it blew a smouldering hole in the back wall of the cave. There was a low, deep rumble as several pieces of the ceiling gave way, rocks and boulders dislodging and collapsing to the floor in a cloud of dust. It surprised Starfire how little effort it took to deconstruct, for a better word, half of a cave. He didn’t even know he could muster up such a powerful spell. Yet he had. He shook away his rage, dazed and confused.

“Hmm.” Weatherstorm nodded casually as he eyed up the now gaping hole in the back wall. Gaping holes were becoming quite the trend recently; no cave would be complete without at least two. “That about sums it all up now, doesn’t it? Now if you chaps shall excuse me, I have the love of my life to save.” He turned to Derky, the silent onlooker. “Come along, Derkington.” He commanded as though he were talking to a pet.

Derky began to protest. “But I...”

“I SAID COME ALONG.” The brown-coated Pegasus obeyed. He helped the half blind journalist find the exit, and with that, they were both gone.

Starfire collapsed to the ground. “I’m a real screw up. What am I even doing here?”

Cananor was unsure of what to say. He shifted uncomfortably from hoof to hoof as even the chirping crickets outside ceased, as though waiting in anticipation for his words of wisdom.

Truth was, he had none. He just sat by the campfire, and poked it with a stick. “It’s alright. We... we don’t need them.” If Cananor had learnt but one thing from this adventure, it was that he was very good at lying to himself.

Starfire couldn’t even bring himself to get up from the floor. What was the point? There he lay, like a beached whale, sprawled out with his hind legs jutting into the air. Had it not been for the sour events that took place, it might even have looked humorous. “Let’s just go home.” He mumbled. “It’s over. The fellowship was short lived. Now it’s crumbled. Let’s just go home.”

Luckily for Starfire, help comes from the most unusual of places. As Cananor awkwardly jabbed at the campfire, a face began to appear. It took him a few seconds to notice the ashes bond into one and slide into a vaguely familiar shape. Then the gravel, and the rocks... lastly, a snapped twig shuffled its way past and wedged itself in between two of the rocks, and then Cananor was looking down at Phoenix Flight’s slightly askew makeshift face.

“Phoenix?” Cananor stammered in disbelief. “Phoenix, is that you?”

“SHUT YOUR TRAP!” The inanimate griffon’s face commanded from a twiggy beak. “OF COURSE IT’S ME! WHO ELSE WOULD IT BE?”

“I...”

“NOW DIG THE WAX OUT OF YOUR EARS AND LISTEN!” He interrupted Cananor before he had a chance to utter another word. “YOU THINK THAT THIS IS IT, YOU’RE JUST GOING TO GO HOME?”

“I...” He paused, almost expecting Phoenix to interrupt him again. He did not. “...I didn’t say that. Starfire did.”

“AH, BUT YOU AGREE WITH HIM, DON’T YOU?” The unicorn shook his head, weary of some stony talon rising from the floor and slapping him across the jaw. Fortunately for his jaw, his anticipations were in vain. Instead, Phoenix spat a cloud of dust and ash at him, causing him to choke on the fumes.

“And how... how would you know that?” Coughed Cananor. He knew his lungs were taking a bit of a pounding.

Another cloud of dust was blown in his direction. “DO WE HAVE TO GO THROUGH THIS AGAIN, NUMSKULL? I’M IN YOUR MIND, DARNIT! I AM YOU!”

“I guess so...”

“DON’T BACK TALK ME!” Phoenix snapped, slanting his rock-brows. “IF I HAD A HAND, YOU’D BE KISSING THE BACK OF IT RIGHT NOW. QUICK, IMAGINE ME A HOOF OR SOMETHING!”

“What?”

“DO IT!”

A giant transparent brown hoof materialised out of thin air and punched the unicorn square on the nose. He winced in pain.

“NOW, AS I WAS SAYING, YOU OUTTA SPEAK TO STARFIRE THERE, GIVE HIM A LITTLE PEP TALK THAT’LL LIFT HIS SPIRITS. YOU NEED TO...” He stopped and turned toward Starfire. Cananor did likewise.

Starfire looked back at them with teary eyes in utter confusion.

Phoenix’s face shuffled closer to Cananor and whispered from the corner of his mouth. “OH JEEZ, HE’S LOOKING RIGHT AT YOU LIKE YOU’RE A REGUALR NUT-JOB. ACT NATURAL.”

Cananor leaned back on the rock he was sitting on and crossed his forelegs. He casually blew a strand of hair away. “Sup?”

“Who...” sniffled Starfire, still staring. “Who were you talking to?”

“I have NO idea what you are talking about.” Cananor winked at the campfire.

“Oh, by Celestia... you’ve got jungle madness.” Starfire sighed. “This is a right fine mess I’ve gotten us into. Let’s just go home before I hurt anyone else.”

Phoenix ushered Cananor to speak with him. Cananor did as he was told.

“Listen...” he sat down beside the sullen unicorn. “You didn’t hurt anybody. Sure, you told a few white lies, but they were in good faith. I still believe in you, and don’t go thinking that what happened tonight was your fault.” He pointed towards the door. “Belove and Weatherstorm are idiots, but not monsters. They’ll come around, you’ll see.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Starfire croaked. “It’s my entire fault. I should never have come in the first place. I should never have lied. Not only is Equestria in peril, but I’ve cost a group of ponies their friendships... possibly their lives. IT'S LIKE EXAM DAY ALL OVER AGAIN, I MEAN, WHY CAN'T I JUST..."

Starfire had never been punched in the face before and it certainly wasn’t an experience to savour. Cananor’s hoof was still outstretched and wavering, having given Starfire the old hoof sandwich. The attacker looked back in horror to find Phoenix in his full embodiment, gripping Cananor’s hoof in his claws. He smiled down at Cananor and straightened his tie. “WHAT? HE WAS GETTING HYSTERICAL, AND THE ONLY CURE FOR THAT’S A GOOD PUNCH IN THE FACE!”

Cananor threw his hooves around Starfire immediately. “I’m so, so sorry...” He whispered, still in shock at his sudden actions, or rather, those of his ‘motivator.’ “I didn’t... I don’t...”

What he didn’t expect was for the student to laugh. “You know...” Starfire clicked his jaw a few times, just to make sure nothing was broken. “I think I needed that, so... thanks.”

Phoenix leaned in close to Cananor and whispered (which was still equivalent to a pony screaming at the top of their voice), “THANK ME LATER. NOW, GET MOTIVATING!”

Cananor took a deep breath. “Now I’ve listened to you mope on long enough, Starfire. There’s a time and a place to feel sorry for yourself and this is neither the time nor the place.” He looked back up to see Phoenix mouthing his next line. “Uh... sometimes, the world isn’t fair, and sometimes it throws you a bit of a curveball, but you don’t just admit defeat! You come back stronger, and you say, ‘World! Who the hay do you think I am! I am Starfire, the unicorn that saved all of Equestria from Nightmare Moon!’ So don’t you dare,” He gave Phoenix another fleeting glance. The griffon was telling him to keep the ball rolling. Cananor was still a little confused himself, but he had to admit that this felt good. “...DARE give up now when there are ponies out there, depending on you. Now you’re going to come with me, and together, with our combined strengths, we’re going to find the others, knock a little sense into those thick skulls of theirs, and save Equestria!”

Starfire’s lips curled up into a wide smile as he rose valiantly to his hooves. “You’re right.” He said with newfound confidence. “I can do no good if I let the world knock me down. I can still do my bit to help, as long as I’m willing. Thank you, Cananor.”

“No... no problem.”

The blonde-maned unicorn rubbed his hooves together. “We’re still lost, though. We really do need that map.”

Phoenix whispered into Cananor’s ear. He relayed the message. “Then we’d better get looking for it. And if there is no path, then... then we’ll carve one ourselves.”

Starfire smiled and nodded. “Let’s go, then.” He made for the exit.

Cananor followed but just before he left, he turned and said, “Thanks, Phoenix.”

The griffon, who was leaning against the wall in an ever-so-nonchalant way, shrugged. “DON’T THANK ME,” he bellowed. “I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING! THANK YOURSELF! NOW, GO!”

Cananor trotted off.

“ONE MORE THING!”

“Yes?”

“GO GET THOSE LIMITED EDITIONS BACK! I DON’T COME CHEAP, YOU KNOW!”

“Of course.”

“I’LL KEEP IN TOUCH!”

“Please don’t.”

With that, Cananor scurried off at record speed, for fear that the cave would close and seal him in with his antiheroic hero forever.

Phoenix laughed. He would make a stallion of Cananor yet. Or rather, Cananor would make a stallion of Cananor yet. He was just there to give him a little push.

Then he faded away into dust.

Chapter 8

A twig cracked somewhere in the distance. Belove jumped.

Was he scared? Not exactly. On edge, was a term he would prefer. It wasn’t fear that he felt in the pit of his stomach; it was, as much as he hated to admit it, sadness and regret.

Perhaps abandoning his friends and continuing solo wasn’t the greatest decision he had ever made. But still, like always, he was right and they were wrong. And he wasn’t going to spend a second longer in that traitor Starfire’s company than he had to.

The leaves of the high-rise oak trees rustled above him. His head instinctively snapped upwards, eyes wide and darting for the source. He told himself the wind. It had to be. It wasn’t as though anything was following him, was it?

In the Ponyville Guard, they were taught to always be on their guard and to expect the unexpected. And in a place like the Everfree Forest, so wild and untamed and untouched by modern civilisation, so mysterious and dark and unknown, there was a fair chance that something unexpected right around the corner. Usually waiting to eat you. So the earth pony had every reason to be on his guard and, dare he say, ‘jumpy.’

In hindsight, he admitted that he had acted on his raw emotion rather than using his head. After all, he had no map, no supplies and no idea where he was going. He had stormed off out of that cave in such a rush that he didn’t even look to see which path he had taken, which proved to be more than a small error when he turned back only to find he could no longer see the way he came. Foolish, he knew that much, but he decided it was best not to dwell on such matters. The way he saw it, without the ‘extra baggage’ he could actually make some progress now and, with copious amounts of luck, stumble his way across Nightmare Moon. Even better would be finding the cowardly thief that stole his saddlebags, whoever or whatever they may be.

In his mind, Belove had no real plan of action should he come across Nightmare Moon, or any threat for that matter. Still, he could cross that bridge when he came to it. After all, he had military training and could handle himself in a fight, even if he had exaggerated his experience in the field somewhat, to the point where he believed his own nonsense. At least he was confident in his own abilities, however fabricated they might be.

Another bush shook, softly, but enough to snatch him away from his thoughts. He certainly hoped that the Manticore wasn’t hiding in there like last time. He’d had just about enough of that guy. And cockatrices. Now that he thought of it, he’d faced more hideous monsters in the past 24 hours or so than he had previously in his life. The grand total still stood at two, but it was two more than he would have liked. The guards-pony cautiously approached the bush and, with a shaking hoof, pushed the thick leaves apart. Luckily for him, there was nothing. No Manticore, no cockatrice, not even a pesky squirrel this time.

There was something that caught his eye, however. Although the other side of the hedge was dark and visibility was poor, he could just about make out a small, narrow dirt path, even more untrodden than the one he was traversing. It ran between through a gap in the line of old, gnarled trees, almost as if it were crying out to be noticed. However, it wasn’t the forgotten forest path that caught his eye (after all, an old and mysterious woodland like this was bound to have several hidden passages), rather it was what he found in the dirt.

Belove squeezed his way through the hole in the hedge and, after dislodging a stray twig from his ear hole, inspected the path. His eyes lit up in the darkness, like the stars in the night sky, when he recognised the imprints.

6 pairs of hoof-prints were burrowed into the soil. They looked recent. Very recent. Belove’s heart skipped a beat. ‘They’re far too light to be a stallion’s prints.’ He thought with glee. ‘And just like that, I’m back on the right track.’

The Earth Pony galloped off down the path post haste, his ultimate goal of rescuing the girls, destroying the bad guy, saving the world and flipping the hoof to not only Icarus, but his idiot friends drawing ever closer. He was so close he could almost reach out and touch it.

He didn’t see the shadowy figure perched on the highest branch of the tallest tree.

It studied him for a moment, almost inquisitively, and then blended back into the darkness from whence it came.

The two Pegasi had been hovering along the forest floor for some time now. The choice of abandoning their wingless friends was a regrettable one but necessary and honestly, Weatherstorm was glad to see the back of them. Now he could focus on saving his love in half the time, and Derky was going to help him, whether he was willing or not.

His idea was that, without any ‘Earth-bounds’ as Unicorns and Earth Ponies were secretly nicknamed by some of the Pegasi of Equestria slowing them down, both he and Derky could utilise their wing power which was far faster than merely walking. Flying from one side of the Everfree to the other would take them no more than a day (night) at most, and that wasn’t even at full speed. Sure, neither of them were the strongest of flyers, but it was a far cry from spending days on end traversing the same old roads, most of which would likely lead to where they didn’t want to be. All they needed was the open sky and a good view of the ground below.

However, there was one fatal flaw in Weatherstorm’s grand design, and it was one he could kick himself in the teeth for.

Whilst Weatherstorm was hoping to rise to a fair altitude (no higher than cloud level) as this would, although not exactly pinpoint the royal castle ruins, surely give an indication of some forest clearings, his wish was to remain unfulfilled. In order to get to his desired altitude would require clear, open skies above and all that he could see above him was leaves. Nothing but leaves. The tree canopy was far too thick and far too dense to even contemplate flying directly up and through, or at least it was if he valued his bones un-shattered. So, until he could find a suitable opening in the canopy, it looked like they were both earthbound.

Normally, Weatherstorm would not have been too put off by such a prospect. Sure, the forest floor was both unbelievably dirty and a strain on his hooves but that was why he had taken to hovering, which was still slightly faster than his average walking speed. Sure, the forest was full of unimaginable horrors like Timberwolves and Manticores that would like nothing better than to have him with a nice side of Carottes Étuvées au Beurre but the forest more than made up for this mild peril with its divine and vast display of natural flora, which captivated the young journalist’s heart and soul to no end. No, his greatest hindrance was one he had inadvertently created.

Derkington Robert-Alexander Bellray.

The blank-flanked Pegasus had literally not shut his mouth from the moment they had left the cave and, by now, Weatherstorm was wishing that he’d just pulled a Belove and continued on alone.

Derky and Weatherstorm had been good friends for many years. And in that time, it would be common speculation that the latter would have gotten used to the... eccentricity of the former but alas, this was not the case.

“So, which do you think came first? The cockatrice or the egg?” He asked, as though it were a question that was in desperate need of answering.

Weatherstorm sighed, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his hoof. The questions, theories, and general nonsense had ceased to stop or even slow down for about 2 hours now. Had it been 2 hours? It could’ve only been half an hour since he’d left, but to him, it felt like a week. At least. Either he was going to find a nice canopy opening in the next five minutes, or there would be undesirable consciences, none of which would be beneficial for Derky’s health.

Of all his stolen possessions: his quills and paper, his books, his food, his hoof-sanitizer and heck, even the poem he had been writing for Miss Rarity, he missed his migraine pills the most at that moment. Even from early childhood, Weatherstorm had suffered from frequent headaches of substantial magnitude. The doctors diagnosed it as severe stress. In a way, that was true. Unlike most foals his age, Weatherstorm was easily stressed out but then again, he had to be with a family like his. He seemed to be the only one who worried about anything, for that matter. These headaches were only amplified as soon as he met Derky in school. Stupidity was a strong word, but probably an accurate one, for what drove Derky’s actions which ultimately ended in disaster and a sore head from worry. And, of course...

“Because I think I’ll call my cockatrice Eggbert.” Derky tore Weatherstorm away from his thoughts. “Or Beaky.” He smiled. “Huh. Beaky. Which one do you think sounds better, Weatherstorm?”

Weatherstorm spun around mid-glide. “I DON’T...” He snapped, taking a moment to compose himself. Even his own voice was making his head throb. He lowered his tone to a whisper. “I don’t care all that much, Derky. And for the last time, you are not keeping that vile creature from the darkest depths of the forest as a pet.”

Derky snorted, which was a fairly unflattering noise. “Well... I guess we'll see...” he whispered under his breath.

As if having Derky chattering constant insanities into his ear was bad enough, he was also practically blind. What sort of thief would steal a pony’s glasses, of all things? Well, the sort of thief that didn’t want his victims to give chase. At least Derky could be his eyes, if only he would shut up for...

“Flappy.” Derky beamed. “I’ll name him Flappy.”

Weatherstorm’s face screwed up in anger. He just couldn’t take it anymore. “Derky,” he hissed, gritting his teeth. Without his glasses rectifying his vision, everything was distorted and blurry and disproportioned and giving him such a migraine. “If you simply must bother me with idle talk every second, can’t you at least talk about something a little more relevant, please?”

Derky nodded, then zipped his mouth shut. Weatherstorm sighed in relief. They flew in silence for around 20 seconds.

“If Nightmare Moon destroys us, do you think she’ll do it quick and easily or slow and painfully? It would be nice if she didn't make a big thing of it. I've never been comfortable in the spotlight.”

Weatherstorm threw up his hooves in protest. If it wasn’t Cananor pestering him, it was Derky. “Derky, my dear, can you PLEASE think of something else? Why don’t you just... I don’t know, look at the scenery?” The journalist was really clutching at straws. He knew that Derky wasn’t exactly the most observant fellow, nor was he the sort to find nature particularly captivating or moving. He did, however, have a soft spot for strange animals. “Why don’t you take a look at some of the flora, Derky?” Weatherstorm sang as he drifted over to the edge of the path, cupping a group of beautiful silky bluebells in his hooves. They chimed along to his melodic voice.

“Nah, I’m good.” Derky shrugged. “I don’t really get flowers.”

Weatherstorm flittered over to the other side of the path, where a colony of large, violet sunflower like plants swayed gently in the breeze, and inhaled deeply. He had never seen such a species of plant before, but they gave off the most the most divine fragrance. The forest could be outstandingly beautiful when it wanted to be so. In a way, it saddened him that so few others would dare venture the forest, as they were certainly missing out on some wonderful and picturesque plantlife. “Ah, but Derky!” Weatherstorm cooed, the flowers leaning toward him on slender stalks as though drawn to his voice. “Don’t you find these plants simply amazing?”

Derky shook his head. “You know what’s cool? Dragons.” He pointed a hoof towards his companion. “Can we go look for a dragon?”

“Derky, you can play with the baby dragon that works at the library when we get back.” Like a bee to nectar, Weatherstorm was drawn to the next batch of flowers, even more mysterious than the last. He inhaled again, savouring the moment as the sweet scent floated up his nose. His muzzle twitched as the pinkish petals tickled his lips.

He smiled, and then fluttered over to some delicate looking roses which hummed in the night, like a siren’s call. One stood out in particular, bigger than the rest, unlike any rose he had seen before. White speckles gleamed out from the darkness like jewels amongst the soothing crimson of the petals, giving the impression of a giant juicy strawberry. He reached down and gently stroked the enclosed bud. It seemed to shiver to his touch. “By Celestia, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such a beautiful flower in all of my days.” He stroked it again. Once more it reacted, sending little electric vibrations down his hoof. “Rarity shall love it, no doubt.” He hugged both hooves around the plant and tugged. It stayed put. He tugged again. It was defiant to move. He tried again, to no success. Finally, Weatherstorm took a step back and wiped his brow, glistening with effort.

“You shouldn’t pick the plants.” Derky huffed. “I heard the guardians of the forest will put a curse on you.”

Weatherstorm placed a hoof on his friend’s shoulder and smiled sweetly. “Derky, my good pal, I say this as a friend: sometimes you talk the largest degree of nonsense. Now, be a dear and help me with this stubborn fellow, would you? Your generosity will be repaid tenfold.”

“Oh no. Not for a MILLION cockatrice. I don’t want no bad juju.”

“Fine.” Weatherstorm stormed off and narrowed his eyes. “I’ll show this flower who is the boss around here.” He reverted back to his previous position, hooves clamped around the plant. This time he was going to put his back into it.

No sooner had he touched it than the plant began to shudder and shake, gently at first but growing more violent by the second. Then the plant began to rise up, ever so slowly, like a charmed snake under the control of some majestic flute. Its long, thorny stalk extended, twisting and churning and pushing the bud skyward as though yearning to reach for some invisible sun. It stopped when it reached to over a good head and shoulders above Weatherstorm, who still had his hoof pressed firmly against the unopened petals. “Well,” he muttered in amazement. “This is certainly odd.”

Next came a sickening, squelching sound as the petals uncurled, oozing thick, sticky sap from within. Slowly, slowly, slowly the petals unfurled like a theatre curtain, and therein stood the main spectacle. Instead of a stamen, in its place was a long red tongue, flapping to and fro wildly. Salvia dripped from its swollen uvula and seeped from its agape mouth. Rows upon rows of spiky teeth ran along the inside of the petal leaves, slimy and wet with gloopy sap. Weatherstorm wasn’t exactly sure how to react to such an occurrence. His mind was a blank and he merely stood frozen, hoof still dangling temptingly close to the thing’s ‘mouth.’

He finally mustered up the courage to speak to the swaying monstrosity. “Hello there.” He greeted the thing as though he were talking to another pony in the street. The eyeless plant-beast snapped to attention at the sound of his voice. “I’m ever so sorry to bother you or wake you up or whatever I might have done. You see, I wasn’t quite aware that you were alive, per say. But worry not, I shan’t uproot you, for I no longer think that Miss Rarity of the Carousel Boutique shall want you in a vase in her bedroom. It’s not that you are, UGLY, for that is such a strong word. We’re all beautiful in our own way. Rather, it’s that you’re an ACQUIRED taste...”

It ate his hoof.

The not-so-bespectacled Pegasus mustn’t have been an acquired taste, because the plant clamped down on his outstretched hoof and slurped half his leg into its mouth.

Weatherstorm’s eyes widened in horror and shock. “Ooohh...” He groaned as he felt rows of jagged fangs brush over his hoof fur. The plant smiled, or at least he thought it was smiling. It should have been far easier to tell on a lifeform that was all mouth.

“How... how dare you?” Weatherstorm cried in utter disgust. “How dare you eat my hoof! You, sir, should be ashamed of yourself. Now unhand me this instant, you fiend!”

The plant sucked his whole leg in. Weatherstorm screamed as he felt thick, jelly like liquids ran down his leg. “Come on now!” He cried again, more meekly this time. “Can’t we just let bygones be bygones?”

No response, not that he was expecting one.

“Derky!” The captured Weatherstorm swivelled his body around to his idle comrade. “Derky, please help, would you?”

Derky stood up, face blank. “What’s wrong, there?”

“I’M BEING EATEN BY A PLANT. WHAT DO YOU THINK IS WRONG?”

Derky was silent for a moment, before saying, “It's just that I found a worm. Want to see it?”

Right at that moment, with only Derkington for aid, Weatherstorm contemplated just throwing himself into the beast headfirst just to speed along the process. Is this how he was to meet his demise? Death by plant? He’d never imagined that. Sometimes life really throws a curveball at you.

“No!” Weatherstorm stammered in disbelief. “No, I don’t want to look at your worm! I can’t help but think there are more pressing matters here and BY STARSWIRL’S BEARD, IS THAT A SNAKE?”

A snake it was, not that Derky recognised it as being one. “I don’t think so. There's no stripes.” The brown coated Pegasus mumbled, staring down at the slithering cobra entangled around his hoof.

“DERKY, IT’S CLEARLY A SNAKE! GET RID OF IT AND HELP ME!”

Of course, Derky threw the snake at the plant-monster. The snake hit the half plant, half beast with a wet smack, sliding down its featureless face with a sound akin to a squeegee rubbing against a soapy window pane. It did nothing to better the monster’s mood. The snake gave a low, cold blooded warning hiss before slipping up a tree and into the high branches above.

Weatherstorm looked back in utter amazement. “WHAT IS YOUR OBSESSION WITH THROWING SNAKES AT DANGEROUS ANIMALS?”

Derky shrugged. And then Weatherstorm felt the tight grip on his foreleg loosening, and suddenly he was free. In those few short seconds, it was impossible for him to tell what exactly had happened, but he was fairly sure that he’d seen several small, dark objects, like acorns, fall from the highest branch of the overhanging tree and drop onto the top of the plant’s head with a series of dull plops. Naturally, he thanked the snake, for without its efforts, those pine needles or acorns or whatever they might have been would likely not have fallen.

“Thank you, sir snake!” He called up the tree trunk. “I shan’t forget your valiant act and should we cross paths again, I’ll repay my debt. You have my word as a gentlecolt on that!”

“I think the snake was aiming those at your head.”

“Well then, sir snake can go to Tartarus for all I care. And as for you,” Weatherstorm pouted to the still dazed venus pony trap. “You are a vile and disgusting creature, and I lied: you are ugly, so there. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before trying to eat somepony such as I.”

The plant-monster snapped at him once more and blew his tongue in a loud raspberry, showering the Pegasus in spittle.

The Pegasus returned the gesture. “I was wrong, Derky. The plant life here is absolutely horrid.”

As they trotted off, Weatherstorm felt a twinge of pain rush up his leg like a venomous bite. It seemed as though the venus pony trap had twisted it, the brute. A shame, and when it was just recovering after not one but two near fractures from both Belove and Rarity’s father. No matter. That’s why he was born with wings, after all.

The recent near death experience certainly had not put a damper on Derky’s mood, however, who remained as chatty as ever as they glided effortlessly along the ground. “Why do you think they call them VENUS pony traps, Weatherstorm? Why not Mars pony traps? They say that mares are from Venus and stallions from Mars. Does that mean all venus pony traps are female? Aren’t plants both...”

“Derky, please.” Weatherstorm silenced him. “I’m not sure if I’ve told you, but I have quite the headache.”

“We need to stop again?”

Starfire silently sighed and shrugged nonchalantly. “Well, we don’t have to, but we’ve been walking for a while. I thought your hooves were getting sore. Mine certainly are.”

“But didn’t we stop an hour ago?” Cananor groaned in protest, kicking at a random cluster of colourful wildflowers which daftly dodged the attack with aid from the gentle billowing breeze. They had, indeed, stopped for a quick rest one hour prior to this conversation. And one hour before that. In total, they had stopped three times since they’d left the cave, and each ‘little rest’ as Starfire called them were getting longer and longer. Although the forest paths were fairly uneven, rocky and generally tiring on the hooves and therefore he appreciated the rest, Cananor couldn’t shake the feeling that they were wasting valuable time. In the recent turn of events, time was no longer a commodity they could spare.

He heard Phoenix’s voice float out from the deepest depths of his imagination. “A GRIFFON WITHOUT PATIENCE IS LIKE A DEFENDANT WITHOUT A GOOD ATTORNEY: DONE FOR!” The line from Issue #322 wasn’t the most philosophical of his quotes, but it was darned effective and put the point across nicely.

“A GRIFFON WITHOUT PATIENCE IS...”

“I heard you, Phoenix.” Cananor called up to the spectral figure which lay lazily along the length of a low branch, picking at his teeth with his clawed hand. He just smiled in return. Cananor reluctantly agreed to take a quick breather. “Five minutes won’t hurt, I guess.”

“This looks like a nice spot,” Starfire wearily fell to the ground with a sigh of relief. It felt good to rest his hooves. Cananor did likewise, although a little more restlessly than his companion, and was able to get a good look at the surrounding area.

It was, as Starfire had said, a nice spot. Nature encircled them, and not the grizzly sort of nature that wanted to tear their heads off in a ghastly manner. This was proper nature, where birds glided breathlessly through the open canopy and into the starry sky like soaring spirits, dancing and diving magnificently in the full glare of the moon, big and full and wonderfully bright. The trees, unlike so many others they had seen in the darkest depths of the forest, were green and bristling with life, their thick mahogany trunks groaning softly, delicately as the wind rushed through their pores, whispering sweet lullabies. Butterflies hovered close to the ground, stroking the blades of fresh, sweet grass with their speckled wings. Ladybirds, little baby tomatoes with wings, trekked up and down the gently sighing flowers with monumental effort, tiny strained breaths billowing from tired mouths. Grasshoppers and crickets chirped out a melody into the darkness, as though welcoming the strange, new, equine visitors with a royal fanfare. An owl emerged from some dark crevice of a tree, shook itself awake with a ruffle of feathers, and began its nightly rounds. Cananor was surprised by the variety of life in the forest; he’d always imagined, when he had looked out from his bedroom window as a foal to the forest which loomed like a dark shadow in the far distance, that it was a scary and forbidden place, populated by untold horrors, malevolent creatures from times long lost, and other things which lurked under the bed. And whilst that had proven on more than one occasion to be true, here he was, soaking in some of the most astounding scenery he had ever laid eyes on.

‘Meh.’ Cananor shrugged off the beauty. He wasn’t all that interested in nature when it came right down to it.

Starfire, however, was spellbound by it all. The birds and the bees, the squirrels and trees, even down to the lowliest insect, it was all fascinating experience. The forest was a mystical, magical place and the wealth of both wild and flora life overwhelmed him. Ecosystems in action. A stark contrast to the earlier, less vibrant regions of the forest indeed.

A cluster of wildflowers near the rim of their clearing invited the student over. They were unlike any floral life he had seen in any book before. Rich Azure blue in colour, they glowed in the blackness like the warm glow of a glowbug, and beckoned him near. The plants had large, waxy leaves with several delicate petals, each bulb sporting a few stamen. Dark cobalt veins ran across the length of the leaves and continued down the stalk. They hummed quietly, all in harmony with another, as Starfire bend down and took a sniff. They were very pungent, and had an earthy like aroma. He took another sniff. The plants hummed back in unison.

Satisfied by his little pocket of nature, Starfire gently lowered himself down amongst the foliage, taking care not to flatten any of the strange species of plant, and closed his eyes, forelegs folded.

To the other unicorn spectating, this was not an uncommon. Every time they stopped, Starfire would go through the same procedure; he’d find a nice, quiet spot amongst the flowers, fold his hooves, close his eyes and remain quiet for the remainder of the rest. Quite frankly, it was beginning to irritate the lawyer, and...

“OI!” A walnut conked him on the bonce. Its thrower stood atop a high branch, looking down, another projectile clasped firmly in his talon. “PATIENCE! ATTORNEYS! DONE FOR!”

“I know!” Cananor hissed back. “Stop hitting me with things!”

“THESE ARE IMAGINARY-WALNUTS! I CAN'T TOUCH CORPOREAL ITEMS, ANYWAY! STOP BEING SO IMPATIENT! YOU CAN’T RUSH A CASE!”

Cananor sat down beside the silent meditater. Starfire’s eyes flittered open as he felt the flowers next to him give way under Cananor’s weight. “Be careful not to crush them,” The student teacher warned him, still striking the same pose but for one open eye. “I’ve never seen plants like these before, and they might be rare. I’d quite like to gather a few for... research.”

Cananor jumped to his hooves. Several of the flowers had already been pressed by the might of his flank. “You weren’t looking to start a pressed flower collection, were you?”

Starfire gave a long, heavy sigh of disdain. The flowers swayed and bent under the strain of his weighty breath. He rolled his gentle eyes and threw back his cheery blond mane. “I was going to study them, but no matter. Science be darned.” With that, he closed his eyes and went back to his silent meditation. Either he was humming, or the plants were. Maybe they were all humming. Cananor almost felt inclined to hum a tune along with them.

“What, uh...” He stumbled and scratched the back of his mane in embarrassment. “Whatcha’ doing, anyway?”

Starfire’s eyelids remained locked together. He didn’t budge. “I’m meditating.” He whispered back to disturb as little of the wildlife as possible. He knew they were likely confused and disorganised by the lack of sun; their presence wasn’t going to make them feel any more secure.

“I can see that.” It was a fairly obvious answer to a fairly broad question. “Any reason why, or...”

Starfire, forelegs folded and hind legs crossed, lowered his horn to the ground and inhaled sharply, holding it for a moment, then released it slowly and deliberately. He repeated the action before answering. “I’m trying to track Nightmare Moon’s magic.”

Cananor scoffed and picked one of the pressed plants. A light blue sap lactated from the severed stem, and the glowing slowly faded away into the breeze. “You’ve already tried that one before, remember?”

“No, seriously.” Starfire’s chest rose, then fell, slowly and rhythmically. “Tracing magic is a hard spell, but not impossible. That said, few unicorns can pull it off.”

Cananor raised an eyebrow, muzzle buried deep in the dark blue flower’s stamen. “Can you?”

“Well, I’ve briefly read about it, but...” Another sharp inhalation of oxygen, then another slow release of carbon dioxide, whistled through puckered lips. “But no, I’ve never attempted such a spell. Never wanted to. Not worth the risk. As I said, it’s difficult to master. Even the great magicians of old probably had some difficulty performing it correctly.”

“And what,” Cananor laughed, “You’ll just pull it off no problemo?”

Starfire smiled and held his breath for a moment. “Wishful thinking. Tell me...” He turned to Cananor, eyes still closed. “You can feel the magic of this forest, can’t you? That little tingle in your horn; never a distraction but always there?”

Cananor’s hoof went straight to his horn. He rubbed it tenderly. “I...I guess. I didn’t really pay much attention to it.”

“Well,” continued Starfire. “The forest has its own aura, its own ‘feel’ if you will. However, I can tell, as you surely can, that the natural feel of the forest has become unbalanced as of late. Nightmare Moon has to be the cause of the fluctuation. By channeling the life energies of the plant life here, I can tune into the forest’s natural energies and pinpoint any unrecognised magical sources, which should lead us to Nightmare Moon herself. Not only that, but as you know, Pegasi do give off a certain amount of passive magical energy which allows them to walk on clouds. Although the signal will be weak at best, I may just be able to locate Derky and Weatherstorm. Maybe. As I said though, it’s pretty wishful thinking. And it still won’t help us find Belove.”

Cananor clasped a hoof on Starfire’s back. “Hey, it’s a start. So, is this why we’ve been stopping every hour?”

“I like to take advantage of the rarer plant life when I come across them. The less common the plant and the closer I am to them, the more of a natural frequency I can pick up.” His horn sparked a little. He twinged. “These little beauties are really packing a magical punch, I’ll tell you that.” He went back to his meditation and left Cananor in silence.

Cananor took the hint. He stayed silent and left Starfire to concentrate on his spell.

For all of 30 seconds.

To be fair, it wasn’t his fault. Our heroic jokester was the restless sort, and even though he’d worked in one of the most mundane jobs in equine history for quite some time now, it did nothing to mellow his attitude. In fact, quite the opposite; if anything, it helped his ‘free spirit’ along, like an elastic band slowly being wound up and wound up until it releases in a quick flourish of bruised eyelids. Unless he was reading one of his beloved comics, the arts of staying perfectly still and perfectly quiet were not his forte.

He tried counting the flowers. He tried counting the bees in the flowers. He tried counting the stripes on the bees in the flowers. He tried counting the stars. He tired of counting the stars. Lastly, he tried conversing with Starfire.

“So, um...” He quickly searched his vast library of a brain for something appropriate to say. “Did I ever tell you the one about the Parasprite that walked into a restaurant and ordered a menu?”

Starfire said nothing.

"The Parasprite said, ‘I’ll have everything on the menu. And the menu.’”

Starfire said nothing.

“The waiter said, ‘I’m sorry sir, but we don’t feed the Parasprites!’”

Cananor coughed and trailed off. “I guess you’ve heard that one before, huh?”

The lawyer went back to his busy boredom. He listened to the owls hoot in the night. He called out a name. They couldn’t hear him correctly. He called again. They asked once more. He grew bored and conversed with Starfire.

“You know,” he sighed, twiddling his hooves and laying flat on his back, looking up at the starry sky above. “I didn’t tell you how I got my cutie mark, did I?”

Starfire raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“I said I would tell you on the night.” He waved his hoof across the sky, parting the stars and giving himself plenty of room to work. All the world was his stage, and he was the centre piece. “Well, tonight’s the night.”

Starfire mumbled something along the lines of, ‘It’s always night.’

He was shushed with a raspy whistle and a hoof on the lips. “You need to listen once in a while, Starfire. I’m beginning my story.”

As you may or may not know, my father is the captain of the Ponyville Guard and even back then, we didn’t get on all that well. Let’s just say that our... interests clashed.

The little unicorn tenderly took hold of his father’s hoof as they skipped merrily through the bronze leaves, fluttering through the crisp autumn morning air. The park was bustling with ponies, adult strangers who knew young Cananor, yet not vice versa. He hid behind his father’s legs when they approached. Occasionally they would stop and talk with his father, with a “Hello there, Captain Brigade! Pleasant morning, is it not?” His father would always smile cheerily, and return the gesture, but never for too long, for time in his line of work, recreational time, was scarce and he wished to spend as much of it as possible with his son.

Cananor enjoyed going to the park with his father. There they frolicked for quite some time, kicking up bushes of litter that spread over the dewy grass, and played tag and hide-and-go seek among the golden oak trees, but dared not venture too far. He knew that, no matter how well he hid, his father would always find him, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Exhausted, laughing, they fell to the park floor together. Captain Blue Brigade, smile glowing with love and affection, removed his helmet and allowed his greying mane to flow freely behind him. He lowered the bronze helmet onto his son’s head, slowly and carefully, and then took a step back to admire his little solder. Cananor sat amongst the fallen leaves, helmet covering the most of his face, but underneath it all, he was smiling.

He heard his father laugh. “You’ll grow into it.” The helmet was adjusted, giving the young colt enough room to see, and then he was hoisted onto his father’s shoulders, where he could see all over Ponyville, and beyond.

“All this,” his father told him, “I give you the whole wide world. All of Equestria, son. All the trees in the forests, all the water in the sea, all the clouds in the sky, all the snow on the mountains and sand in the deserts, and all living things that inhabit them all. That is how much I love you.”

Cananor looked out at the vast expanses of the universe, the unending love of his father. He loved him back just as much.

Blue Brigade’s face turned solemn. He sighed, watching Celestia’s shimmering sun dip below the horizon, as though waving goodbye. The sky turned a beautiful rich orange. “Someday,” he whispered to his foal, gently. “Someday, I’ll be gone, and it’ll be up to you to help the good ponies of Ponyville, just like me. And my father, and his father before him.”

Cananor cuddled in close to his father’s furred form, safe and secure in loving hooves. “You won’t ever be gone, will you, daddy?”

And Blue Brigade’s heart melted. A tear rolled down his cheek as he watched his son, his own flesh and blood, gripping to him tightly like no force in this world could tear them apart. “No, son.” He muttered after the longest time. “I won’t leave you.”

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Okay."

They sat there together, as one, and watched the sun disappear.

“It sounds like you and your father were actually pretty close.”

Starfire’s statement caught Cananor off guard. “Whoa, I... I didn’t really think you were actually listening to me.”

The student continued to sit perfectly still, eyes closed, hooves folded, facing forwards. Every now and then his horn sparked, just a little, but brighter every time it did so. “I am. A bit.” He added with a straight faced smirk. “You said that you didn’t really get on with your father. I can tell otherwise.”

Cananor snorted and pushed himself upright, scattering the butterflies that had landed on the vibrating blur plants beside him. “And what gave you that impression?”

“Well, I’m no psychologist, but probably the fact that you spent the last ten minutes talking about your day out with your dad at the park.”

The lawyer’s face dropped. “I was saying that bit out loud?”

Starfire shuddered a little as he felt a surge of magic pass through him, for the briefest moment, then faded back to nothingness. He controlled his breathing once more. “So, what happened? Between you and your father?”

Cananor lay back down and stared back up at the night sky. The moon ushered his story along, as though impatient to reach the end. “Well, I was pretty young and pretty dumb back then. We just drifted apart as I grew older, is all. Like I said, we had different plans for my future. He wanted me to carry the torch as captain of the Ponyville guard, whereas I found my true calling the day I got my cutie mark...”

It was a pretty average day at school. I was trying my hoof at comedy, because I was still pretty indecisive as to what I wanted to when I was older. I was the type of foal that was impatient waiting for my cutie mark, you know, so I literally tried everything and anything I could in hopes I would be good at it. In short, it usually ended in disaster.

I know a few foals like that.

Anyway, I was out in the playground, attracting a bit of a crowd, when Cheerilee...

Wait, Cheerilee worked at the same school all those years ago?

Yeah, as a student teacher, the same thing you’re working as now. You should have seen her mane...

“...So I said, ‘I think I’ll have the mane course!’” The unicorn beamed, throwing out his hooves to emphasise the punchline.

He waited for the uproars laughter. And waited.

It wasn’t just delayed. It was non-existent.

“Get it? Mane as in hair?” He desperately tugged at his own aqua green mane. “Mane as in...”

The young spectators were silent.

Cananor gulped and felt his mouth dry up. He loosened an invisible collar. ‘Wow. Tough crowd. I guess I should strike comedian off of the list.’

Miss Cheerilee’s voice snapped all pupils to attention. “Attention, my little ponies!” She gleamed through a mouth full of sparkling braces. They gave the magenta Earth Pony a slight lisp, making it hard for her to properly pronounce ‘r’ and ‘s’ without spraying saliva in whatever direction she happened to be facing. Despite this slight hindrance, the student teacher was cheery without fail, and very popular with her temporary class. They looked up to her, and called her ‘Miss.’ She’d never been called ‘Miss’ before, but she could certainly get used to it. “I would like to introduce a new pupil that moved here yesterday from Cloudsdale... please give a warm, Ponyville welcome to Derkington!”

She pointed at empty air. Somepony near the back of the crowd coughed.

Then slowly, surely, a head began to creep its way out from behind Cheerilee’s leg warmers. A thick tuft of curly copper-ginger hair, pierced by two light brown ears. Then a matching coloured muzzle. Two full, lime green eyes. Then the newcomer’s body followed suit. It was a colt, a Pegasus, who wavered nervously from side to side, blushing. He crossed one foreleg and smiled, unsure of what to say to his new classmates in this new, alien environment.

There was a smattering of expressionless introductions, unenthusiastic mumbles that trailed incoherently into heavy sighs.

Somepony near the front of the crowd coughed.

Cheerilee’s metallic smile didn’t fade. She nodded a few times, as though responding to some question nopony asked.

“Good!” The trainee clopped her hooves together and ushered the shivering colt off to the gathering crowd with youthful optimism. “Make friends, and have fun!” Then she galloped back inside the school building, eager to fulfil whatever task her mentor should set her next.

Young Derkington cleared his throat. He wasn’t at all comfortable being in the limelight, so many eyes locked in his direction. He could feel their glares burn into his skin, silently judging him. First impressions were everything, and even though he wanted to try his best to start a new life, a better life, he couldn’t block out the memories of Cloudsdale: mocking laughter, cruel jokes, hurtful comments. He mustered up a morsel of courage, unfurled his wings, and spoke.

“Hi. My...” His voice cracked. He coughed again, and then whispered, “My name is Derky.”

When I looked down at that on-edge, shivering mess below me, I felt pity, and hadn’t the faintest idea why. Perhaps it was because I knew what was going to happen next. Maybe we all did.

Any who didn’t move out of his way were pushed to the dirt, unable to stand up to the pure brutish might of his pet. Most squeaked and jumped backwards, giving them both a wide birth. Thunder Charger and his lackey Barry Brick were no force to be reckoned with.

Derky recognised them as the school bullies straight away. He’d dealt with their kind before, back in Cloudsdale, and wished he had seen the back of them. But the sad fact of the matter was that foals can be cruel, and no matter where in Equestria you went, there were always those who preyed on the weak, the disabled, the different, the downtrodden.

“Well, look at this!” The slender Pegasus colt sneered. His voice was high and croaky, but seeping malevolence and hatred. “Fresh meat!” The second of the two challengers snickered, his voice low and husky and most unlike that of his friend’s. It was blatantly obvious that he wasn’t exactly the mastermind of the two, which was quite the achievement to give off such an impression as he had yet to actually say a word.

They took their time inspecting the newest addition to the class, sizing him up. Derky’s face faded into a dark crimson as he turned his head away, trying to avoid the gaze of the other Pegasus colt. Thunder Charger first investigated the confines of his mane, running his hoof through the straggly orange threads. “Huh. Nice mane.” His comment spat sarcasm like a snake’s venom. Then he tugged Derky’s wing up, examined the joints and ruffled through the feathers, then dropped it to the ground in disgust. “You call those wings?” The white Pegasus jeered, flexing his own appendages which rippled with muscles. “These are wings!” He made sure to run his wings under Derky’s chin, snapping them mere inches from his face. He laughed every time the weakling jumped, until something else caught his eye. Slowly, an evil smirk grew, peeling the corners of his mouth into a wide, unwelcoming grin.

“The new kid’s a blank flank!”

If a hole had opened in the ground at that moment, Derky would gladly have crawled into the deep chasms of the underworld and closed the earth back up behind him. His one weakness, the one great bane of his existence, was his cutie mark, or lack thereof. He knew he was still young, and that finding a special talent was something that took time, but he’d grown self conscious over how long it was taking him to find his. Back in Cloudsdale, everypony in his class had a cutie mark, but for his only friend Weatherstorm , and it left the poor Pegasus devastated. With wishful thinking, he could only hope that there was somepony, anypony else in Ponyville without a cutie mark, but even by taking a quick glance at the audience he could see that his hopes were in vain.

Thunder Charger pressed his muzzle right against Derky’s own. The blank flanked Pegasus tried to back away, but found his path blocked by a Barry Brick wall. “You’re an ugly little ginger blank flank.” The school bully shot him the sort of gleaming smile a Manticore gives its prey in their last seconds of life. “You’re nothing.” With that, his hoof shot out and caught the defenceless newcomer in the ribs. Helpless, he tumbled to the cold hard tarmac, trembling in fear. There he lay, curled in a shivering ball on the chalky hopscotch grid, with the beastly duo looming above him, chanting and jeering.

“Blank flank! Blank flank!” They teased, stringing the insults into a melodically mocking verse.

Now, as you can imagine, I wasn’t going to let this stand.

Oh, of course.

The very sight made Cananor’s blood boil and all he saw was red. Pure, scarlet red. Thunder and Barry had gone too far this time. Sure, he always knew they were complete jerks and sure, they would tease him for being a blank flank himself but seeing it performed out like a sick play on another, one so helpless, really set the perspective for the unicorn. He made the split second decision to speak out against them before his mind could object.

“Leave him alone!”

The laughing stopped, the chanting ceased, and the playground grew silent. Had tumbleweed been common in those parts, it probably would have made a quick cameo appearance. Had the town clock been nearby, it would have chimed twelve, whatever the actual time may have been. The audience grew deathly pale as rows of terrified eyes edged their way up to Cananor’s defiant form, still standing atop his makeshift stage constructed from an overturned orange box. They were in disbelief, shock, and perhaps a little bit of denial. Nopony talked to Thunder Charger like that. Nopony.

The white coated Pegasus went completely stiff as his muscles tensed, locked in surprise. Then he slowly, languidly turned to face the outspoken onlooker. His pale, sparkling green eyes, shimmering with heated rage, froze when they met Cananor’s. Neither party said a word for the longest time.

“What did you say?”

A fat droplet of sweat slithered its way down Cananor’s rapidly blushing cheek. With a sharp inhale, he puffed out his chest and repeated himself. “I said, leave him alone.”

Thunder’s eyebrows narrowed as he took one step towards his challenger. Then another. Barry Brick tilted his head from side to side menacingly, which sat rigid on his trunk of a neck. A low, guttural growl rose from the pit of his stomach like that of a guard dog. “Well, well, well.” Thunder Charger clapped his hooves down on the perfectly still grass. Even it seemed to be waiting in suspense. “Look at this! The blank flank here,” he pointed to Cananor, “Is sticking up for his own, blank flanked kind. Isn’t that sweet?” He laughed, but there was no humour evident in his toothy smile.

“Listen, just leave the new kid alone, alright?” Cananor instructed. He didn’t sound half as confident as he wanted to come across as.

Thunder chuckled. Barry laughed along with him, copying his every movement and matching his mocking sneer. “Or what?”

The Pegasus took another menacing step towards his prey. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I’ll...” Cananor paused. What was he going to do? He was far from the strongest pony at school, and barely even registered as a threat to neither Thunder Charger nor Barry Brick. They were bigger than he was, stronger than he was, faster than he was and capable of beating him into an indistinguishable brown smudge plastered along the astroturf. “I’ll, uh...”

“Yes?” Thunder folded his hooves and glided past the unicorn, mere inches from knocking him off his elevated stage and onto the cold, hard ground below. “You’ll what?”

“I’ll...” All eyes were on him. He felt the sweat trickle down his forehead like a stream of regret. Why did he open his stupid mouth? Why couldn’t he just keep quiet? Desperately, he turned to the crowd below him and at Belove in particular with pleading, teary eyes. Perhaps he thought that his only fellow blank flanked foal in the class would help him in his time of need but alas, it was not the case. The red Earth Pony shied away, staring straight at the ground below him, slowly backing further and further from the rest of the audience with a silent whimper. It wasn’t exactly unexpected, after all; he was by far the shyest, most inward pony Cananor had ever met.

And then Cananor heard it. A faint whisper, blowing in the cheery summer’s breeze. Then louder, more recognisable.

Cananor momentarily ignored the circling Pegasus closing in around him. He momentarily ignored the threatening crack of Barry’s hooves. He focused on the crowd. Somepony was talking to him, he was sure of it. Whoever it was, they were calling his name.

Cananor... Cananor...

CANANOR!

The shout was loud enough to nearly topple him from his makeshift perch. It came from above him. Craning his neck skyward, he found a shadowy figure hovering in place amongst the bright and wispy cotton candy clouds. It wasn’t a pony, that much was clear. The shadow’s long, thin, tufty tail, the sleek eagle-like wings, the ferociously glinting claws gleaming in the afternoon sun... although he had never seen one in his life before, Cananor could tell straight away that the stranger was a griffon: a mystical half lion, half eagle hailing from a land far, far from Equestria. He couldn’t make out the creature’s face, entwined with shifting darkness.

“CANANOR!” The creature boomed in a voice so deep that it vibrated the box Cananor was standing on like a drum. “IT LOOKS LIKE YOU NEED A LITTLE HELP!”

Cananor was gobsmacked. How did it know his name? Why did nopony else react? Couldn’t they see him... it? And who was he?

“Wh...who are you?” Stammered the young colt, heart racing beyond belief.

The griffon laughed. “LISTEN, I’LL TELL YOU WHEN YOU’RE OLDER!”

“But how did...”

The shadow silenced him with a talon to the lips. “SHH! THEY CAN HEAR YOU, FOOL! NOW, SAY EXACTLY WHAT IS SAY AND YOU MIGHT GET THROUGH THIS!”

Cananor listened to the stranger, and he obeyed.

“I said,” Thunder bellowed, giving Cananor a sharp shove which sent him sprawling off his box and colliding with the tarmac below with a pained ‘oof!’, “Who are you talking to?”

Cananor straightened himself up, dusted himself off, and repeated the hushed whisperings drifting through his ear. “I was talking to you, Thunder Charger.” He replied with full confidence, not even a hint of fear eminent in his voice. “And I said, ‘You leave Derky alone, or I’ll have to serve you your flank on a plate.'”

Thunder’s blue eyes flashed pure red. “What did you say?”

“You heard me!” Cananor gave him a cocky, lopsided smile. Throwing back his mane, he laughed and puffed out his powerful chest, surging with justice.

He sensed Thunder’s attack before the Pegasus’s hoof had even left the soil. With his unparalleled speed, Cananor easily dodged the incoming hoof which sailed past his head, skimming the fur on his cheek. Even if Cananor had taken the punch, however, it would have had little effect. Thunder was pathetically weak and threw punches like a filly, whereas Cananor was strong and mighty and as rigid as steel. He merely laughed at Thunder’s attempt to make contact.

Sweat blinded Thunder as he stumbled backwards on unsteady hooves, panting in effort. “How...” he gasped, out of breath because of his generous body mass, “How can this be?”

Cananor snorted and shot a bolt of lighting into the sky, exploding like a firework which lit up the sky like a rainbow of awesome. “Don’t you get it? I’m the MIGHTY CANANOR!”

This was met by a monumental cheer from the crowd, who threw their hooves down in worship of Cananor, protector of the weak and defender of the school, he who dared challenge Thunder Charger. Thunder’s chest heaved in anger and embarrassment as he saw the whole of the school turn against him, HIM! He balled his hooves in rage, propelling himself forwards with a bloodcurdling shriek of ‘Hyaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!’ in one last desperate effort to defeat his opponent.

Unfortunately for him, he just wasn’t fast enough.

His outstretched hind leg was daftly sidestepped with a yawn. Then there was a flash of light and a flourish of activity, and suddenly Thunder Charger found himself upside down and sprawled against the wall, tail swishing wildly across his utterly bewildered face. He was unable to even move his eyes, such was the magnitude of Cananor’s majestic attack. The all powerful unicorn blew the willowing smoke from the tip of his horn and then turned to face Barry Brick. “Your turn.” He smirked.

Barry did what any sensible pony would do in that situation and ran, stumbling occasionally as he galloped off into the distance, his frantic cries growing fainter and fainter until they ceased to exist. Then Cananor was hoisted onto the shoulders of his classmates, who paraded him around the school yard and chanted his name. “Cananor!” They cheered in joy, grateful for all he had done for them, freeing them from the tyrannical rule of the school bully, Thunder Charger. Belove looked on in amazement. He secretly wanted to be him, so loved by all, so smart and funny and superb in every possible way. Derky was so grateful that he had saved him from certain doom, he agreed to do Cananor’s homework all year. And Silver Lining, his secret childhood crush, fell instantly in love with him. He’d be a fool not to. The colt leaned in close, lips puckered. Cananor did likewise. He was such a good kisser...

This... didn’t happen, did it?

No, I was just making sure you hadn’t fallen asleep on me. Where was I?

You had said something to Thunder Charger, I believe.

Oh yeah.

“I said, you’d better leave him alone.” Cananor’s heart was pounding like a racehorse from both adrenaline and pure fear. Nopony had ever dared talk to Thunder Charger like this. He was making history.

Thunder Charger almost found the response comical. Sneering, he gave a shrill whistle and Barry Brick snapped to attention like an obedient pet, awaiting the order to pounce on his prey. The order was given.

And yet they both stopped, dead in their tracks. Cananor stood tall, defiant, a beacon of resistance against those who wished others nothing but harm. “Before you maul me, however, you should probably think about the consequences. Do you think Miss Sunrise won’t notice when I return after recess with two black eyes? You think my father won’t notice? What about my aunt, the mayor? Don’t think I can’t get you two into a LOT of trouble.”

The message hit home before the duo hit him. Thunder Charger seemed to weigh the positives against the negatives for a few moments before he signalled to Barry, and they both stomped off without another word. And then it was over. The crowds, eager to see a fight, wearily dispersed, muttering disappointed mumbles.

Cananor gave a long, exasperated sigh of relief when the bell sounded, signalling the end of recess and the continuation of classes. He’d been darned lucky, he knew, but it was all thanks to the unidentified stranger who had helped him out when he needed it most. Turning his attention back to the sky, he realised, to his surprise, that the griffon was no longer present. He didn’t even hear him leave, disappearing as mysteriously as he had appeared.

Derky came trotting over to him and snapped his mind onto more important affairs. “Thank you.” He barely managed to choke the words out, tears still glistening in his gentle green eyes. “I’ve... I’ve never had anypony stick up for me like that before.”

Cananor gave him a reassuring smile. He took the newcomer’s hoof and gave it a firm shake, a pact of friendship. “It’s alright, really. Those two are just hot air. I couldn’t just let them pick on you like that. Not after the way they pick on me for being a blank flank.”

“But you aren’t a blank flank.”

The sentence took a few seconds for Cananor to correctly process, his mind a jumbled mess. Nearly toppling over his own clutzy hooves, the unicorn hastily swivelled on the spot and caught site of his flank. A pair of black balancing scales stared back at him, almost weighing against the probabilities of this being a dream. Sweet Celestia; He’d earned his cutie mark.

Cananor fainted.

The stars silently disbanded, having finished performing their nostalgic play against the blank canvas of the night sky. The quietly slipped away, back into their rightful formation, guardians of the hovering blackness. Cananor sighed, contently, sprawled amongst the beautifully humming flowers.

Starfire’s mouth twitched. His horn lit up, for all of a second, and then the light deteriorated away. Neon veined flowers drifted closer to him, their natural auras feeding his magical needs. “I’ll assume that those two left you and Derky alone after that?”

Cananor laughed. That was the beauty of it. He could, now it was nothing but a memory, a dusty old relic buried deep in the labyrinth of the past. “Nope. I actually got bullied worse than ever after that. But still, it was worth it. I had finally discovered my true calling; I am a firm believer in justice, always was even from a young age, but that day I learnt that justice could be served via negotiation, instead of force. That was the day that I knew I wanted to become a lawyer, defending the weak and protecting the innocent, and delivering justice to the evil-doers of Equestria. Of course, when my dad saw my cutie mark that evening, there was a lot of explaining to do, even more when I told him I wanted to enrol in Law School. He’s the old fashioned type, very stuck in his ways you see. When he found out that I wasn’t going to take over the family profession as captain of the guard, we had a big argument and... thank goodness for my mother.” His smile faded, slowly and indiscreetly. “Sometimes, when I lie awake after another failure, I wonder if I made the right choice after all.”

The humming intensified. The glowing leaves grew brighter. Starfire’s horn glinted with magical power. It was uncomfortable, and yet he willed himself on. Maybe, in a way, Cananor’s ramblings were keeping his mind off of the severe discomfort. “What happened to those two bullies then?”

The beige-coated lawyer shifted his weight and closed his eyes, the blinking stars above him compressing and flattening into stretching lines of blurred light as his eyelids slowly fell. “Well, Barry ended up joining the Ponyville Guard. He was lucky to even get in, considering the fact that he left school with literally no qualifications.”

“And what of Thunder Charger? Did he also join the Ponyville Guard?”

Cananor’s voice grew quieter. He yawned, mouthing some incoherent message to the universe, and replied, “That’s the funny thing. I don’t know. After Belove sorted him out during that school race, nopony ever heard from him again. I think he moved to Canterlot, or something.” Eyes closed, he wearily turned his head to where Starfire sat. “Where did you go to school, anyway? Celestia’s school for Gifted Unicorns? I haven’t seen many unicorns that...”

“SHH!”

The sharp, hushed warning took Cananor by surprise. At first, he didn’t quite know how to react. His eyes flicked open and he bolted upright. “E-excuse me?”

“SHUT UP!”

“EXCUUUSSSE ME?” Cananor hoisted himself onto all fours, unsure of whether to be a little angry or a whole heap of confused. His shot out his hoof accusingly. “What did you...”

The flash of lightning (or at least that’s what it resembled) lasted no more than a mere millisecond but it was long, and blinding bright, enough to completely obscure Cananor’s vision with a thick sheet of velvety whiteness. Considering the strange resemblance to the flash of lightning that had blinded him at the Summer Sun Celebration, Cananor fell to his hooves, trembling, as though Nightmare Moon had hunted them down and was ready to finish them off for good. His eyes slowly battling to see through the intense light, he saw Starfire’s bright white silhouette dance and spasm as the student levitated higher off the ground, white prisms of light erupting from the tip of his horn and striking the surrounding trees. They, in turn, began to glow a deathly white, veins like those of the flowers seeping through the bark. Starfire’s eyes themselves were shut tight in either concentration, effort, pain or perhaps all three. The lawyer’s hoof instinctively shot out to help his hovering comrade. “STARFIRE!”

No sooner had his hoof made contact than Cananor felt himself being blasted backwards accompanied by a deafening roar, wind skimming the fur on his back. He tumbled off into the flower bed, a thin trail of greyish smoke following his descent. Battered and bruised, he lifted his head and saw that, through the blinding light, Starfire was lowering back down to the soft green earth. He silently collapsed to the ground, the light faded, his horn returned to its dull blue hue and then all was still as death but for the scampering of various fleeing woodland critters.

Cananor, still dazed and half blinded, pulled himself through the patch of now silent plants to Starfire’s immobile body, crumpled in a twisted heap. He gently shook the blue unicorn.

“Starfire? Starfire?” He was unresponsive, unmoving, eyes shut in restful slumber. As far as Cananor could tell, he wasn’t breathing.

“Starfire, come on buddy.” Cananor placed a hoof on his motionless chest. He did not stir. “Come on, Starfire. Wake up.”

No answer.

Cananor’s eyes filled up, glistening with sadness. “Don’t do this, Starfire. It isn’t funny.” He shook him again, more violently. “Come on.”

“Please.”

And then Starfire bolted upright in one swift flurry of movement, eyes open and darting like he’d just overdosed on caffeinated coffee. Cananor felt a long, grateful sigh of relief pass his lips like the sound of a deflating balloon. He coughed away his panic. “Are you alright?”

Starfire didn’t answer for what seemed like hours, merely observing his surroundings. “I don’t think I’ll try that spell again.”

“Are you okay?” Cananor, genuinely worried, lifted the trainee teacher’s left foreleg, inspected it, then allowed it to fall by his side. “You’re not injured, are you? Was it meant to do that?”

Starfire stumbled onto shaky, unsteady legs. He wobbled, almost fell, but retained his balance. “I’m fine. Things got a little more intense than I imagined, but no matter, because the spell was a success.”

“If you call nearly disintegrating yourself a success...”

Starfire tapped his horn. It lit up with pure white magic, not his usual blue aura. “I can sense multiple magical entities, some weaker than others. I can only assume that’ll be our missing stallions, perhaps even the girls.”

Cananor shrugged. “And can you trace Nightmare Moon to her location?”

Eyes closed tenderly, he nodded. “Yes. It’s coming from this way.” He pointed off into the deep undergrowth, glowbugs lighting the way for coincidental effect. “We can catch up with the Pegasi if we hurry.” With that, he galloped off into the shrubbery, leaving behind him a trail of white light.

Cananor ‘pfft’. All this time Starfire had spent lazing around sniffing flowers, and now he had the audacity to tell him to show some hustle? Still, at least they were one step closer to going home, and he was one step closer to showing his father that he was a true stallion.

And all it takes is one wrong step to be thrown into the abyss.

Chapter 9

This had to be a joke.

Some cruel, sick joke.

Belove’s eyes widened as he studied his surroundings.

The wall of hedges. The trickle of moonlight seeping through the holes in the canopy of leaves. The wildflowers. And, as if to clarify his worst fears just in case he refused to believe it, a large crater in the middle of the fresh green grass, tiny particles of soil still dislodging from the makeshift miniature cliffside and bouncing along the rim of the Manticore-sized hole in the ground.

Instead of making progress, he’d walked right back to where they were the previous night, where they had the less than welcoming encounter with the beastly Manticore.

“No, no, no, no, no,” He muttered to himself, repeating the word as if it were to somehow change the situation, perhaps teleporting him to the other side of the forest or, even better, his house in Ponyville. He’d had just about enough of adventuring, of forests, villains and friends. Right now, he’d like nothing better than to wake up, safe and sound, curled up in bed with the early morning sun smiling down at him in all its glory. “No, no, no, no, NO, NO!” He threw himself to the ground and slammed his hooves down in pure rage. “THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE! THE HOOF-PRINTS LED RIGHT TO HERE!”

The hoof prints, echoes of the recent past embedded in the swaying grass, stared back at him, almost mocking his efforts. They simply ended in the middle of the clearing, like their creators vanished without a trace.

The Earth Pony couldn’t believe it. He WOULDN’T believe it. There was no way, no possible way, that those hoof-prints had led him in a full circle. Belove took a deep breath, held it, and casually rose to his hooves. Upon opening his eyes, he would be exactly where he wanted to be. Where that was, he had no idea, but it certainly was not here.

As much as Belove believed in his own abilities, it came as no major surprise to him when this recent idea failed to actually work. The guard did what any reasonable, level headed, grown stallion would do in such a predicament and launched himself into an almighty bout of screaming and swearing and gnashing his teeth in a most unprofessional manner. Venting his anger and frustration, he lashed out at everything he could get his stubby little hooves on. He kicked the flowers and trampled the grass, clopped at the soil and bucked the trees until the leaves dislodged themselves, still shaking in fear.

However, as he continued to stomp as storm and shout every colourful word under the moon, he sorely neglected to follow the first rule of training: when in a hostile environment, it is ill advised to stomp and storm and shout every colourful word under the moon and leave yourself vulnerable to attack from those who wished to separate you from your life. A paraphrase, of course, but still a vital peace of knowledge to keep in mind if one values one’s life, and whilst Belove valued his life to the point of self worship, he was unfortunately an idiot. He didn’t hear the soft rustling of the heavy, untrimmed bushes. He didn’t hear the silent snap of brittle twigs. He didn’t hear the crunch of hooves on the leaf litter. But he most certainly felt the warm, dry breath blow across the back of his neck, and it was just enough to make him stop and freeze. His slur of swears trailed off at once.

As much as he wanted to believe that it was the wind, he wasn’t stupid enough to fall for such a false comfort. He wasn’t alone, he was sure of it.

And yet he couldn’t bring himself to move. There he stood, a metaphorical sitting duck in the middle of the clearing, mentally cursing himself for being such a fool. How could he have been so reckless, drawing so much attention to himself like that? That was just asking for trouble.

Well, there was no point in complaining now. As much as he wanted to kick himself up the backside, it was more likely that his anonymous visitor would fulfil that wish. And he would prefer his backside to remain undefiled by strangers, all the same.

Rigid with terror, the Earth Pony found some hidden power and managed to force himself to turn around. Slowly and cautiously, likely for fear of what he may find staring back at him, he craned his neck around, almost creaking in the quietness of the place. With a sharp inhale, he opened his eyes and came face to face with...

...nothing.

Nothing as in no ravenous monster, that is. The trees were still there, as were the flowers, and the bushes and constant flow of shimmering moonlight through the cracks in the leaves. The clearing was quiet. Too quiet. And it was this lack of activity which unsettled Belove greatly.

‘It wasn’t the wind,’ He told himself as his sceptical eyes scanned over the empty space. ‘That sure as heck wasn’t...’

He paused as he saw it move out of the corner of his eye. A fleeting shadow, there, then gone. Blacker than black, he couldn’t make out quite what the blur of darkness was, but he knew straight away that it wanted to cause him harm. Heart in mouth, his eyes traced the hostile’s path, ending at a still quivering bush.

Another shadow darted past him, closer now. This time, he felt the rush of air as it swooped past him in less than a millisecond, disappearing into the treetops above. At least he knew that he wasn’t imagining things; that it couldn’t be merely so easily explained as a ‘trick of the eyes’ or ‘a trick of the light’. There was something here, something watching him...

He span around as a third shadow zipped over the grass behind him. How many of them were there? One, two, three? More?

The fourth had the audacity to blaze right past him in a trail of wispy shadows. It momentarily vanished as it passed through the thick, creamy moonlight peeking through the canopy clearing, then blasted through the other side and into a nearby bush. He only caught a brief glimpse of the creature, still shrouded in shadows, but it was enough to rule of the possibility of it being a rather peeved Manticore returning to the scene of his last battle for a rematch. As much as he detested admitting it, he knew that he didn’t stand a chance against the Manticore alone. The almost spectre-like figure was far too small to be his old half lion half scorpion pal.

Timberwolves? It wasn’t unlikely, especially in these parts. If that was the case, he was in great danger. Timberwolves hunt in packs, are extremely vicious, and darned near indestructible. Without fire, he was as good as wolf meat. Maybe it was ironic, poetic in a way, that nature should conjure such abominations from sticks and wood and set them loose upon those who defiled the forests. But now was not the time to be thinking of irony, or poetry, or justification. He needed to get out of there, and it needed to be yesterday.

Bending down, he scooped up a small, jagged rock with a shaking hoof and called out, “Whatever you are, you’d better stay back if you know what’s good for you!”

Another rattle of the bushes. A few discarded leaves descended from the heavens, one brushing the fur on his shoulder.

His head snapped up instantly. “I’m not joking around!” He screeched, hurling the rock into the tree canopy above. A few barren twigs cracked, unwillingly freeing themselves from the trunk of their host, and fell to the earth. The Earth Pony jumped as they plopped to the ground.

A flash of black. Then another.

Another.

Another.

Encircling him.

Surrounding him.

Trapping him.

His wide and terrified eyes dashed from one blur of shadow to the next. They were getting closer. He continued to back away. He hurled another rock. “St-stay back!” He cried in desperation, voice cracking. “Stay back, you hear me?”

And then backed right into one. He heard the excited breathing. He felt a warm, living body bump against his coat, tickling the fibres of his fur.

These are no Timberwolves.

He didn’t have time to turn and face his aggressor.

The thud came with such haste and force he didn’t have time to react. Just a quick, sharp crack on the back of his scalp, and then black.

Oh, to be a cloud. What a dream that would be. So carefree, so relaxed, just silently sailing across the sky, looking down with half superior smugness, half wholehearted compassion at the scurrying little worker ants below, living out their mundane existences under your laid back, wispy form. You might stop for a few moments and study them further, and on a good day, they might take five minutes from their busy schedule to gaze upon your pure white beauty and create you anew. One day you might be a prancing sheep, woollen coat of a young foal’s excited laughter, the next you might be a fearsome Ursa Major, drifting over their awestruck heads with a silent roar, or a lovestruck couple might look up and imagine you a wonderful white stork, carefully ferrying a young bundle of joy in your gentle, willowing beak. And you would be these things to these creatures below you, and you’d smile down at their creativity, and perhaps believe them too. Sometimes, you might even cry, not in sadness but in pity that they’ll never experience the freedom that is your entire life. And even in pity is an act of kindness, for they’ll relish your gift from the heavens and their crops will grow big and bountiful, whilst others will peer cautiously from their tear speckled windows and wish for you to stop. So you will, for one never wallows in pity forever. You’d simply move on, overseas, to distant lands. But you’d never be alone. Occasionally, you’d feel the soft, feathered embrace of one of those winged ants, now magnified to your size as they sleep on your soft body like an oversized pillow, letting you carry them far and wide. Perhaps one day you’d find your way to that great city built in the sky, on the wispy torsos of other clouds, your mute brethren, where you might be recycled in some fiery furnace and churned out of a smoky pillar, born anew and saturated with fresh sympathy. Or maybe you’d simply float off in some obscure, directionless path, mocking the order of the four star compass, and eventually you might fade away like a voice in the wind, cease to exist and be remembered by few; Not as an individual, but as a happy memory from a better time. And you wouldn’t regret a thing.

Of course, this was figuratively speaking. Clouds are not sentient beings, after all. They have no brain capable of formulating thoughts, or feelings, or whatever else makes a living creature alive. They’re just big fluffy balls of moisture. Still, Weatherstorm’s mind ventured to strange places when he was tired. This was amplified by his ongoing headache, fuelled by a nonsensical Derky, and his own worsening paranoia. Through this holy trinity, the journalist’s mind was slowly turning to utter demented mush, and the cryptic thoughts were becoming all the more frequent. But anything was better than listening to Derky babble on about Cockatrices and pony eating plants and surprisingly grilled cheese sandwiches, which was admittedly a new one but still not a relevant topic of discussion, and therefore was frowned upon. Besides, it was making the blue coated one hungry. And when he was hungry, he got cranky.

His rumbling stomach drowned out Derky’s idle chat. Such a shame, too, for the conversation about the time he accidently glued his removal company cap to the top of his scalp with a discarded yet potently sticky blob of bubblegum sounded nothing short of riveting.

Weatherstorm missed food dearly. His stomach missed food dearly. Unlike Weatherstorm, however, his stomach was a brute and kept making its voice heard, demanding substances which were not readily available every few steps he took.

Here I go with the crazy talk again...

The point of the matter was, whoever had stolen their rations the previous night had certainly known what they were doing and had a profound effect. Whether the loss of moral as a direct repercussion of this was intentional or not was no longer a concern to the two Pegasi. Weatherstorm wanted, nay, NEEDED food, and should they fail to either find some miraculously laying there for them on a plate in the middle of the weed infested path or dangling from the branch of a tree, he was seriously contemplating eating Derky. Sure, he’d probably taste a bit funny and likely kick up a bit of fuss going down the old oesophagus, but beggars cannot be choosers in the wilderness.

“You alright, ‘Stormy?” Derky eyed his staggering companion with cautious suspicion and genuine concern.

Weatherstorm stopped his incisors from clamping down on the outstretched hoof with very little room to spare. Perhaps, nestled back in the furthest fathoms of his consciousness, he was telling himself not to eat his best and longest friend on the grounds that such an action was highly immoral, illegal and wrong, but in actuality he was more concerned with the terrible indigestion his makeshift meal would bring.

If only I had brought along my indigestion pills...

“I’m fine.” Weatherstorm gasped, drooling. That was something else that he missed: water. Cold, refreshing water. “Just a little... tired... hungry...”

Derky smacked his lips. “Hey Weatherstorm, remember the food at the Summer Sun Celebration?”

“Yes, I do. And that didn’t help.”

“You know, this reminds me of the time...”

That was Weatherstorm’s cue to simply tune out again. He wondered if it was possible for heads to explode, merely through consistent talking? With the intensity of his migraine, which grew worse with every word that his blank flanked friend uttered, it wasn’t all that unlikely. Perhaps even twice. Could a pony do that? Explode twice? Just thinking about it made his head throb.

“...So that’s when my doctor told me...”

Weatherstorm half smiled, half grimaced and tried his best to look as though he was at least half listening to whatever Derky was saying. But his attention was needed elsewhere. Neck craned skyward, he studied the canopy and looked for any openings, beacons of light piercing the leafy heavens. Alas, there were none. In fact, the canopy was growing ever thicker the further they ventured.

“Uh, you might want to watch out...”

Weatherstorm nodded. “Uh huh.” He continued to stare up at the ceiling of foliage, willing for some thin veil of light, even but an anemic trickle to beckon him near, and be his gateway to the clear, night sky above them, ushering him to his final goal, Miss Rarity of the Carousel Boutique. Oh, and saving the world wasn’t all that bad, either.

“No, you really should...”

“That’s nice.” The blue Pegasus sighed dreamily. He had it all planned out; Nightmare Moon would be no match for his charmingly brilliant wit, and after she had been defeated, he’d gallantly gallop up to his white beauty and sweep her off her hooves. She would stare deep into his eyes and he into hers, lovestruck and in bliss. Rarity would thank him from the bottom of her heart, and call him her hero. He would star back, eyes sparkling, and tell her that it was no trouble at all for one as magnificent as she was, and call her ‘My lady.’ He would express his undying love for her and after they would kiss passionately, lovingly, together at long last. And then...

“Seriously, I’d watch out if...”

“Derky!” Weatherstorm cried, a little louder than he had meant to. He swivelled around to face his companion.”I would ask that you don’t interrupt me when I am thinking, thank you.”

Derky smiled sweetly in response to the outburst. He shuffled on his hooves, uncomfortably. “That’s alright, then.” He said, rubbing the back of his head with his hoof. “I just thought that you might want to watch out for that big hole.”

“Wha...” The stallion instinctively looked down at his hooves and saw, to his horror, that he was teetering on the edge of nothing but absolute blackness. It was as though the forest had been cleaved in twain by some divine sword, the grass and rock violently split and forming a steep, thin gorge. “How...” Weatherstorm didn’t have the luxury of finishing his sentence, for at that moment he stumbled on an errant and murderous loose stone, its sly smooth surface slipping free from Weatherstorm’s footing. Then the Pegasus felt himself teetering, tumbling backwards, off the side of the cliff altogether and into the jaws of the dark, bottomless chasm. A long, bloodcurdling scream followed his descent as the Earth swallowed its victim whole.

“Oh dear!”

“Through here. Hurry.”

Cananor yelped as another sharp branch scratched across his cheek. Now he knew why he rarely went on camping trips: the wilderness hurts. Instinctively, the unicorn’s hoof went to the wound, half hesitant to see if the scratch was bleeding. Fortunately, it wasn’t. It had grazed his fur, nothing more. The lawyer sighed, relieved, but at this rate he was going to end up looking as roughed up as Daring Do did at the end of her perilous adventures. He wondered how the mare did it: she must be as tough as nails, or a fictional character in a make believe story. Likely the latter.

The lawyer cursed and slapped the thorny branch away from him. “Stupid branch...” he mumbled under his breath. Of course, the branch took offense and swung back with force, back-hoofing him across the unsuspecting jaw with such force that Cananor fell to the floor, mildly dazed. He rubbed his muzzle, twitching nose rapidly turning from a healthy beige and black fusion to a rich, bruised claret. The branch, proudly jutting from a jambled mess of leaves, shuddered in the light breeze, laughing mockingly at his defeated form. Smoke billowing from his blushing ears, Cananor ripped the assailant free from the bush, which shook and rustled in retaliation as though reacting to the pain. Tearing apart the severed limb into several tiny, broken twigs, he sneered down at their twisted forms and hissed, “I’m going to turn you into kindling.” Then he cantered off, gloating over his recent victory over nature. That was, until another low lying branch of a tree poked him up his flaring nostril.

Seething with rage, he grumbled, “How much farther, Starfire? It feels like we’ve been walking through these bushes for a day now.”

“By my calculations,” He heard the distant scholar reply, “We have. And I think you meant ‘night’. Now keep up.”

Cananor groaned. They’d been walking for a whole day? The unicorn cringed. Who knows how much longer they would still have to walk through these devilish plants? His hooves were getting sore and blistery and his stomach yeaned for nourishment. And yet he still dragged himself forward, pushing himself to the limit for Starfire: a pony who, as much as he hated to admit, may have been telling a few little white lies. As much as he wanted to believe him, he doubted he actually could ‘trace Nightmare Moon’s magic’. Starfire had said so himself: the spell was complex and he had never dared attempt it before, and an untrained unicorn cannot simply attempt a difficult spell and achieve success on their first attempt. Still, he couldn’t fault the student if he was stretching the truth a little: he himself was guilty of giving the odd little fib, in court no less, if it meant he could prevent an unsavoury situation from developing, so was he really in a position to judge? All he knew was that he had faith in Starfire, even if Starfire didn’t have as much faith in himself.

Struggling to keep up with the dimming white light which floated off further and further into the distance, Cananor called out, “This whole sightseeing experience is great and all, but do we really have to go THROUGH the shrubbery like this? I mean, isn’t there a path or something?”

Starfire’s voice was faint and distant, and growing quieter by the second. “This way is quicker, trust me.” His next few words were muffled, then Cananor barely made out, “...Not... far now.”

The lawyer wrestled with a wiry jungle creeper, tearing free from its strangling grasp with a sharp tug of effort. He threw the discarded leafy snake at his hooves. “What did you say?” He yelled in the general direction that he assumed Starfire had hurried off in. “I didn’t hear the last part; I was a bit tied up.” He waited for a moment, before adding, “That was a pun, because I got tangled in a creeper.” There was no reply, and no sign of his illuminated friend. “Starfire?”

Great. I’m lost.

Trotting over sodden, crumbling, parched dirt, the unicorn felt the eyes of the forest glaring down at him from the treetops and through the holes in the bushes. Dark, mysterious, disembodied ovals, pupiless pools of shadowy intrigue which followed his every move. He didn’t always see them, but they were there, he could feel it. He tried to ignore them and kept moving forwards. Their silent stares were making him uneasy.

“Ack!” A wispy spider’s web gently brushed against his mane, as though stroking him. Cursing the infernal forest and every living thing in it through spite, he desperately shook his head and out plopped a rather peeved spider, strangely resembling the cave dwelling arachnid whose home Belove’s stupid oversized head had obliterated earlier. It certainly shared the same, quick tempered mannerisms, spitting out foreign obscenities with high pitched hate, before zipping off into the dark and brooding undergrowth.

The silent, disembodied onlookers narrowed their already narrowed eyes, floating in the darkness, judging him and his actions. Whatever they were, they'd been following him from a distance for quite some time, enshrouded in shadow. Cananor brushed himself off, picked a thread of cobweb from his slick mane and mumbled, “Don’t you lot look at me like that. I’ve had it up to here with this place.”

In a blind temper he turned, a little too hastily, and walked right into another branch, his muzzle connecting with a powerful wallop. Such was the force of nature's latest knockout blow that the lawyer was lifted off of his hooves and sent crashing to the ground in an almighty thump. Dazed and shaken, he lifted an angry hoof and spluttered to his natural nemesis, “I hate this stupid forest! I'm gonna get half a dozen lumberjacks in here, you wait and see.”

This didn’t go down well with whatever creatures were stalking him. The eyes narrowed until they could narrow no further, mere slender slits of disapproval, and then they began to glow a radiant yellow, flumes of wispy golden smoke wafting out from the bushes and trees and wherever else they dwelled, accompanied by several low, droning growls, and the unicorn feared his last remark may have upset them somewhat.

His hooves shot up defensively. “I didn’t mean it like THAT...”

He took the second warning growl as his cue to leave, with great haste. And as he ran, he saw a gap in the thick forest undergrowth appear; a moderately sized hole in an indiscreet bush, where a glorious and holy light shone throne like the sun itself from the other side. It could only be Starfire. Fuelled by cocky over-confidence and a youthful sense of invulnerability, Cananor span around to face his silent escorts and yelled, cupping his hooves, “Jokes on you, I meant every word of it!” He ended his taunt with a disrespectful cackle.

Cananor was the sort who instantly regretted things. More than once he had blurted out some idiotic obscenity in court and had to publically apologise to all present, which in itself was rather embarrassing, but at least they didn’t wish to separate him from his existence as his new friends did. They weren’t at all happy with his tone, and wished to teach him the error of his ways through the use of extreme violence. He gulped as the growling intensified, and then found himself running for his life.

Diving like through the narrow, illuminated hole in the shrubbery like some crazed action hero, the lawyer burst from the bush, unnatural roars and yellow mists snapping at his hooves. His eyes widened as he saw, to his utter dismay, that wildly and blindly diving through a bush in an unfamiliar area without extensive knowledge of what lay beyond said bush was not a particularly good idea. The land beneath him just stopped, simply giving way to a cliff’s jagged edge which the airborne unicorn suddenly found himself sailing off of like an equine torpedo, hooves outstretched and screaming. Well, this looked like it was it: the end, falling to his sticky demise. If only he had been born a Pegasus, then perhaps he could live another day. He blamed his father for this disability. Oh well. He’d lived a good life. Not a particularly long life, nor an outstandingly interesting life, but a life nonetheless. Of course, now that he thought about it, he had always lived in relative luxury but never felt satisfied by it: like he was purposeless, drifting from one day to the next like a feather carried in the wind. Had he such a good life after all? It was certainly something to ponder in his last seconds of life.

And now that he thought about it, he was thinking quite a lot at that present moment, and doing considerably less falling to his death. It wasn’t a complaint, merely an observation. It was also when he noticed the blue aura that engulfed his entire form, holding him in place and preventing him from falling to a less then pleasant end. Again, it most certainly wasn’t a complaint, just an observation.

He had never levitated before in his life, and were it not for the fact that Starfire could lose his concentration at any moment and he would suddenly find himself getting rather well acquainted with the cold, hard ground at high speed niggling away at the back of his mind, he could even have found himself enjoying the experience, as strange as it was. It felt like he was a feather; a literal feather this time, not some mentally conjured metaphor to summarize the purposelessness of his adolescent life. A small smile crept up on his face as he dipped and rose, slowly and gently, caressed in the soothing embrace of magical energies like a contented foal rocking in its mother’s calming hooves.

He hit the ground face first, snapping him back from his relaxing daydream. With a wince of pain, he yelped, “Careful!” He might have sounded a little ungrateful towards his saviour, but he was just happy to still be alive and breathing, albeit at an unnaturally fast pace.

Starfire, his horn still glinting with mystical white power, frowned down at the tangled mess of a unicorn below him, hanging half on and half off the cliff edge, clinging on for his life. He was aided to his hooves. “Perhaps YOU should be more careful. You did just dive out of a bush and off a cliff after all.” Keeping the complex magic tracing spell stable, as well as levitating the unicorn who, admittedly, wasn’t as heavy as a grand piano but still had a good weight behind him, left Starfire weak at the knees.

Cananor’s eyes shot up. “Are they gone?”

Starfire seemed puzzled. He voiced his confusion, cautiously checking behind him in case some monster had tip toed past his lowered defences. “Who?”

Cananor’s eyes studied the bush which, moments earlier he had dived through followed by vengeful goodness-knows-what, was now barren and empty, and devoid of any signs of vengeful goodness-knows-what. He breathed a sigh of relief. “Nothing.” He muttered, inwardly grinning from ear to ear. “Nothing at all.” Feeling safe and secure that he had escaped their terrible wrath, he turned his attention back to Starfire, and joined him at the cliff edge, where the student seemed to be hypnotised by the sight.

And what a sight it was, especially to Starfire. The countryside never ceased to amaze him with divine views that were simply unheard of in the big smoggy city of Fillydelphia. The expanses of the Everfree Forest lay to their left, shimmering under the heavenly, glowing pebble in the sky. Their altitude above the forest masked the long, slender trunks, obscured by leaves. How big was this forest? Seemingly endless, thought Cananor. To their far right, nestled away in the North-East corner of the land where the trees gave way to rock and stone, was a stunning range of snow-topped mountains that stretched for what seemed like miles, out of their view and likely to the North-Eastern coast of Equestria. Starfire recognised the towering slopes instantly; they were the very same mountains he had seen rising up through the clouds like spires on the cover of several Equestrian Geographic magazines from his childhood. They had been collectively referred to as ‘Dragon’s Keep’ due to their dominant involvement during the dragon migrations, an event that is so rare that it happens roughly but once in a generation. The scholar’s eyes sparkled with glee as he managed to make out the huge, fearsome beasts themselves, the mighty dragons, reduced to barely recognisable specks in the distance, circling the mountain range like vicious vultures circling a nest.

As nice as the view was, however, it still left the duo with a problem. “I don’t understand it,” Starfire tore himself away from the majestic, moonlit sight. “It... it led me to...” He sighed and tapped his glowing horn like a faulty appliance. “It looks like we’re going to find a way down from this cliff and into that patch of forest.” Starfire pointed off to his left, where below them the trees were thickest. “We need to find another route, or a path leading down, or...”

“Oh no,” Cananor cut him off, waving both hooves vigorously. “No way. We’ve literally just dragged ourselves through the beaten track to get here. I got scratched on the face, poked up the nose and nearly eaten by what I can only assume were ravenous squirrels. We are not turning back now.”

Starfire decided to ignore the last part. “What do you suggest? We climb down a steep rock face?”

“Well...”

“No!” Starfire spat out, shocked by Cananor’s willingness to fall to a sticky end, especially after he’d saved him moments earlier from doing just that. Perhaps he could have done Cananor a favour and dropped him down in the first place. “You can’t be serious!”

Cananor shrugged and shuffled closer to the edge of the cliff. “Maybe if we can find a hoof-hold, or something...” Pieces of dirt crumbling at his hooves, he gingerly peered over the side and looked down.

Starfire took a few hesitant steps forward, joining Cananor on the very edge of the cliff overhang. “What can you see?”

The lawyer inhaled sharply, strained his eyes and perched his lips. “Uh... it doesn’t look good, I’m afrai...”

The rumbling took them both by surprise, almost freezing them in their tracks. It took them several more seconds to realise that it was coming from underneath them, the cliff edge crumbling away into clumps of soil as it shuddered and shook. Cananor stood like a statue of fear and confusion, Starfire backing slowly, carefully away as the ground under his feet began to fall away. “Cananor,” he spoke calmly but directly, and a little panic was evident behind his cool act. “You need to walk back VERY SLOWLY.”

Cananor turned, teeth gritted tightly, and whispered, “What the hay is that?”

Starfire held out his hoof and edged forward, trying to put as little weight as he could on decaying cliff overhang, least it collapse completely. “Just walk towards my hoof, as slowly and as lightly as you can.”

Over the noise of his beating heart Cananor obeyed, stretching out his hoof gingerly and with utmost caution. Slowly, carefully, he started forward, trying his hardest to apply as little of his weight as possible with every step. He grimaced as he heard more soil and rubble tear free from the cliff edge, tumbling away to the ground quite a distance below.

“I know this is a really bad time,” whispered Cananor, a smirk lifting the corners of his mouth, “But I just thought of a funny joke about being the fall guy...”

As though responding to his newest joke with a sick and deadly sense of humour, the cliffside suddenly collapsed out from underneath him, soil and dirt pouring down the side of the hill like an avalanche of earth. Cananor’s smile faded instantly and he hung there comically for a few seconds, standing on nothing but blank and empty air.

And then he fell.

In less than a second the unicorn was gone, and Starfire could barely process what had actually occurred. His disembodied scream grew fainter and fainter until it was virtually non-existent.

“No, NO!” The student teacher cried out in utter horror, mind spinning. He was in such a blind panic that he couldn’t feel himself moving until it was too late. The grass shuddered and shook, flowers violently jiggling to and fro in a dance of death, and then the ground gave way and crumbled under his hooves. With a scream of effort, Starfire tried desperately to dive backwards to the bushes but it was too little, too late.

Eyes obscured by falling soil and rubble, he felt himself getting thrown around like an old sack ragdoll, crashing against rock and stray roots which jabbed cruelly at his body as the overhang completely broke away from the rest of the ground.

He felt himself falling, tumbling, crashing to his doom.

Derky felt the powerfully sharp wind slice painfully across his hooves and face like a dagger, pushing against the pony shaped object as it descended the very depths of Tartarus itself, deeper and deeper into the gorge. Air cutting at his eyes, the ginger maned Pegasus shrilly yelped, tightly sealing his eyes shut and turning his head to the left, but didn’t dare slow down for fear that he may be too late.

“WEATHERSTORM!” He cried desperately, panicked and breathing erratically as he thrust his hooves out directly in front of himself, stretching himself into a sort of streamlined bullet shape to limit the air resistance that was currently tearing his body to shreds. At least, that’s what it felt like. But he gritted his teeth and blocked out the pain; Weatherstorm needed his help, and he wasn’t willing to let his oldest friend down. Not today.

The further downwards Derky flew, the more and more he thought that he was well and truly tunnelling into the very core of the world. Seemingly endless, he continued to pick up speed as he blazed through the narrow rocky passage. What little light there was at the surface disappeared completely, sealing his transition into the bowels of the unknown, and he was plunged into complete darkness.

Without slowing his rapid descent, the Pegasus screamed his companion’s name into the darkness once more, his voice echoing off of the towering black walls and bouncing back to him. Voice cracking with a chilling fear, he called out again. “WEATHE... OOF!”

Derky didn’t see what had attacked him through the darkness, but he sure as heck felt it. It was like a pointed spear, long and slender and painfully sharp, invisible head glinting black in the thick and blinding darkness. Although the jab wasn’t enough to break the skin, it was enough to throw the rapidly accelerating stallion off guard. With a shriek of what was more sheer surprise than agonising pain, Derky span around mid flight, hit one of the two chasm walls with a resounding thump and then landed on his back on what appeared to be the floor with a splash of water. Bottomless, indeed.

Dazed but otherwise unharmed, Derky lay there with his hooves resting on his steadily rising and falling chest. Perhaps it was a miracle that he had just been caught off guard like that; had he continued at the speed and angle that he was flying at, he wouldn’t have hit the bottom of the pit with his back but with his face. Sure, both his lower abdomen and his spine ached like he’d just been trampled by a herd of buffalo, but he assumed being having a broken neck was worse.

“A...ahhhhh...” The strained sigh escaped through a tiny gap in his sealed lips like a gas leak. Arching his back, he slid a hoof underneath and whimpered, “That... that hurt.”

“Tell me about it.” The voice floated out from somewhere in the darkness. “I hit the same blooming branch on my way down. Nearly took my eye out.”

“Weatherstorm!” Cried Derky, bolting from the ground and throwing his hooves around his friend. He hugged him tightly in still trembling arms. “I... I thought...”

“Derky, I’m over here. You’re hugging a boulder.”

That would explain why the pony was so cold and round, then.

Derkington threw his hooves out in the darkness where he had heard Weatherstorm’s voice emanate form and, just by chance, they found their mark, wrapping tightly around the journalist’s neck. One Pegasus leaned in close to the other, embraced in a strong, brotherly hug, and whispered, “I thought you had... you know...”

The other laughed. “Derky, I’ve got wings, do you remember? Don’t worry, I’m fine. More importantly, are you alright? You hit that errant branch with quite a force. Even I winced when I heard the thud.”

“I’m fine.” Derky squeezed the blue-coated stallion tighter, making his cheeks just a little more blue.

Weatherstorm, wheezing, pushed away from his comrade as gently and politely as he could. “Th... Thank you, Derky. That’s quite alright. Pl- Please let go. I’m afraid I can’t breathe, see.”

Derky released his tight grip, brushing back his unkempt ginger mane with a single swipe of his hoof. “I’m sorry. I got over excited, that’s all.”

Eyes struggling through the blanket of black, Weatherstorm squinted back up from where he had taken an unfortunate tumble. The gorge was huge, stretching upwards for what seemed like miles with several holes and crevices decorating the stone and rock formations which made up the dark, cliff walls. At the very top, barely even visible to Derky who had perfect eyesight and non-existant to the squinting un-bespectacled journalist, was a minuscule shaft of light, just about penetrating the canopy far, far above them like a pinprick.

Weatherstorm stumbled blindly in the darkness of the great barren chasm, accidently stubbing his hoof on a malicious boulder nestled away on the muddy gorge floor. He swore under his breath in a most ungentlecoltly manner, gingerly lifted his muck-coated hoof which throbbed with pain, and wiped it on the wall, trailing it along the rock face with a squeaky groan, like a chalk being dragged across a blackboard. The sound echoed off of the immense chasm’s dull walls. “Eck.” He stuck out his tongue in disgust. “Truly revolting. Tell me, how far down are we?”

Derky hesitated for a moment, neck still craned skyward, and replied, “Pretty far down.”

“Well then,” Weatherstorm sighed, “I guess that we had better get to it.” With that, he took off at a steady pace, struggling upwards through the darkness, Derky beside him.

Although he couldn’t see him, Weatherstorm heard Derky shudder quietly. It was barely noticeable to the average pony, but Weatherstorm was no average pony. He was an average pony with keen senses and an eye for the finer details, just not when it came to large holes in the ground. “Anything the matter?” He queried, glancing quizzically off into Derky’s vague direction.

“I’m fine,” The other said, staring off to the distant chasm opening above them. “It’s weird but I just had a sudden urge to make a rubbish pun about being the fall guy.”

Both ponies were silent for a few seconds. And then they began to laugh.

They laughed, not because of how hilariously funny the spontaneous quip so obviously was, but just because of... well, they truthfully did not know why they fell about into hysterical fits of laughter. They just couldn’t help it. Perhaps it was a sweet sense of relief of still being alive, despite all the odds stacked against them. Perhaps it was the metaphorical calm after the storm; they had both barely eluded death’s skeletal grasp and yet they still had the utter audacity to shrug it off and casually crack a corny pun. Or perhaps they had simply gone mad, Derky’s already fragile mind lost to jungle fever and Weatherstorm’s brain having pounded and thumped so hard that it just fell out the side of his head and bounced merrily away into the distance. Whatever the case, the two stallions laughed. They chuckled and chortled and exchanged a high-hoof, their happy laughter echoing throughout the deathly silent gorge, wiping away jolly tears without a care in the world.

That was, until the rumbling started.

It distant at first, barely audible under the laughter and ceaseless chirps of the crickets. But alas, it grew louder and louder, closer and closer until the merriness slowly droned out and the crickets abruptly stopped, as though holding their breaths in anticipation and in fear. Weatherstorm cringed as the rumbling drew closer, faster, more intense. “What,” he hissed, practically mute under the grinding thumping which seemed to resound around the gorge, “In the wide world of Equestria do you suppose that dreadful noise is?”

“WHAT?”

“I said,” Weatherstorm repeated himself as the rumbling intensified, “What do you think that noise is exactly?”

“WHAT?”

Weatherstorm sighed. There was usually difficulty communicating with Derky at the best of times, and now, with the aid of loud and echoing rumbles, there was a complete communications breakdown. And it certainly wasn’t helping his throbbing headache one bit. “I SAID... Oh, look at that. It stopped.”

The rumbling had indeed stopped, simply fading away as quickly and abruptly as it came. But the laughter did not return, nor did the sing-song chirps of the crickets. All was silent now. A hot, heavy blanket of unnatural quietness fell across the canyon, and draped over those who dwelled there.

“What do you think that was, anyway?” Derky quizzically asked, placing a hoof under his chin.

Weatherstorm decided to instead place his hoof directly to his face. “I just asked you the same thing, Derky.” He mumbled, rubbing his tired eyes.

“Then perhaps you should have spoken up a little, Weatherstorm. Simple, really.”

The journalist smiled, and wondered that if he fell from his current altitude, would it be enough to knock himself unconscious? He would welcome the peace and quiet. “If I were to hazard a guess, and I shall,” The Pegasus boasted, “The noise was likely caused by collapsing rock or crumbling cliff rim. You see, sometimes small tremors, often too small for the average pony to register, can dislodge some of the miniscule rocks that bind together the soil or chip away at the stone over the years. All it takes is one final shudder to dislodge the larger boulders, and this in turn can set off a chain reaction.”

Derky scoffed. “What are you, a geographicalist?”

“Geologist,” Weatherstorm corrected him, “And no, I’m a journalist. Now, that rumbling sounded quite close, but considering the fact that we saw no falling debris and heard no debris hitting the gorge floor...”

“Not to question your geomagrahpy skills,” Derky stumbled over the word, “But we didn’t see any falling rocks because we can’t see anything. Look. I’m waving my hoof about. Wheeeeee! Bet you can’t see that, huh?”

“No, no I can’t. Thank goodness.” Weatherstorm added with a sly grin. “But it sounded far too distant all the same. Large, enclosed chasms like these often carry sound for miles, echoed and rebounded off of the surrounding rock and stone. Fear not, my dearest Derky, for I assure you that we, where we are, are in no immediate dange...”

Weatherstorm quite literally ate his words, swallowing the final word before last syllable could escape his lips as the rumbling started once more, far louder and far closer than before. Several small rocks shuddered and broke free from the cliffside, whizzing past the two bewildered colts in the darkness. If Weatherstorm didn’t know any better, (and he DID know better) it sounded as though the intense, grinding, rhythmic rumbling was coming from within the rock walls themselves.

“Are you sure? That sounds pretty close.”

Weatherstorm frowned. “I...” He rubbed the back of his head with a shaking hoof. “I think that leaving might be a wise decision. Just... to be on the safe side.”

Both Pegasi took off again, this time at greater haste to reach the top, impatient to be out of the suffocating black depths of the earth and back to the suffocating black depths of the forest. In the Everfree forest, they need not fear being crushed by some falling boulder, squishing them into a sticky raspberry jam like paste. No, their only concern was the ever present likelyhood of being eaten by a Timberwolves, torn apart by a Manticore or turned to stone by a cockatrice. They were all equally as unpleasant as being crushed by a boulder, mind, but that was future Weatherstorm’s problem, not his.

“That rumbling,” Derky yelled over the noise, something the quiet colt had yet to master, “IT’S GETTING CLOSER!”

A boulder narrowly missed the blue-coated one’s head, swishing past his perfectly spiked mane. This was getting far too dangerous, and they needed to get out of there. Now, if possible. “I NOTICED!” He cried back, moving to full speed. “JUST KEEP FLYING UPWARDS!”

“I’M NOT GOING TO FLY DOWNWARDS, YOU SILLY GOOSE!”

The rumbling intensified further, almost to the point where the whole canyon seemed to screech and cry in agony as it cracked and crumbled and disintegrated, tearing itself apart under the relentless grinding coming from within its walls, it very skin, as though something was burrowing out of its stony skin...

“THIS...” Weatherstorm panted as another boulder ripped free from its home and barrelled past his ears in a blur of blackness, accompanied by what sounded like a bloodcurdling screech. “THIS IS NO EARTHQUAKE!”

They were about halfway to their destination when evil reared its ugly head, literally. They didn’t see their arrival, but they sure as heck heard it. Another screech, high pitched and otherworldly and chilling to the core, ripped through the ceaseless rumbling and crumbling and smashing of rock. Despite their obvious peril, the duo froze, their blood running cold as ice, like a touch of death. In the everlasting darkness all around them came screeches and screams and eerie unnatural shrieks, which peeled the walls and rock away to the bare skeletal foundations, hardy stone boulders falling to the ultimate might of nature’s ancient, unrelenting thu’um.

As parts of the cragged cliffside fell away, crumbling into dust which floated like spectres in the ghastly, ghostly gorge, Weatherstorm thought he saw something moving in the very bowels of the canyon walls. Something dark and slender, coiled like a snake.

“WHAT IS IT?” Derky cried out over the onslaught of noise, covering his ears to drown out as much of the grinding and animalistic screaming as he could. “WHAT DO YOU SEE?”

Through a mixture of their dark surroundings, falling boulders, and his lack of much needed spectacles, Weatherstorm could not get a good, clear look at what lurked in the darkest fathoms of the cracked canyon walls, but he saw the eyes; Twin pale, orange balls, hovering in the blackness. They turned to him, grew wide, and then he heard the rumbling once more as whatever it was moved off, away from view, obscured by cracked rock. The ground shuddered violently as it moved off, dragging itself away.

Seriously shaken, and not just by the quaking canyon, the journalist edged his way backwards and blindly bumped into his quiet companion. They exchanged an invisible glance, and had they seen each other’s faces, they would have seen faces locked in terror.

Despite the apocalyptic noise droning out any possibility of being heard, Derky’s voice dropped to a frightened whimper. “What do you think that is?”

Weatherstorm didn’t hear him, of course, but he still spoke, even if it was to himself. “That thing...” He found himself lost for words. “It was like a snake or... or SOMETHING.”

And then once more, the rumbling stopped and an unnatural, restless quiet resumed, and sucked the trembling equines into a vacuum of doubt and darkness.

“Let’s go, Weatherstorm,” Derky pleaded, tugging at what he thought was Weatherstorm’s hoof but was actually his mane. The journalist squealed out loud, more in squeamish shock than in actual pain.

“Would you kindly watch it?” He swiped at the thick and heavy air until his hoof brushed that of his companion’s to one side. “But I have to agree. Whatever lurks in these walls are hostile to our presence. They do not want us here, and I’m only too happy to oblige. Let us leave this place with haste.”

Derky wasn’t going to argue with that, and certainly not here. Upwards they flew, jumping at every noise that interrupted the still, awkward silence, from theplink of crumbling pebbles to the faded roars in the distance. To their surprise, however, they continued their ascent from darkness undisturbed, untouched, and with all of their limbs attached. When the thin veil of light grew ever closer, it peeled back some of the darkness and they saw the canyon rim rush to them, ushering their escape from this place. They saw the canopy once more, and most importantly, they could actually make out their own hooves in front of their faces. And, armed with the knowledge and security of their imminent, unscathed escape, they felt their mouths contort into dual celebrative grins.

Almost laughing, Derky paved the way forwards with his white, toothy smile which cut through the thinning darkness like a spotlight. “You know, I’m pretty surprised.”

The comment struck the other as slightly odd. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Well,” Derky explained, “I’m just surprised that it was so easy. I guess I expected to be attacked by some ravenase monster. It would have been more dramatic if we had to flee for our lives.”

Weatherstorm playfully nudged his pal. “Don’t say that!” He warned him. “You may just jinx us, and we most certainly do not want that!”

Just then they were attacked by a 'ravenase' monster. It burst from the rock with deafening force, obliterating the cliffside with its horrific features. It was unlike any other living creature Weatherstorm had seen, but even with his fleeting glance, he knew what his advisory was. Its face was all mouth, rows of sharp and gleaming teeth which hung like jagged icicles in its frosty cave. Its thin, Mohawk-like tuft of hair was tattered and matted, and its snout resembled that of a dragon’s, long and slender, with several spiked scales protruding from its jaw and waxy, jelly like skin stretched tight over its oddly proportioned skull.

Shrieking in surprise and in terror, the two stallions threw themselves against the back wall out of instinct, narrowly avoiding both the outwardly exploding debris and the monster’s foul mouth, from which came overwhelmingly vile fumes, like mouldy meat and rotting eggs. As the thing clamped shut around empty air, long and thin trails of shimmering saliva slathered down its slimy chin, other strands shooting off through gaps in the tightened fangs and hitting the surroundings with a wet slap.

The thing, eyes shut tight in satisfaction, slid its slick tongue across the back of its clamped-together teeth and along the roof of its grimy gums. Teeth, long and sharp and caked with filth, made the most horrible, almost metallic, sounds as they grinded together, jaw sliding effortlessly in wide, gruesome circles. But then the chomping slowed, and the monster realised that there was no ripping and rending of flesh and fur, and no cracking and crunching of chalky white bones, and that he was, in fact, chomping down on nothing but empty air and false victories. Startled by its lack of meal, the strange, slender being peeled its orange, bulbous eyes back open and saw, to what must have been dismay (that is, if such monstrosities are capable of feelings other than that of the need to feed) that its four legged prey were not in his mouth, but huddled against the back wall, wide eyed and unable to move, and still rather undigested. And this insolence made the beast furious.

The high pitched squeal which ripped the thing’s mouth back open into a fearsome snarl was enough to shake the colts to their senses. As they saw the large, snake like creature barrel towards them, teeth bared to clamp down on their flimsy furred bodies, they exchanged a quick, open mouthed stare and daftly dodged the train of teeth by millimetres. They wasted no time, flying as far and as fast as they could and didn’t look back least they see a long, winding, pillar of death behind them. Although they didn’t see it, they heard the beast crash into the side of the chasm where, moments earlier, they had been. The loud and thunderous crack was either the sound of the rock splitting or the sound of the creature’s teeth being violently torn from its blackened gums on impact, and for a moment, Derky almost felt sorry for the creature. That was, before he heard the terrifyingly murderous scream of rage which was so loud it felt as though the very planet shuddered in response. It was obvious that the creature was slightly miffed at missing his meal for a second time.

Wind streaming over their battered bodies as they made their escape through the gorge, Weatherstorm spoke up. “Do...” He panted after the near death experience, “Do you happen to know what that was? It was a...”

“...Quarray eel!” Derky finished his sentence for him. “I think! They live in deep, dark places, like cave networks or in the walls of gorges, with Ghastly Gorge being the largest known settlement. I guess that's where we are, now. They form colonies and are aggressive to anypony that come near their nests, but their diet just consists of...”

Even though they were fleeing for their lives, Weatherstorm was taken aback by Derky’s extensive knowledge of the Quarray eels. Everything he said was true, and this made the journalist wonder: how did his featherbrained companion know so much? The only reason that he himself knew anything about the species at all was because he once had to write an article about the rapidly multiplying numbers of the eels, and that was the first that he, like so many others living in Ponyville, had even heard of them. What was Derky’s excuse? He most certainly did not read the paper. “How...” The dumbfounded Pegasus stuttered, drifting over a falling boulder. “How the hay do you know such things?”

Derky shrugged but refused to take his eyes off the path ahead. “I like weird animals. I took a night class once.”

This surprised Weatherstorm. He’d known the ginger-maned stallion for as long as he could remember, and yet he began to wonder if he had really ever known him at all. He had always thought Derky a silly, carefree sort of fellow who took little notice to anything and had limited knowledge on the ways of life, and yet this wasn’t the case. For whilst Weatherstorm could attribute his lack of knowledge on the real Derky to the colt’s quiet temperament and general inwardness, he realised that he was just as much to blame. He’d never actually asked him anything about himself, he’d never pressed him for information, and Derky was the sort that withheld information until asked. No, instead of trying to learn more about his dearest friend through their childhood, all Weatherstorm was concerned about was trying to make his way through school, and it was then that the journalist realised how self centered he really was. He’d never asked him about his hobbies, his wants and needs, strengths and weaknesses, his future desires, fears or emotions. Perhaps he had just kept them all bottled up inside him to the point where he’d grown to keep his own company. And Weatherstorm felt guilt wash over him as he knew, back in the darkest fathoms of his self-orientated mind, that he had helped mould Derkington into what he was today; a shy and blissfully troubled soul.

“We’re almost to the top.” Derky Bell’s voice aided Weatherstorm’s mind back on the right track. He was right: the canyon was widening and the thin rays of light were drawing closer, like heavenly beacons guiding them to their destinations. They knew that their pursuer wasn’t directly behind them but somewhere in the walls, slithering over the hollowed stone, waiting for the chance to strike again and finish them. And so they flew and flew, upwards and upwards, fuelled with the primal desire to survive.

The second attack came quickly, but wasn’t unexpected. The huge, toothy mouth came hurtling from a dark, endless hole on in the left wall, jaws snapping perilously close to Derky’s tail. But it was avoided, and did little to slow the duo’s pace, and so the beast quietly shuffled backwards to into its pitch black abode.

They didn’t have time to celebrate as two more Quarray eels came sliding out of their holes, dripping with slime and sweaty, shimmering juices, teeth gnashing at the air. Again, these two adversaries were dodged but only just, Weatherstorm very nearly flying into the second eel’s agape mouth. As suspected, there was more than one of the monsters, and they seemed to have a high enough IQ to realise that attacking as a unit was more effective than, ‘Every eel for itself.’

And yet the Pegasi remained unfazed. They were so close to the top, so close to freedom they could smell it, and taste it, and touch it, and an electric tingle of adrenaline hung heavy in the shiftless air. Weatherstorm smiled as he heard roars of defeat behind him: despite their best group efforts, the eels had lost. They were most certainly going without dinner tonight, because these two little ponies were...

The last desperate attack was undeniably the most effective. They weren’t howling in defeat, they were howling orders like a group of organised Timberwolves. Launching itself from its hiding place within a narrow crevice in the rock wall, the first Quarray eel caught the blue-coated stallion by the wing, jagged knives for teeth ripping several of his feathers completely from his body with a victorious screech. The journalist’s smile faded at once and warped into a cry of pain as his ascent abruptly ended and he found himself veering off to the right against his will. This involuntary action cost him dearly, for a second Quarray eel, screeching like some wicked devil, lashed out and headbutted the shrieking Pegasus as he passed, sending him sprawling backwards to the back wall where yet another eel lay in wait. Catching its prey by the tail, the predator drank in the glistening fear from the pony’s blue eyes before it violently shook it to and fro like a cat with a mouse, enjoying every panicked scream that erupted from the journalist’s mouth. And when it had its fill of entertainment, it simply let go mid shake, and slammed the poor equine against the cold, hard rock. A burning pain shot up Weatherstorm’s side and along his mangled wing, but other than that, he felt nothing. Just a brief, fiery sensation, a loss of breath, and then complete numbness. He tried to fly, but his wings disobeyed him, and he found himself falling for the second time, and was powerless to prevent it. He thought he heard his friend yell something in the distance, but he suddenly felt rather... disinterested in the whole thing.

He hadn’t even the energy to scream.

He simply let gravity take him, falling to his doom as permanent darkness crept in around him.

Starfire didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious. It could have been only a few minutes, or half a day. To him, it seemed like he’d been out cold for less than a second. Lying on his back and staring up directly at the sky, he saw it was still night.

Obviously. The sun wasn’t going to be arriving any time soon.

It was strange, but the night sky was pitch black. No stars, no moon, nothing but utter, debilitating darkness. The unicorn coughed. How hard had he hit his head? He gingerly sat up and applied a shaking hoof to his forehead. All was well. No cuts, no bruises, no fractures. He let out a sigh of relief. He’d been lucky. Such a fall could have had serious consequences

And yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was... wrong. Different. Off. He felt around the back of his head. Again, he felt fine. He wasn’t bleeding and, as far as he was aware, there were no bruises or lumps.

Starfire tried to stand up, but found that he couldn’t move his hind legs. He tried again, harder this time, forcing his hind legs upwards, but stopped when a sharp stabbing pain, like a needle piercing his skin, tore along his hooves.

This troubled Starfire. His first thought was that he’d broken both of them, but he quickly ruled that theory out. After all, he wasn’t in severe pain but nor were his legs completely numb, and he could move them around a little. Rather, it was that they felt trapped under something, constricted, ensnared. Groaning in discomfort, the unicorn tried to sit completely upright, shuffling and shifting as much as he could, and managed to push himself into a semi upright position. Looking down at his hind legs, he saw that they had simply disappeared altogether, cutting off at the thigh, engulfed by the same shiftless darkness that surrounded him.

The stallion had a theory, and whilst he hoped that this was not the case, he decided he had no choice but to test it out.

Almost unwillingly, involuntarily, and with growing unease, he slowly rose an unsteady hoof above his head, reaching out to grab the still, night sky.

And to his dismay, he did. His hoof rubbed along the jagged, crumbling skyline, and he saw clumps of dark dirt and cracked stone fall to his touch. Starfire swallowed a scream as he realised the situation he was in: that wasn’t the night sky above him; he’d been buried alive.

As though he were rejecting the cold, hard truth, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and sat there in the silence, alone. Being a rational, level headed sort of fellow, he knew that panicking would get him nowhere. He’d panicked earlier and it took a quick slap across the chops by Cananor to get him thinking like a sane pony once more. Of course, Cananor and his magic hoof was not here to keep him in check and so he would have collect himself and think of a way out logically. Not too difficult for a stallion of his calibre, surely. He counted off his options.

Firstly, his legs were pinned and what appeared to be a jagged boulder edge was digging into his thigh. It wasn’t sharp enough to draw blood, but it did cause some pain when he tried to move his legs. And even if he could move his legs, he was still trapped under the debris of what was once the crumbling cliffside, buried under several tonnes of rock and dirt and boulders and who knows what else. He tried once more to push the blockage to one side but, to little surprise, it failed to budge even an inch. It looked like he was out of options: his only hope of freedom was levitating the obstructions away, starting with the debris on top of him and then freeing his hind legs, which felt strangely light and tingly with a either a lack of movement or a lack of blood circulation. Either way, the sooner he was free, the better.

The unicorn took a moment to mentally prepare himself. Without proper knowledge of how much debris of varying weight was piled on top of him, there was a chance that he could run the risk of accidently dropping the load on his back onto his head, which would certainly not be a recommended action on his own wellbeing. That was, if he even managed to lift whatever was piled on top of him like a stack of bricks in the first place: although his magical ability was stronger than that of most unicorns, he was still only one pony. Even moving the debris an inch would likely require all of his willpower, and very little of his willpower remained after the casting of his last spell. Still, he had to try. He knew the odds were stacked against him, but he was out of options and would soon be out of time. He had to act.

Levitating spells were not the hardest spells to master, but they required considerable concentration, even when levitating something as small as a pebble. Of course, Starfire was to lift more than a mere pebble, and so he would be required to devote his remaining willpower, and then some.

Sighing, the unicorn realised he was stalling for time. Perhaps he was just delaying the inevitable. Perhaps he would simply...

He realised he was stalling again. He took one last deep breath to mentally prepare himself and then began.

Or at least, he tried to.

For there was no tingling in his horn, nor was there a light and wispy feeling in the pit of his stomach, and there was certainly no flash of blue magical aura. In fact, nothing happened at all.

At first, Starfire wasn’t sure what to think or how to feel, for he felt nothing. And this is what struck him as strange. He tried again. And again. Again and again and again but alas, there was no change.

He began to panic, just a little. A cold sweat fell over his body like a blanket. Never in his life had he experienced such phenomenon. A chilling shiver washed over him. Something was dreadfully wrong here. Something was dreadfully, dreadfully wrong.

Almost unable to control his wildly quivering forelegs, his hoof brushed across his scraggly mane of hair and to where his horn resided, proudly jutting above the golden locks like a mage’s tower.

Where his horn should have resided, that is. When his hoof brushed over empty air, Starfire’s expression turned from sceptical satisfaction to outright fear. He felt for his hoof again, and once more, his search revealed nothing.

The student felt all the colour drain from his face as a million thoughts flooded his mind at once. Had his fall been worse than he had imagined? Had he broken it? Had it snapped off altogether? The very thought made him feel physically sick.

Maybe he was hallucinating. It was a long fall, after all. Maybe he was still asleep. Sweating profusely, he gave himself a sharp, quick slap across the cheek. The pain confirmed his worst nightmares: he was very much awake, and his horn was very much gone. Face twisted in horror and confusion, he did the only thing he could do in such a situation.

He screamed.

He screamed until his chest ached and his eyes bulged and his lungs turned as blue as his face, which was very, very blue indeed. And yet, as he screamed and cried, he heard movement. At first it was faint and distant, but even over the ear splitting, echoing cries of horror, he heard it. Hooves, squelching along what sounded like muck, each step creating a disgusting, gloopy sucking plop. At that moment, Starfire didn’t care whether what lay beyond his prison was friend or foe. He needed to get out before he screamed, or suffocated, to death in darkness.

“H-HELLO?” He yelled at the top of his voice, throat raw and croaking. “IS THERE... IS THERE SOMEPONY THERE?”

He waited a few seconds for a response. When it came, it was muffled and distorted, but he still managed to make out both the words and their purveyor. “Hello? Who’s there?”

“C-CANANOR?” He stumbled through the name. “IS THAT YOU?”

The response was quicker this time, and sounded far closer than before. “Starfire?” Then he heard a throaty, hacking cough, before he spoke again. “Are you there, Starfire?”

“YES!” The ensnared unicorn screamed, wincing as his voice echoed in the enclosed environment and rebounded into his ears. He toned his voice down before continuing. “I’m here!”

Silence for a moment, then, “Where?”

The student wasn’t so sure himself. All he could see was black and more black, with some added black on black just to spice things up. “I’m... well, I’m here. Just follow my voice! Some rubble fell on top of me!”

“Alright,” came the reply, “You’re probably under that big pile of rubble over there then.” Hoofsteps grew louder and louder until they stopped, right beside him.

“That would be likely, yes.” Starfire shifted uncomfortably as he heard a few rocks above him plink to the ground. Then he blurted, “How are you oky?”

The clinking and the clanking of rubble stopped, and all was quiet. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

But then a loud, fatigued groan ripped his apology apart, then came a thud as what was likely a heavy stone slab was dropped to the ground, and Cananor replied, “Because I’m made of tough stuff, that’s why. Well, that, and I landed in the water by some miracle.”

“Water?” The other unicorn inquired. He couldn’t exactly see any water, but this could be attributed to the fact he could see literally nothing. “Where did you say we were again?”

“From the looks of it, that former cliff was overlooking Froggy Bottom Bog.” There was another pause as another grunt of effort escaped Cananor’s fictitious lips, cutting along the stone with an invisible sabre. The thud which followed shook the ground like an earthquake. “This is heavy lifting. Can you give me a hoof, here?”

“How?” Called back the scholar. “There isn’t much I can do in my current position.”

“Use some of that fancy magic of yours.”

“I, uh...” Starfire stammered, “I think I broke my horn or something.”

He didn’t see Cananor’s face, but he could tell he was wincing. “Just push up or something.” He spoke softly but directly.

Starfire did and, with a group effort, another large chunk of crumbling debris was lifted, and a tiny shaft of beautiful silky moonlight came pouring down onto Starfire’s eager face. Dripping with its milky goodness, Starfire gulped it down, taking in huge mouthfuls of the pungent air until his cheeks bulged. Gasping with glee, he spluttered, “It’s good to be able to breathe, even if my ribs are being crushed and the air has a rotten odour.”

He heard a light, willowy chuckle float through the crack in the debris. “That’s Froggy Bottom Bog, all right,” Cananor said, coughing once more to clear whatever it was that made his voice sound a few octaves lighter than it should have. “It stinks. Always has. I used to hike here before the forest overgrew the place, back when it was safe. My dad and I...” He stopped abruptly. “It’s dangerous here now, maybe even more so than the forest itself. The sooner we get you out of here...” He coughed again.

He continued his work in silence, carefully removing each rock and clump of hardened soil at a time. Starfire was unsure of what to say. The lawyer certainly didn’t want to talk about his father, but he’d been so subconsciously open about their past relations not a few hours ago. Clearly, it was a touchy subject, and one he would choose to only reminisce on when it suited him.

After what seemed like decades of constant, strenuous work, Starfire felt the immense weight being lifted from his body and he could move his hooves once more. Then the rocky roof peeled away, sliding away into oblivion and Starfire saw the night sky once more, the stars above welcoming his return to their domain. However, the reunion with the cosmos could wait, for an urgent question needed answering post-haste.

The figure of Cananor, concealed in the shadows of the great spire from whence they fell, took a step back and wiped his dripping brow. Removing all that rubble had seriously taken every ounce of his energy, and then some.

Bolting upright, Starfire asked, “How...”

The question was to be, when properly asked, “How badly mangled is my horn?” However, nothing could have prepared him for what he saw when Cananor took another step back and was caught in the full, revealing glow of the radiant moon.

“Guh... uh...” Stammered Starfire, pointing one shivering hoof towards Cananor.

“Uh... guh...” Stuttered Cananor, stretching one quaking foreleg towards Starfire.

“You...”

“Your...”

“I...”

“Um...”

They exchanged startled glances for quite a length of time, their dilated pupils trying to take in the bizarre images that stood before them.

Then they ran.

Starfire reached the water first, throwing himself down at the edge of the pool, thick blackish mud splashing across his body and matting his chest fur with a sickening squelch. Nearly toppling headfirst into the greenish, murky depths of the shimmering pond he saw, through all the grime and dirt, his own terrified reflection staring back at him.

“My... MY HORN!” Is all he could muster.

“Never mind your horn!” Cananor threw himself down beside his not-so-unicorn comrade. He squealed so intensely when he saw his own reflection that the very earth cringed.

“I’M A MARE!”

Chapter 10

“I’M A MARE!” Cananor spluttered out in a strangely high pitched, feminine voice. He didn’t seem to notice, his pale unblinking eyes wide eyed and staring at the pool of water, and the carbon copy reflection returned the stare. Cananor was, indeed, somehow a member of the opposite sex, with puffy pampered cheeks, slender hips, long, unfurling eyelashes, the whole works.

Starfire wasn’t in much of a better state. He remained frozen in a stunned silence, swaying dangerously close to the water’s edge, frantically rubbing his hoof along the top of his head, swatting at where his horn used to be. “H-how...” he mumbled, unable to actually formulate a proper sentence.

Cananor grabbed him gruffly by the shoulders and spun him around to face her, yet the layer’s hooves were soft and tender, and felt velvety to the touch. “I’M. A. MARE.” She spoke slowly and deliberately, shaking his comrade back and forth, but his squeaky voice just made him sound comical. Not that Starfire was laughing.

The student teacher tumbled backwards with an ‘oof.’ He stared, wide eyed, at the former stallion. “At least...” he wheezed, still dazed, “You still have your horn.”

The mare guffawed at this, throwing back her head and letting out a most unladylike, maniacal laugh. “My horn? My horn? What good is my horn when I’ve lost all of my dignity? Lost my dignity, and.... and something...” She blushed, her cheeks reddening. “Something else as well, if you know what I mean.”

Starfire scrambled to his hooves, and the world seemed to dance and sway around him as though he was intoxicated. The trees in the distance stretched to unnatural proportions and the swamp water seemed to droop downwards, and the dark sky bent into a dome like curve. He staggered, holding out a violently quivering hoof to steady himself, and his shot nerves. “No,” he whispered, his words catching in his throat. “I don’t know what you mean. But we...”

“I MEAN MY BEAUTIFUL MANE!” The mare bellowed, interrupting her friend. “LOOK!” She screeched, her voice cracking under the strain of the scream. “LOOK AT THIS ABONINATION!” She wrapped a hoof around the long aqua green stands of hair which hung lazily over her eyes, and drifted silently across her face in an unfashionable bouffant. “HOW CAN I PROVE TO MY DAD THAT I’M A TRUE STALLION IF I LOOK LIKE THIS! HOW CAN I PROVE I’M A STALLION IF I’M NOT A STALLION!?”

“I don’t KNOW ALREADY!” Snapped Starfire, suddenly finding his voice and angrily shoving his companion aside. “But my horn is gone. So shut the heck up for once and help me find my GOSH DARNED HORN!” With that, he span around, stumbling over muck as he did so, and began to paw frantically at the mound of debris that he had crawled from like a newborn babe not minutes earlier.

Cananor frowned at this, her pretty little feminine features contorted in hate. “YOU STUPID IDIOT,” She yelled, spittle slathering her fur. “YOU DIDN’T BREAK YOUR HORN OFF IN A FALL, AND I DIDN’T CHANGE GENDER IN NO FALL EITHER! SO QUIT BEING A MORON. AND I HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO YELL, SO DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME TO SHUT UP!”

Starfire lashed out so quickly that Cananor had very little time to react, and the next minute she was sprawled on his back, and Starfire was on top of her. “JUST BE QUIET!” The former unicorn snarled as they tumbled over the muddy landscape, dirt and grime clinging to their fur like insects. Despite the attack taking the beige coated mare by surprise, she managed to hold her own against the stallion, their hooves locked in a deadly wrestle. The lawyer managed to grab a clump of Starfire’s scraggly mane as they tumbled and turned, and began to tug at it violently. The hornless one screeched and fell away, and then Cananor was on top of him, delivering blow after blow to the soft flesh of his stomach.

“This is all your fault!” Cananor hissed, venom seeping through her tight lipped frown. “We’re doomed and it’s all your fault!”

“My fault?” The studious stallion spat as they bounced off of a boulder, locked in union. “How is this my fault? You’re the one that got us into this mess in the first place!” They lay by the waterside now, and unbeknownst to them, something was stirring within.

Despite her sleeker physique, Cananor still sat atop the overpowered stallion, repeatedly dunking his head under the grimy green-blue lake.

“S-stop!” Starfire managed to splutter in-between dunks. “Stop it!”

Cananor shook her victim’s head about harder. “No! Make me!”

It wasn’t Starfire that made the mare cease her relentless counter attack. They heard it at once, the same rumbling that sounded just before the cliff collapsed. They both instinctively looked up, almost anticipating a section of the cliff to come crumbling down and smother them both in a stony tomb of debris and dirt. However, it did not.

The rumbling seemed to be coming from beneath their hooves, from under the very ground itself. They both lay there, one on top of the other, mystified as the murky swamp water began to bubble, dirty brown bubbles shimmering on the surface and then bursting with an almighty pop. When the bubbles burst, they sent a thick, gooey, rust coloured gloop shot out in all directions; it splattered the grass and splashed across the vines and, to their dismay, splotched over the two onlookers themselves.

“Eugh!” Cried Cananor disgustedly, slime dripping from her hair. Starfire wiped the goo from his eyes and watched the boiling hot steam rise from the pool, and then the water shook and shuddered like a thing alive. The smell that the erupting bubbles released was vile, like rotten eggs mixed with decay and filth. It floated over the duo, cloaking them in a haunting, odorous cloak of green stench, so thick and heavy that it stole the air away and blotted out the moon and stars.

Starfire tried to clamber to his hooves, choking on the thick green aura, but found he couldn’t move, Cananor still sitting atop his torso and preventing further movement. The attorney herself was gasping for air and making unnatural gagging sounds, doing her best to force down the vomit which was working its way up her throat. Starfire hoped dearly that she would: he did not wish to leave this world with his face dripping with Cananor’s stomach contents.

Through teary eyes, Cananor saw the water begin to shift and part. Then, through the sickening mist, an island rose up through the lake, water dripping from the edges and dark green lily-pads decorating the light brown dirt. Then another island rose, and another, and another, all beside each other, tearing up from the riverbed with a shuddering quake.

The onlookers watched with a mystified dismay as the islands rose up from the water, higher and higher and higher, each one supported by a thick, trunk-like stalk, grimy light brown and shimmering with thousands of slimy, snake-like scales. And then each one opened their eyes, sickly, poisonous green ovals amongst the crumbling dirt. A thin line tore through the embankments, parting the living soil, and opened wide, revealing four wildly flopping forked, serpent-like tongues, and four equally deadly rows of malicious teeth. It was clear that these were no islands.

“Hydra!” Bellowed Cananor as she threw herself off of Starfire’s chest, stumbling over her hooves like a newborn, and then she was off in the distance.

Starfire tried to move but found that he couldn’t, simply frozen, paralysed with fear as the four-headed monstrosity towered over him, the remnants of the swamp water rushing off of its gnarled, hateful features. Three of the creature’s heads watched, narrow slits for eyes, as Cananor galloped away, her shrill screams trailing behind her. The fourth however, completely identical in appearance to its snarling brethren, peered down and saw, to its delight, a more stationary meal. Its cruel lips stretched into a sly grin as it nudged the others and they too looked down, and smiled at their shivering prey, licking their lips with evil intent.

Lying on his back, Starfire willed himself to move, but found he couldn’t move a muscle but for his eyes. They were drawn to the four pairs staring back at him, eight glimmering emeralds, hungrily devouring him in their minds. That was, if such a creature had separate minds.

‘Get up,’ Starfire barked the order to his brain, which was less than co-operative. ‘Get up, darn you!’

Four hideous faces edged closer, slowly and delicately, taking their time with their immobile prey. He felt a rush of hot, rancid air wash over him from the flaring nostrils, and their heavy, excited breathing made him gag. Yellowed fangs nipped at the air above him, closing in, encircling him like twisting snakes. They wanted to tease him, toy with him; make him suffer in his last living seconds.

Finally, after what seemed like painful hours, one of the Hyrda’s hissing heads, a little longer in face than the others, grew tired of taunting his prey and straightened upwards, rising to impossible heights with a terrible roar which shook the scraggly, decaying teeth in its gums, and delivered the killing blow.

Starfire was running down the slippery terrain at record speed. He couldn’t recall mustering up the energy to move. He’d simply seen the quadruple pairs of frightening fangs barrelling towards him, ready to rip him to shreds, and then he was on his hooves and running. Starfire silently thanked Celestia that his survival instinct, the very raw, primal, animalistic desire to survive that dwelled in every equine had awoken and urged him forward, else he’d likely be doing little else than digesting in four separate stomachs.

He heard a booming cry of anguish and anger behind him, and then the mud and the dirt and the distant trees shook like in an earthquake, and the scholar knew that the Hydra wasn’t going to be giving up on its dinner that easily. He dared not look back, but neither did he need to. The Hydra was raising up from the water like the creature from the brown lagoon, rising and twisting and slithering upwards, taking one shuddering step onto dry land, and then another, and each step violently shook the world and all those who inhabited it.

Panting as he squelched through the thickening gloop, Starfire felt the vibrations of every lumbering step send a shudder up his hooves, and churned his stomach. Between the worsening stench and his shuddering organs, the pale faced stallion barely managed to keep his rising sick down.

The footsteps quickened, their owners finding their balance once more after years of underwater dormancy. The beast travelled a great distance with every step it took, and quickly closed the gap between it and its prey. Starfire could feel the eerie green eyes burn into the back of his skull as the Hydra approached, and hoped that he wouldn’t be crushed by those gigantic, clawed feet.

Whilst the Hydra’s pace was quickening, Starfire’s was slowing down drastically. The wet, glistening mud was becoming thicker by the second, and the stallion found himself slowing to a literal crawl, taking huge, exaggerated, trudging steps, accompanied by a sickening plop. His hooves were encrusted with slick, sloppy mush.

Desperately trying to escape his pursuer, Starfire managed to skid to a grindingly sticky stop and throw himself in the opposite direction, stumbling through the monster’s towering legs , catching his hunter off guard. The four heads swivelled around at an unnatural angle, ducking under its fat, quivering torso, watching their upside down prey slither away. One of the heads, the gaunt faced fellow, pulled a comically bewildered face, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue, but the others screeched in rage.

Despite his literal sticky situation, Starfire smiled as he plodded off. Big and powerful they may be, but agile, Hydras were not.

However, the student forgot to take into consideration the beast’s flexibility. His smug simper contorted with fear when he turned and saw the four scaly heads, still wrapped underneath its slimy stomach, shoot through the gap under its legs in one final, desperate attempt to eat.

The quadruplet snake heads lashed out at a surprising speed, screaming out some twisted, wordless war cry. The manoeuvre caught Starfire off guard and down he went, tumbling over his own shattered confidence, with a gurgling gasp.

The muck poured up his nose and sloshed into his ears, and smothered his body like silicone cast. As he wiped the vision obscuring mud from his eyes and struggled to free himself of the thick, debilitating goo that embraced his body in a cradle of death, he saw Cananor in the distance, standing at the edge of the woods watching the whole horrific scene play out with a vacant stare.

“Help!” Starfire gurgled as the sickening brown paste invaded his mouth. He thrashed frantically with his forelegs, doing all he could to keep above the surface, but the mud was pulling him down like quicksand. He desperately waved to his companion. “Cananor! Hel...” He coughed up another thick glob of muck. “Help me!”

He could tell by the expression that Cananor wore that she didn’t exactly know what to do. She started forward, taking one step back towards the swamp and out from between the trees she stood at, then another, but stopped when she heard the approaching hiss of the hungry Hydra. After hopping from one hoof to the other, weighing out her options, she gave Starfire a sad, apologetic frown that said, ‘Don’t hate me,’ shrugged her shoulders, and melded back into the forest, hiding in the darkness between the tree trunks. Starfire was on his own.

It wasn’t sadness that the gesture provoked, nor was it regret that the stallion felt as the quicksand-like substance pulled him further downwards. No, what Starfire felt rising from the pit of his gut like a fiery inferno was pure, unbridled fury. It burnt through him at an alarming rate, enflaming every fibre of his being as he sank further and further under the stinking, bubbling mud.

Even from where she was standing, Cananor felt Starfire’s eyes peel back the darkness that concealed her, and as he looked right into her ice-blue eyes, she saw that they were aflame with hatred and detest. And, despite the distance between them, she trembled in fear, and turned away. Although she couldn’t help, she had no desire to witness her once-friend meet such a sticky demise. She had to think of something. Anything. And fast.

Starfire managed to sputter out one last string of garbled nonsense before his head went completely under, and all was still.

The Hydra’s heads came to a skidding stop by the mud puddle, which had just consumed their food whole. Three of the heads, after watching the last strands of the blond mane slip below the slimy brown-black mixture, frowned and bared their dark gummed snarls, but did nothing, for there was nothing left to do. Even they wouldn’t dare delve below the depths of the sticky, mucus like muck, for they knew that such a substance was near impossible for any living creature to return from. With a collective weary sigh, they began to float back to their single stationary body, defeated and hungry. The second, however, did not give up on its prey so easily. Longer in face and fewer in brains than its brethren, it gave the murky slime a confused yet distantly vacant cross eyed glare, tongue flapping wildly below its gaping jaw, sending droplets of spittle plopping into the dark substance below. Its food was down there, waiting for it. All it had to do was find it.

The others stopped when they heard the soft splurge. They didn’t have to turn to piece together what had happened. This wasn’t the first time head number two had done something particularly dim-witted, and it sure wasn’t going to be the last. They rolled their oval eyes in unison, and turned back to help their undoubtedly incapacitated friend.

Sure enough, the second head was well and truly stuck under the bubbling mud, its long, scaly neck wiggling to and fro blindly. The others sighed. This looked like a group effort. And so, with a shared strained grunt, they began to heave, commanding their legs to pull, skidding wildly over the knee ankle deep water below.

What they didn’t expect, however, was for the pony they had presumed lost to the swamp to come exploding from its earthly tomb with a scream so terrifying that it froze their blood in their veins, and they were already cold blooded. Thick, black soil clung to its form like a cape, and dripped in vigorous chunks from his mane, and spewed from his open mouth, twisted with both anger and determination. Quick as a flash, the stallion bolted up the thrashing neck, scaling the slithering green snake with surprising speed. Digging his hooves in-between the flaky scales like the crevices in a rock face, he hoisted himself agilely out of the mud, where their comrades’ head was still well and truly cemented.

Head number four was first to react. Enraged both at the stallion’s lack of giving up and its brother’s lack of common sense, it gave a hiss of a cry and charged forward with incredible speed, flashing its razor pointed fangs. However, the attack just didn’t come fast enough and Starfire, little more than a dark blue blur, dodged the assault with a gazelle-like leap, blonde hair sweeping elegantly past his stern features. When the fanged lunge landed, Starfire was no longer present and the vicious incisors dug deep into the trapped head’s thick neck, piercing the rock hard scales and slimy skin.

Landing on solid ground once more with an audible grunt, Starfire leapt off without pause, only briefly hearing the almost metallic prang as teeth collided with scale, and then the desperate mumbled strain as the assaulter tried to pull his fangs free, to no avail. ‘Glad you found something to sink your teeth into.’ The stallion’s blank expression did not fade. ‘Have fun getting out of THAT,’ he thought coldly.

Head number three’s face contorted with anger. Its dark cheeks blushed as he watched its two brothers struggle uselessly, making fools of themselves as usual. The beast was, admittedly, fairly hot headed, perhaps even more so than head number four, and watching its significant others flail around in the mud like idiots irked it to no end. With a guttural roar, it gave pursuit, and head number one reluctantly followed with a weary sigh. Frothing at the lips, the third head grunted as it struggled to keep up with the galloping equine’s surprising speed and agility, a stallion which was clearing obstructions with nary a thought and gliding over the stinking mud puddles like a spectre. It had been many years since a pony had wandered into their abode, but never before had its prey been so tiresome to catch. It was time to end this little charade, once and for all.

Shuttling along at a speed that nearly matched that of the stallion’s, the head dipped and skimmed along the thinning pools of dull brown water. Flashing its deadly teeth it dived forward and snapped its powerful jaw shut, just narrowly missing the pony’s bouncing tail by centimetres. It took another moment to calculate the next attack; this time, it wouldn’t miss, of that much it was sure. The stallion was now approaching a large, fallen tree trunk, lying on one battered side, growing at an odd, curved angle from the lilly-pad adorned waters. Moss and webs clung to the bark like parasites. Head number three gave an evil, toothy smile. Being over three times the pony’s size, there was no way that it could clear the obstruction with a single bound, and both clambering up and over, or bypassing the obstruction through the surrounding deeper waters, would cause the stallion to slow almost to a halt. And then, dinner would be served.

It should have thought before it acted, but unfortunately, overconfidence blinded it and made it its own fool. The pony did in fact not slow down, rather it, by some strange supernatural ability, sped up. Then, just before the stallion’s muzzle connected with the gruff, flaky wood, it dropped to its belly and slid under the low-lying trunk, slipping through the gap with the ease, grace and elegance of a dancer. And then it was up and running on the other side, making a beeline for the thick growth of trees beyond. The Hydra’s head, however, was less successful. Not wanting to take its bulging eyes off of its meals-on-hooves, it too dove under the collapsed trunk, which was a rather poor move on its part. At least it had plenty of time to reflect on its poor decision making whilst stuck, neck fat wedged in-between the cracks in the bark. It watched, with a face as sour as curdled milk, as its prey sprinted off into the distance.

Head number one floated hastily past its immobile other, and gave a sigh. It defiantly saw a trend emerging here, and wanted no part in it. Managing to close the gap left by its less-than-able companion, head number one gave one quick glance backwards and opened its mouth in a loud screech, almost as though telling head number three, ‘I’m going to get this guy.’ However, unlike head number three, it should not have taken its eyes off of the equine and, as it turned back to where it was going, it found that the line of trees signifying the rim of the Everfree Forest had crept up on it somewhat. The next thing it knew, wood splinters were jabbing into the soft flesh under its chin and all around was the sound of cracking and exploding, and suddenly it was on the other side of the tree trunk, having just blasted through it with the full frontal force of its face. It saw the stallion grow fainter and fainter into the distance, and didn’t even bother trying to follow, for it knew too well that it was well and truly stuck through the trunk of a tree, as was popular around these parts. Somewhere behind it, came the defeated call of head number three, and it returned the call.

Starfire waited until the mournful cries faded away into nothingness before he slowed to a stop.

Leaning against a tree and panting heavily, he spat out a long glob of shivering saliva. The spittle drooped like a raindrop, speckled white bubbles popping as it began its descent to the ground. It hit the soft, green grass with a sizzling squelch.

Starfire casually wiped his mouth with the back of his hoof, and snorted. He saw the rustling in the bush; he wasn’t blind, nor was he stupid, but he simply needed a moment to catch his breath.

The activity in the bush subsided, and Starfire considered his breath caught. With a grunt, he lashed out, throwing himself through the hedge and sprawling into none other than Cananor Acapella. The mare choked out a scream as Starfire’s hooves clasped around her throat.

“C-careful!” Cananor barely spluttered out, gasping for air. “I’m surprisingly delicate!”

Starfire shook the mare by her slender shoulders. “What in the hay is wrong with you?” He hissed into her cringing features.

Cananor turned her head and opened her mouth in a silent cry for help. Starfire saw the yelp rising in his friend’s throat and clamped her mouth closed. He leaned in close to her face. “Would you shut it?” He whispered, not aggressively, but assertively. “Need I remind you that there are horrible, horrible things out there? Things that are attracted by loud sounds, and would like nothing better than to remove our limbs from our bodies, one by one?”

Cananor swallowed her cry, and Starfire released his tight grip. Cananor clambered to her hooves, and brushed off the errant leaves from her fur. Her eyes were locked to the forest floor.

Starfire, his lips still twitching with rage, grabbed the unicorn gruffly by the reddening cheeks, and forced her head upwards. “What is wrong with you?” He demanded an answer. “Were you just going to let me get eaten, or...?”

His voice trailed off when he saw the tears welling up in the mare’s ice-blue eyes. Wet and warm, they flowed freely down her sniffling nose, and landed at Starfire’s hooves. For the longest time, nopony moved, nopony spoke, and the forest was quieter than either of them had ever heard before.

Cananor pulled herself away from Starfire, his hoof leaving a quickly darkening impression on her face. She turned, pride hurt, and began to canter off into the deeper depths of the forest, not entirely sure which direction she was heading and not entirely caring.

Starfire was amazed, and stood in silence. Cananor didn’t strike him as the sort of stallion, or mare rather, who cried often. He, or rather she, seemed far too boisterous, too carefree, too... HAPPY to let emotions get the better of them. But what Starfire was now dealing with was, in effect, a female, and it took him longer than it should have to realise that. The stallion, short of breath, looked down at his trembling forelegs, and suddenly, he felt guilt rush over him. He would never have dared treat a lady, or anypony for that matter, in such a manner, and yet he had. The anger drained from his body instantaneously, and the fire in his eyes extinguished at once. He felt dizzy, and tired, and sore, and at that moment he wanted to be back at home in Fillydelphia with his parents.

“Cananor,” He called meekly after her, nearly toppling as he stretched out his hoof. His voice shook, but he failed to notice. “I’m...” Words eluded him. In the situations when he needed them most, they always did. “Cananor, I’m sorry.”

The unicorn didn’t turn, but she stopped dead. “You have no idea,” she spoke softly, barely above a whisper. “What it’s like to be me. My father, my friends...”

Starfire took a few hesitant steps towards her. He struggled to find the correct words. “I know.” He placed a hoof gently on her shuddering shoulder.

Cananor would have laughed at the clichéd-ness of the situation. But she was in no mood for jokes. “No,” she slapped the gesture away, choking on her own self pity. “You don’t. I can’t keep pretending I’m something I’m not. I’m no comedian, no lawyer, no hero, and I’m sure as heck no stallion. You ask what’s wrong with me? Why I didn’t stop to help?” Fresh tears welling, she span around on the spot. “Because I was SCARED, Starfire. I was going to TRY, Starfire, something, anything, but I’m just... I’m scared. Of everything, I guess. Of this place, and myself...” She swallowed, hard, and gaze him a distantly worried gaze. “And you. You lashed out at me. You’re violent. A PSYCHO. You expect me to risk my life for somepony like that?” Her tone was harsh, and her words cut to the bone. Starfire winced. “And I doubt you’d sacrifice your life to save ME.”

“Uh... I...”

“Forget it,” snapped the mare. “Let’s just go. The sooner we leave, the sooner you can go back to Fillydelphia and we’ll all be a lot happier.”

Cananor drifted through the shrubbery, and Starfire felt lonelier than he’d ever felt before.

“I’ll go gather some firewood.” Starfire announced, sounding not nearly as optimistically cheery as he might have hoped. He stood amongst the surrounding trees at the edge of the miniature clearing, looking back at their makeshift campsite. He hesitated for a moment, before adding, “Want to come with?”

“No.” Cananor responded, sharply. Her brow was furrowed over her dark, brooding face. She sat on a solitary log, long and hollowed, with both her forelegs and hind legs folded tightly and bundled against her body.

Starfire was silent for a moment, before finally turning away from the camp and the silent spectator. “Shout if you run into any bother. I won’t be far.”

The mare mumbled some incoherent response. She didn’t look up, eyes glued to the forest floor, at the decaying leaf litter and miniscule insect life that inhabited it. She waited until she heard the sigh, and the hoof steps crunch off in the opposite direction before looking up, straggly mane of hair willowing across her darting, bloodshot eyes. Alas, she was alone.

With a small, dissatisfied grunt, she lay down flat upon the fallen trunk and stretched across the surface, peering up at the shifting canopy concealing the shiftless sky. Of course, alone time was something of a rarity for Cananor as of late, and it wasn’t long before the familiar voice floated into her subconscious.

“YOU SHOULD APOLOGISE, YOU KNOW!”

The sudden appearance didn’t surprise Cananor. She casually turned her head to the right and found the Griffon of Justice in all his imaginary glory, copying her lounged stance in the trees above. The ace attorney was crunching noisily into a rosy red apple, plucked from some unknown tree, showering the mare below with saliva and strips of apple skin.

Cananor rolled her ice blue eyes and swished her aqua blue mane. “Where in all of Equestria have you been?”

Phoenix Flight noisily licked his lips with a flick of his tongue. “OH, I WAS THERE ALL ALONG!” He grinned, specs of red dotting his perfect teeth. “YOU JUST DIDN’T NEED ME!”

With a strained groan, Cananor sat up, leaning against one of the spiralling, broken branches for support. The griffon certainly was cryptic at the best of times. “And who says I need you now?”

Phoenix laughed wholeheartedly. “YOU DO, IDIOT!”

“Really?” Cananor scoffed. “And why would that be, pray tell?”

“BECAUSE YOU SHOULD APOLOGISE TO STARFIRE!”

“So you’ve said,” The mare replied dryly. “But that’s where you’re wrong. You see, I’ve nothing to apologise for.”

“IS THAT SO?” The griffon narrowed his eagle eyes and tightened his beak, letting the apple core fall loosely from his clawed grip. As fast as lightning, he swooped down low and landed perfectly by the unicorn’s side.

Taking in the full form of the griffon with a gentle bat of her curled eyelashes, Cananor nodded. “Yep.”

Her defiance was met with hostility. As she cradled her bruised, reddening cheek, she scowled and rose her head, wiping away the lose strands of mane that clung to her forehead. “You jerk.” She spat. “You just slapped a lady. Have you no honour?”

“WELL, I’M YOUR CONSCIENCE, SO I CAN SLAP YOU WHENEVER I DARNED WELL PLEASE, REGARDLESS OF GENDER!” Howled the suited griffon. “BUT YOU GOT ONE THING WRONG: YOU’RE NOT A LADY, YOU'RE A COWARD!”

Cananor said nothing, but her jaw hung open like a barn door.

Phoenix read her body language like Cananor read the comics which spawned him. “I DON’T JUST MEAN ON THE OUTSIDE,” Said the illustrated hero, “BUT ON THE INSIDE!” He pointed to his own chest.

The mare smirked at how clichéd that sounded. She lay back down upon the log and closed her eyes, turning to one side. “Yeah, yeah.”

Mr Flight frowned at the lack of attention he was getting. With a swift flourish of movement, he scooped a wing under her body and flipped her onto her back once more.

Sighing, Cananor peered at the attorney with one open eye. She knew that he would not rest until he’d had his say. “Why do you keep bothering me?”

Shrugging, Phoenix replied, “BECAUSE YOU KEEP IMAGINING ME!”

Cananor sat upright and gestured with her hoof. “Well, go on then. Say what you want to say and then leave me be. I want to be alone.”

“I SWEAR, IT’S HARD TO HELP A PONY THAT REFUSES TO HELP HIMSELF! YOU NEED TO STOP FEELING SO SORRY FOR YOURSELF AND BE A MAN!”

The student to this lecturer observed quietly, only half listening.

“JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE A MARE, DOESN’T MAKE YOU ANY LESS A STALLION! BUT I SAW NO STALLION, NOR A MARE, WHEN YOU RAN TO SAVE YOURSELF, AND LEFT YOUR FRIEND BEHIND! THERE WAS NO JUSTICE THERE! NO SENSE OF RIGHT AND WRONG! I SAW NOT A PONY, BUT A COWARD!”

The unicorn sighed. “He isn’t my friend. Not anymore. He lashed out at me, Phoenix. He pretends that he acts with the wellbeing of Equestria in his heart, but all he cares for is himself.” Her eyes drifted away from the half lion, half eagle. “And I actually fell for it.”

When her eyes finally found Phoenix once more, both his claws were outstretched threateningly. The mare squealed and cringed, awaiting the double blow which would likely smash across both her battered cheeks and send her spiralling from her perch. However, quite the opposite happened.

Surprisingly, Phoenix threw his arms not at her, but around her, drawing her into a powerful hug. His body felt frighteningly real, for a figment of her imagination. Phoenix’s hard features softened, and a hint of warmth flowed from his cold, beady eyes. As the mare melted into the hug, he leaned close to her ear and whispered, actually whispered for the first time,

“Even the manliest of stallions need to be shown a little affection every now and again.” Then he pulled away and smiled down at her in all his radiant glory.

It took Cananor literal minutes before she found her voice once more. “T-thank you.”

“It’s okay to feel afraid, Cananor.” Cooed the bird. “Everypony gets scared, and anypony who says that they don’t is a liar and a fool. Even I was scared when I had to tackle my first case. You remember, don’t you? I believe issue #1 is still your favourite, after all.”

Cananor nodded.

“But I mustered up my courage and faced my fears. We all have to face our fears sooner or later, Cananor. Right now, your biggest fear is your broken relationship with Starfire. I know you too well. You know you too well."

Cananor found herself blushing. She tried to hide behind her thick, loosely hanging mane. “I don’t like fighting with friends, man.”

Phoenix nodded. He glided over to the edge of the clearing, turned and, just before he left, said, “Starfire hurt you, and was wrong to do so. Now it’s time for you to mend the situation like an adult. Be the bigger stallion and apologise.”

“I’ll try.”

The griffon left without another word.

When Starfire returned, Cananor helped the exhausted stallion stack the firewood. She then lit a small fire and watched the twirling flame keep the darkness at bay for several hours, until she retired to bed in silence.

The student teacher tried to stand up, but to no avail. He felt himself being held down by some invisible force, as the black abyss closed in.

“Starfire...” whispered the gravelly voice, getting louder, more aggressive. “Starfire...”

“No,” he whimpered, covering his eyes with shaking hooves. “Leave me alone.”

He felt himself falling, falling, falling into the deep, black darkness, an empty space, a dark void lost in time.

Clawed fingers scratched at his fur. “Starfire...”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” He cried.

“Starfire!”

“STARFIRE!”

The voice was like sandpaper to his ears, and he yelped in agony as the fingernails raked at his body, leaving long, trailing marks. The darkness seeped into his every pore, and clung to him like a thick, ravenous goo, holding him down, his stomach flat to the ground. The more he tossed and turned, the more he felt his body pin itself to the forest floor, strewn with blackened, decaying leaves.

The stallion, squirming frantically like a fly ensnared in a devilish web of shifting shadows, rolled his eyes upwards and stared into his pursuer’s face. The red, glowing eyes seemed to drain every ounce of energy from him, thick tentacles waving to and fro wildly, excitedly, like a young puppy’s tail. White fangs flashed through the dark, writhing mass of a featureless face, like a lick of lightning. It leaned in closer and closer, it’s face touching his, and Starfire felt himself being sucked into it, pulled forwards by the sticky, gloopy monster, his body being slowly consumed.

How he managed to pull himself to his hooves, Starfire would never know. He felt the dark tendrils clinging to his body like a tumour, but he pushed forwards, literally through the belly of the beast. The tentacle thing screeched animalistically as the stallion tore through its body, wisps of black ripping free and floating into the sky like streamers. Starfire burst through the other side of the beast with a guttural grunt, panting heavily, chunky blackness slithering down his fur and fading to nothing before it hit the ground. He wasted no time in bolting, still coughing and wheezing as the strange black fibres invaded his lungs. He looked back to see the writhing mess of vile nightmares turn, spindly tendrils acting as spidery legs, the gaping hole in its chest from whence the stallion burst closing up in an instant with a hiss of smoke. It turned to him, spread its gruesome, invisible lips, like thick black caterpillars lost in its horrific face, and gave him another violent, maniacal grin.

And so Starfire ran like a newborn babe, tearing through the nightmarish forest as the darkness closed in, light from the full moon diminishing at an astonishing rate. The trees on either side of the narrow dirt path began to slide towards him like living creatures, unearthed roots slithering disgustingly like the tentacles of a squid. The monster, hot on his tail, began to cry out his name, and as it did so, fires erupted through the trees and the shrubs. The crackling of the flames filled the air, and the very sky itself seemed to be alight, the moon and the stars a vibrant, burning orange. The heat was unbearable, and the stallion felt himself chocking on the ash of the wood of the tree trunks, alight like kindling. The entire Everfree Forest was ablaze now, and the little woodland critters were scampering for their very lives as the flames wrapped around the tall trees and reduced them to nothing but embers in mere seconds.

“Starfire!” The nightmare creature called to him over the popping of the flames, and the frantic cries of the native animals. “STARFIRE!”

The pony tried all he could to block out the voice, but it seemed to be coming from inside his head. He saw it all now; all of Equestria in flames. From the grand city of Canterlot to the furthest reaches of the land, there was nothing but fire and brimstone. Ponyville lay in ruin, little more than a smouldering wreck of burning thatch and blackened rubble. The town hall was but a smoking crater and the homely buildings that surrounded it were piles of soot, obliterated by whatever dark power had invaded the quiet, sleepy town. Beyond the town were the former expanses of Sweet Apple Acres, now a sickly brown wasteland. Worst of all was the schoolhouse, which looked like a husk of its former self. The cheery paint was scorched and peeling, the windows shattered and barren. The bell tower had collapsed in on itself, leaving a gaping hole in the roof.

Starfire recoiled in horror, nearly tripping over a twisted root which crossed his path. Sweating uncontrollably, legs tangling, he told himself that it was only a bad dream. A nightmare. Nothing but a nightmare. He willed himself to wake up, but couldn’t, as though he were locked in this apocalyptic plane of existence. Trapped, like a prisoner in a maze of terrifying hallucinations. Shaking himself to move before the unfathomable being behind him managed to catch up and devour him with one bite, the student galloped furiously as the path curved to the left, and another vision flashed briefly before his eyes. The image took his breath away: it was his father’s store, back in Fillydelphia, being torn asunder by those mysterious green meteorites that had levelled Canterlot. The door hung off of its hinges and fire was all that was visible through the mangled frames of the cafe’s windows. His home, being ripped apart before his eyes. He cried out when he saw his parents, huddled together in the street, calling out for him. He reached out to them, but they were so far away... the image faded as the growing flames closed in on the couple.

Starfire gritted his teeth and blinked away the tears from his eyes. It was only a dream, after all. None of this was happening. His parents were fine. None of this was real. He told himself over and over.

But then why did it FEEL so real?

As he turned the corner, he saw, peering out at from behind the burning blackness, the faces of his friends. Or rather, former friends. Not the faces of his Fillydelphian acquaintances, but of those he had met and befriended in Ponyville. He spotted Derky’s face floating amongst the trees, silently following his every move, and the face of Weatherstorm judging him from behind his trademark glasses. Belove’s face shifted through the leaves, and Cananor’s watched from the deep holes in the trunks. They all frowned at him, sneered at him, cut through him with their terrible, solemn expressions. They didn’t make him feel threatened, or scared, or even uncomfortable; they made him feel a deep emptiness inside of himself, like he were the only pony in all of Equestria, the way he used to feel. He realised he had nopony now: he’d lost them all. Even Cananor, the faithful, who stuck with him through thick and thin when all the others abandoned him, who believed in him more than he believed in himself, hated his guts, and he couldn’t help but feel as though it were all his doing.

He was so hypnotised by the faces that he didn’t notice until it was too late. The fires encircled him, the smouldering red hot flames singeing the fibres of his fur. Through the flames he saw his friends continue to pierce through him with their terrible gazes, now joined by others; his parents, his neighbours, Miss Cheerilee, even Celestia. They all narrowed their slits of eyes as they danced, disembodied through the flames. The shuddering of the ground signified the monster’s approach, and Starfire knew he had little time to spend gawping back at them. As far as he knew, he had only two options: stay here and be consumed, or take a gamble.

He gambled, and, feeling the sour, musty breath on the back of his neck, he leapt through the fire and flames. He wasn’t sure what happened next, but when he opened his eyes, the fire was gone. He found himself in a large, open room, still as death itself. Fresh moonlight, unspoiled, poured in, unhindered from a roof which did not exist, likely lost long ago. The walls had decayed through years of neglect, cracked and broken well beyond any sort of repair. Moss clung to what little of the stonework remained intact, and thorny vines crept silently through the cracks in the once-magnificent pillars, holding up air. Grand windows lay empty, devoid of glass, now framing the many spiderwebs which hung like ghostly echoes of the past. What captured Starfire’s eye the most, however, was the only intact feature of this coliseum of desolation.

They sat around the alter, nestled atop five outstretched handles. Despite their bland, granite appearances, there was something special about the spherical stone balls. Something mysterious, and otherworldly. He cautiously trotted closer to the orb-like objects, the moon catching them in such a way that they sparkled and shone hypnotically.

“The elements of harmony.” He whispered under his breath. He examined them closer, each one wearing a different design, all of them fascinating. “There are only five.” He was no expert on the subject, far from it, but he was sure that the book he had read stated six elements existed. If so, where was it?

The doors burst open so violently that it was a wonder the aged wood didn’t splinter on impact. The student teacher spun at once, the sound of the explosion still ringing freshly, sharply in his flattened ears. His tail hung low in suspense, giving surprised shudders as a familiar mist seeped into the crumbling ruin. A familiar, dark, cosmic mist, spotted with the bright, starry embers of despise. The fog obscured her formation, but it took less than a millisecond, and then she was there in the flesh.

If darkness had a smell, it clung to her vividly. Like a sickening perfume, not unpleasant, but deceptively bittersweet. She flapped her wings regally, head held as high as the first time they had encountered one another, and looked down at him with the sort of expression of contempt that only a royal could bestow upon the common folk. Her deep, fearsome smile, edging on insanity, caused his body to lock up. He tried to speak, but his speech formed a lump in his throat.

Nightmare Moon had little to offer in the way of conversation; she merely laughed, throwing back her mane in that ear piercing cackle that Starfire had heard twice now, which was two times too many. Her eyes, pretty and deadly, rolled upwards as she laughed, and she stared straight up, ignoring Starfire’s presence now, to the sky, as a dark shadow rolled over the ruin and blotted out the moon indefinitely.

Starfire’s eyes followed and he stifled a scream at what he saw. Strings ran from the Alicorn’s wings, hundreds of them, slackening and stiffening as she danced and twitched in an erratic pattern of unnatural spasms.

Nightmare Moon was a puppet. Nothing but an oversized marionette puppet, controlled from a higher place by a higher being, dancing to the tune of her master’s will. For beyond every puppet lies a puppeteer, and the sight that blessed Starfire’s vision nearly made him vomit on the spot.

The disgustingly hideous black, writhing creature floated above them both like a bulbous, malevolent raincloud, suspended in the windless air. It blotted out the moon and cosmos with its sickening form, and the universe fell dark and empty and lifeless. Somewhere in that gigantic, pitch black form was a mouth, and it was smiling below the red, deathly balls that acted as the thing’s eyes. Each string was wrapped tightly around one of its slithering tendrils, and the more they twisted and churned the more Nightmare Moon was thrown to and fro like a ragdoll, her hooves comically clopping on the hard, barren stone as she performed her warped, eerie dance. Her movements were unnaturally stiff, and yet she danced and danced and danced to the rhythm of her hooves echoing off the forgotten walls. Her wooden mouth opened wide, hanging loosely, feasting off of the look of absolute terror stretched across Starfire’s face, and from deep within the marionette came a screeching laugh. Not her usual, refined cackle, but an utter deranged scream of delight, and she was joined by her unholy master who let out a low, creepy, demented chuckle, that grew louder and louder like a mad-pony’s laugh until the crescendo could reach no further, and all that Starfire could hear was there horrific laughter, mocking and jeering his efforts.

The stallion, panicked and trembling, stumbled backwards over an errant brick, the stone crumbling to dust the moment his hoof made contact with it. Down he went, onto his back with a heavy grunt, as the supernatural figures edged closer. He scrambled away, unable to climb to his hooves, paralysed by their jerky, spider like movements. He crawled along the dusty old floor until he met wall, his escape denied, and he found himself trapped as the figures staggered closer, the fake smiles etched into their faces never fading, and their horrible laughter failing to cease.

Starfire closed his eyes, covered his ears, and screamed louder than he ever had before.

Cananor couldn’t get to sleep, unlike her companion. She tossed and turned from side to side, a million thoughts flooding through her mind at once. Should she apologise to Starfire? The guy had acted like a complete mule, and thus wasn’t deserving of her apologies. Then again, she’d acted like an idiot as well. Maybe Phoenix was right. Maybe he was wrong. Cananor sighed. The whole situation troubled her greatly. Her cutie mark was a set of scales, after all. She liked balance. And lately, everything had been thrown distinctly off balance, and she found herself outside her comfort zone.

She lay on her side for the longest time, squinting through the darkness at the vague, blurred outline of Starfire at the opposite side of the camp. The pony was asleep, but was getting about just as much rest as what Cananor was. He tossed and turned, and mumbled quietly under his breath, waving away his imaginary assailants. Whatever he was dreaming of, it was adherently clear that it was anything but pleasant. The poor guy seemed to be having quite the nightmare.

The mare snorted. ‘Let him have his nightmare,’ She thought, almost surprised by her own harshness. ‘He’s an idiot, anyway.’

She wasn’t entirely sure if she meant that. Sure, he’d wronged her, but she’d wronged him. They’d both wronged each other. There was no such thing as the perfect pony. After all, they were only equine.

“Uuugh!” Cananor gave a muffled, uncomfortable grunt and turned to lie on her back, her mane draped over the hollowed log that her head rested on. It was all very confused, and it was then that she really wished that Phoenix Flight was there to guide her, but he never came. Perhaps he was trying to make her more independent, and start sorting out her own dilemmas by herself. Or maybe, he’d stopped caring. There was the distinct possibility that the griffon didn’t actually exist; that he was a mere figment of her over-active imagination, a piece of her shattered consciousness that she conjured to aid her in her time of emotional turmoil and need, taking the form of a fictitious character that she spent her childhood with, and thus looked up to as a role model, the father that was always there for her. She knew the case was the latter, yet as hard as she tried, she couldn’t will him to appear, and it seemed as though Mr. Flight had abandoned her too.

Letting out a discontented and heavy, heartfelt sigh, Cananor turned to the sky. The moon was especially big tonight, and the stars twice as bright. She’d never paid them much mind or interest before, the moon and the stars. Very few ponies did. She had an inkling that maybe, just maybe, if they had, this whole unfortunate incident might have been avoided. Still though, that was in the past, and there was nothing anypony could do about it now. From now on, they’d likely be having a lot more time to appreciate the majesty of Luna’s night, the peace and silence and solitude that it ushered over the land. She was sure that, even with no sun and no daylight, life in Equestria would go on. Sure, things would be hectic for quite a while, and ponies would bring about a state of panic (herself included) but eventually things would settle down, and they would adapt. They would adjust. They would survive whatever their new, dictatorial queen would throw at them.

The very fact that the thoughts were crossing the lawyer’s mind were proof that she had no confidence in their quest. They’d fought hard for a noble cause and Celestia knows they had tried their best, but she had a sinking feeling that their best just wasn’t good enough. The longer that she thought about it, the more she considered just quitting before something unfortunate happened. The expedition had cost them all dearly; their possessions, their friendships and, if they foolishly continued onward, their lives.

It only dawned on her that the fire was out when the low growls began to become audible enough to reach her. She froze solid at once, like a statue, and lay perfectly still against the hard, wooden log. She cursed her foolishness; how had she not noticed? How could she be so caught up in her own personal turmoil to become so blind to that which was happening around her? She had a sinking feeling that this time, their lack of fire was going to cost them a little more than some rucksacks and foodstuffs.

The glowing yellow eyes peeped out from the gaps in the trees at the edge of the encampment, and she was sure that they were locked on both Starfire and herself. Timberwolves were extremely territorial creatures, and Cananor had a distraught feeling that they’d accidently pitched tent in their favourite hunting grounds. The disembodied growls bounced back and forth between pack members, whispering low, merciless orders in a language foreign to ponykind. Cananor tried to disguise his trembling, and prayed that the predators would think her deceased. They were, after all, hunters and not scavengers.

Cananor’s leg was shaking uncontrollably and he could be darned sure that they had seen the movement. Timberwolves have eyes like hawks and miss little. Slowly, cringing all the while, she lowered her left hoof and pressed it tightly against the shuddering limb. The shaking ceased, and the leg’s owner breathed a barely audible sigh of relief.

She saw one of the Timberwolves, likely the pack leader, edge forward into the clearing, shake the shadows from its back, and twitch its twiggy nose, sniffing hungrily at the silent air. It paused for a moment, and pulled a fairly humorously perplexed look, which was quite a feat for an entity made entirely of sticks to pull any sort of facial expression at all. Finally, it let out a low, dissatisfied grumble, and turned, fading back into the gloom. Then it, and its posse was gone.

Sometimes in life, there are incidents that occur at just the wrong time. It’s often unavoidable, or at least Cananor liked to think so, for such occurrences were frequent to her. She remembered vividly the day she had accidently set fire to his aunt’s mane, because she HAPPENED to open his bedroom door at the wrong time. Combusting Phoenixes are not to be trifled with, and she learnt the hard way, her hair scorched a permanent, radiant pink from the intense blast of energy. Grey mane and tail colouring was in constant supply, but what wasn’t was his pet, which his parents were less than hesitant to take from him. He still missed his pet Phoenix, even to this day.

Anyway, this was one of those sorts of situations. Starfire could have subconsciously chosen any moment to wake up screaming, in a cold sweat and eyes darting, but he just so happened, by either blind luck or cruel fate, to perform the aforementioned action, at the worst possible moment. To give the stallion credit where it is clearly due, his timing was truly impeccable. No sooner had the Timberwolves left, sorrowed and hungry, no sooner had Cananor allowed herself a somewhat small victory smile, happy to be alive, than Starfire bolted upright, face twisted in horror as though he’d just witnessed the most unimaginable of nightmarish fantasies. His mouth, quivering, opened wider than the mare had ever seen a pony’s mouth open before and he screamed. The ear splitting screech was panicked and animalistic and strangely unnaturally unequine, still caught in the limbo between dream and reality, and he seemed to be trying to form words, likely a cry for help, but his begs for aid tangled in his throat and all that came out was a dry, shrill yelp.

Whatever the student was trying to say, he didn’t get very far. Cananor was over as quick as greased lightning, hoof clamped over the still-screeching former unicorn’s mouth tightly, cringing all the while. Slowly, the screams died down as Starfire adjusted to the reality of their situation. Cananor didn’t say a single word. She didn’t need to. Her eyes said a thousand words, and painted a thousand pictures, all unpleasant. The mare slowly lifted her hoof, mouthed some intangible, obscure warning, and told him to hush. Starfire understood at once.

They lay there, huddled together, rudimentarily shielded from the horrible nasties that lay in the surrounding darkness. Neither spoke, for fear that their next words could be their last.

Cananor exhaled slowly, letting out but a little stale, tangy breath of skittish air at a snail’s pace. She knew that the wolves were surrounding them, forming a slowly closing circle of death around the campsite. She couldn’t see them, but golly, they were most defiantly there. She also knew that although they’d faced some fairly impossible odds in the sort something-or-other nights they’d been in the forest (the hours seemed to blend seamlessly into one big turgid mess and by now the lawyer had long since lost count) they’d limped away not too worse for the wear. But those close encounters could be chalked down to either strength in numbers, the impudence and stupidity of the creatures they had faced, or mere luck. And right now their merry band of adventurers had been reduced to a measly two, Timberwolves were anything but impudent or stupid, and she wasn’t feeling particularly lucky. As it played on her mind, she realised that this might be the last chance she had of actually taking Phoenix Flight’s advice, being the bigger stallion, apologising and setting things straight before her case was permanently closed.

She barely croaked out the first syllable before the first Timberwolf, tired of waiting, leapt from the shadows like a crazed demon and devoured Starfire in one swift movement.

At least, that’s what it looked like to Cananor, for the stallion disappeared in an instant as the two bodies met. But devoured ponies tend not to scream, and screaming was something Starfire was doing quite a lot of underneath the Timberwolf’s branchy torso. The sound of scraping wood filled the clearing as splintery jaws stretched wide, and Starfire could do nothing but stare up into the pointed, teeth like wooden stakes that were to rend and tear into his defenceless body.

Cananor ran forward.

Then the Timberwolf was nought but scattered sticks.

Content, Cananor was sure of three things; one, Starfire was untouched. Two, that Timberwolf was literally a pile of smouldering kindling, and three: she'd never destroyed something with a 'party popper' before, that is, if you didn't count those banners at her mark-mitzvah.

The teacher bolted to his hooves, looking as stunned as Cananor looked dazed. “Decent magic.” The student remarked dryly as he dusted himself off.

Cananor took that as a compliment, coming from an adapt magic user like Starfire. He managed small smile. “Thanks.”

The other Timberwolves, drawn out of the shadows by the foreign smell of burning wood, looked past them at their fallen comrade, and then back to the ones responsible. Each member of the pack let out a low, vengeful growl, eyes flashing lemon-yellow, and sap dribbling down their chins.

“Think you might have it in you to shoot off another one of those flashbangs?”

The attorney found that laughable. “Call those 'party poppers.' For special occasions. Birthdays, cute-ceaneras. Ramp the party up to 11 but I'm the first to have to take 5. I end up popper pooped.” The mere thought of mustering up another spell made her feel weak at the knees. She had no idea how Starfire did it, or at least, back when the fellow actually had a horn.

Starfire spat a twig from his mouth and bit his lip. “Looks like we’ll have to get our hooves dirty, then.”

Cananor nodded, but wasn’t in the mood for false comforts. The beasts closed in, and the discarded, scattered corpse of the formerly dead Timerwolf began to shake and levitate and pull itself together, and then it stood on four legs once more and shook itself awake, lightly singed but otherwise in perfect chomping order. She’d forgotten they could do that. “You do know we probably won’t get out of this one as well as our other fights, don’t you?”

Starfire sighed, and squinted. “I know. But I was thinking that we...”

“...May as well go out in style.” Cananor finished for him. It was true what they say: great minds think alike.

There were Timberwolves all over now. They communicated with in a series of sharp, hushed barks, likely running through some last minute details of their battle plan. They edged towards their prey in union, one paw forward, then another, and another.

As she watched her immanent doom approach, Cananor decided there was no time like the present. She took her crystal clear, ice blue eyes off of the Timberwolves and turned her attention to Starfire. “Listen, Starfire, before we... you know, I just wanted to say...”

“I’m sorry.” Starfire coolly interrupted.

Cananor was a little taken aback. There she was, about to make a heartfelt and sincere apology, but Starfire beat her to it by just a millisecond.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you, Cananor. And hurting you. For yelling I guess, too.” The stallion continued. “I didn’t mean anything I said earlier. You saved my life in the end, and for what it’s worth, you’ve proven yourself a better stallion than me, eyeliner and all.”

Blushing, Cananor smirked, suddenly oblivious to her advancing death. “I’m sorry too, for not being there when you needed me, and for saying all those nasty things to you. I was a little over-emotional, I think. It happens. Girl's gotta let it all out, sometimes, ya'know?”

Both ponies had made their peace with each other, and were happier for it. If they were to go, then they’d go as friends once again.

A flurry of tooth and claw dived at them from all directions.

Chapter 11

A flurry of tooth and claw dived at them from all directions.

Cananor sharply sucked in what may have been her last breath of air, gritted her teeth, balled her forelegs and was prepared to go down fighting against the world, brave and just to the end like a true stallion.

She didn’t even get a chance to swing before the first paw, splintering with branch-like claws, caught her on her temple, and she went down effortlessly like a sack of potatoes. She heard Starfire let out a low, pained grunt as she hit the sodden ground, but of him there was no sign betwixt the anarchic, savage orgy of violence that the Timberwolves acted out. Only his screams were heard above the vicious howling, and at once, Cananor feared the worst.

She collapsed against a drooping tree. Some last stand that was. She closed her eyes, lowered her head, and waited for the Timberwolves to finish her. She only hoped that they had enough decency to do it quickly. Desire to suffer, she had not.

Then everything stopped, and she was still far more alive than she had any right to be at that moment. She didn’t open her eyes, but she knew the Timberwolves were still there; she could feel their presence, their wispy breath breeze across her mane. And yet they didn’t attack, didn’t finish her off as she lay there, defenceless.

Why?

Not surprisingly, the unicorn peeled apart her heavy eyelids, demanding to know the nature of the holdup. Of course, the lack of death on her part wasn’t a complaint, and whatever was preventing a severe mauling falling upon her soft, squidgy body, she was thankful for it.

She spotted the figure at the same time she heard the quiet mumbling. It stood atop the fallen log, towering above the carnivores below it, and had all the presence of a king, tall and proud and not at all afraid. The pony, for that is what it looked like, wore a long, tattered brown cloak which was draped along his shoulders, and the hood obscured any features of his face, leaving only a shadowy black void from which glowed two luminous yellow ovals, as threatening and full of authority as those belonging to the Timberwolves themselves.

The mumbling was very low and quiet indeed, barely above a whisper, and Cananor struggled to make out any of the words. What little she could pick up was practically undecipherable, as it was spoken in a tongue foreign to her, that is, if it were part of any common language at all. The whispering belonged to the newcomer but was slightly detached, as though it came not only from the pony’s mouth, but from all around him, as though the very air itself spread his message for him.

Whatever strange incantations came from under that hood were having an even stranger effect on the wolves of timber. As though spellbound by black magic, they froze like statues, all eyes locked on the mysterious stranger, hanging on his every word. Cananor wasn’t sure whether the foreign look in their inanimate eyes was fascination, admiration, respect or fear. Perhaps it was a mix of them all. Slowly, murderous gazes turned to the ground, and stayed there, their heads bowed like those of a disobedient dog after a good telling off from its master. Cananor herself was rather fascinated by the hooded figure. He had such an aura of hugeness, and the way he commanded the attention of the wild animals was extraordinary. Never before had she seen another pony stare down a pack of Timberwolves so fearlessly, calm and controlled and cool as a cucumber.

Louder and louder the chanting became, the wolves that squandered below the figure’s godly domain swaying to and fro like beings entranced, until the stranger threw down a bracelet-adorned foreleg heavily upon the wooden log that he stood valiantly on like a heavenly pedestal. His bangles jangled as the hard hoof connected with a resounding thump, carried by the vast hollow emptiness of the dead tree. As he did so, he bellowed, “BEGONE, BEASTS!”

The Timberwolves obliged, not that Cananor bore witness to their exit. The pony on the log reached into the limitless confines of his identity concealing cloak and, as quick as a flash of lightning, threw what must have been a smoke capsule of sorts onto the grass below. It went off in an instant with a muffled pop, and out seeped a magical greenish mist from the expired cartridge. Cananor hacked out a cough and found herself blind amid the soupy gas.

When the mist cleared, dissipating away in all directions, the lawyer found the clearing devoid of any Timberwolves. They left no sign of their existence, pawmarks vanishing without a trace, as though the soil re-knit itself in the brief period of confusion. Her saviour, the cloaked figure, was no longer atop his log when her vision came back to her. He was steadily approaching the softly groaning body of Starfire, who to Cananor’s instant relief was still clutching to life rather admirably.

This relief was quickly replaced by unease when the figure stopped and turned to face her. Yellow orbs burned through the darkened hood, and Cananor felt a shiver run down her spine as their gazes met. How could he be sure that this newcomer was friend or foe? Yes, it was true that the stranger had just rather bravely saved them from a horrible demise, but she had no way of knowing whether the cloaked stallion did so to harm them all the more himself. There must have been a reason that the Timberwolves had reacted to him so. Could this be a classic case of, ‘Out of the frying pan and into the fire?’

The mare plucked up enough false courage to talk. “Who are you?” She gulped down her sheer terror as she stood as tall and defiant as the figure facing her. “Reveal yourself!”

‘Perhaps that sounded a tad ungrateful,’ Thought Cananor as those peculiar, disembodied eyes narrowed tightly, and caused her to shudder uncontrollably as they sized her up.

But the figure, after quite a few seconds of taking in her full furred form from head to hoof, did as Cananor requested. Slowly, the jewellery-covered leg lifted and began to cautiously and deliberately pull back at the hood. The shawl fell back and light smothered the stranger’s face, and Cananor’s eyes widened in surprise at who lay beyond the cloak.

For one, it was not a HE but a HER, nor was it even a pony. A strong, well toned zebra mare stood before the unicorn, white moonlight bouncing from her stack of golden neck rings. Heavy ornamental earrings, brazen and well worn, hung from her twitching ears. The shawl fell from her shoulders and crumpled to the grass below, and exposed her fur to the duo, her skin tattooed with the most marvellously hypnotic black stripes which cut through her grey-white coat, and complimented the intricate swirled design of her tribal stylised cutie mark. The zebra’s mane was cut into an untidy Mohawk, the hair shaved cleanly from either side of her scalp, alternating in segments from white to black and vice versa, much like her fur. It protruded like a tower over her sapphire blue ornate eyes, hard but with a hint of kindness, and deep and mysterious. Her lips parted, and she spoke.

“Is this some trick?

Have I gone blind?

Alas, not so!

More pony kind!”

Her voice was thickly accented with a dialect foreign to Equestria, but was dark and magical and dripping with wonder. The lawyer could tell straight away that she had travelled for many miles from a distant land, a different land, a dangerous land. She had done things and seen things that Cananor could not even begin to imagine, inconceivable things, witnessed brilliant and terrible things alike in her past and maybe, just maybe, in the future as well.

Her strange speech stunned Cananor for several moments. She’d never seen a zebra before in her life, since she rarely strayed outside of her homely, boring, predictable small town, but in the larger cities like Manehatton, Fillydelphia and Canterlot, the populace was much more culturally and racially diverse than mere ponies, and zebras were likely not all that uncommon.

Starfire the city slicker confirmed Cananor's suspicions. Unfazed by the unusual sight of the striped horse, he sat upright, winced, and spluttered, “Thanks,” something Cananor had clean forgotten to do. “We’d be goners if you hadn’t come along.”

The zebra turned to the struggling stallion.

“I came with haste,”

She replied with a warm smile.

“When your screams led me to this place.

I do not need your thanks or praise,

But we must leave this field where the cattle of death graze.”

That was certainly a funny way to say, ‘We should probably not stay in the hunting grounds of a pack of vicious Timberwolves,’ but Cananor decided to say nothing on the matter. She didn’t want to upset her newest saviour on a matter as trivial as her flowery language, least of all should she leave them and the Timberwolves return to finish the job.

“I’m up for that idea.” She instead spoke.

Starfire, as grateful as he was, was still clouded with doubt. Suspicion was evident in his calm and soothing tone. “I’m grateful for your help. But what are you doing out here?”

She smiled a tight lipped smile, and chuckled; a deep, throaty laugh.

“I could ask you that as well.

Tell me, can you stand?”

She leaned over the immobile pony and offered him her hoof. He hesitated for a brief moment but came to his senses and grasped it firmly. Powerful muscles rippled in her forelegs as she yanked him upright to his feet, and the stallion swallowed a swear as pain exploded through his gut. The zebra sensed his discomfort.

“It seems you hurt yourself as you fell,

From what I understand.”

Starfire nodded meekly and nearly toppled to one side. His stomach felt as though it were engulfed with a hellish flame, from where the Timberwolf’s scratchy claws had caught him and dug deep into his soft underbelly. His coat was tattered and ragged, and bore clawmarks like coats of arms. Clearly, the quick skirmish had left him battered and bruised, and fatigued him greatly.

The zebra continued. “I’m proficient in herbs and can heal you fine,

Come with me quick, we can’t waste time.”

And yet the duo made no attempt to move with her. She sighed. Ponies could be so suspicious sometimes.

“I can help you both, and make you well.”

The two ponies exchanged uneasy glances.

“Do the names Weatherstorm and Derkington ring a bell?”

This most certainly caught their attention.

“What?” They cried in union, hobbling over to her as fast as their broken bodies would allow. “You know where they are?”

The zebra snatched her shawl up from the tramped grass, and threw the brown sack back over her perplexing form, her beautifully stitched designer dress of a fur coat disappearing under the rugged patchwork of the rag.

“Follow me and I’ll lead you there,

I’ll explain along the way.

We don’t have too much time to spare,

So stick close, and do not go astray.”

She waited no further for any responses. With supreme skill and flexibility, she daftly wheeled herself around and catapulted over the idle log, and into the bushes beyond, from whence she must have came. The shrubbery shivered as she entered them, and her tail vanished therein.

Cananor and Starfire said nothing, but they could tell that they were on the same wavelength. Was this mystifying lady to be trusted? How did she know of their missing friends? Should they actually follow her?

They knew they had little choice either way. In bad shape, lost, hungry and defenceless, this zebra was their best chance of survival. Whether she would ultimately turn out to be a friend or foe remained to be seen, but for now, they would abide by her side. If she wanted them to follow her then by Celestia, follow her they would. They were far too hungry and tired and sore and miserable to think of the possibility of traps.

Starfire squeezed through the bushes after her, and the shrubbery barely reacted, for he had not the atmosphere and magnificence of the mare. Cananor paused before she too waltzed through; she was suddenly overcome with a feeling of Déjà-Vu. Craning her slender head backwards, she saw, to utter dismay, hundreds upon hundreds of luminous yellow eyes.

They began to exhume flumes of wispy golden smoke, wafting out from the bushes and trees and wherever else they dwelled, accompanied by several low, droning growls. A fierce wind blew through the encampment at that very moment, and the extinguished campfire scattered as though to emphasise the situation.

Cananor didn’t think twice before diving headfirst into the deepest plane of the unknown world after that.

As it turns out, the zebra, for some reason or another, explained little as they paved their way through the wilderness, the exotic one taking her place at the front of the party and peeling back the darkness of their path, but still managed to keep them in the dark as to who she really was, and how she knew their friends.

She allowed them a name, however. Zecora, she introduced herself as. No second name was given, nor was it really necessary, that is, if she held one at all. Apparently, she had recently moved to Equestria from her homeland. Why she made this obscure decision to move to the middle of a barren, hostile forest would remain a mystery, for when Cananor asked her of it, the zebra’s lips pressed shut tightly and her face shifted to what was either anger of sorrow, and so she decided not to press the matter further. Whatever the case was, it was nether her, nor Starfire’s, business, and Cananor should respect her privacy. And so, the rest of the journey was made in relate silence, Zecora only communicating with her followers to warn them of the occasional pitfall, or predator lurking in the shadowy undergrowth.

Luckily, any possible confrontations were avoided, and Cananor felt relieved that she had the zebra as a guide. She may have only recently taken up residence in the forest, but Zecora was certainly an observant sort, and any danger was quickly snuffed out by her seemingly vast knowledge of the local area. She was a real life Daring Do, of sorts. Sure, she may not have looked like an adventurer, but she had an explorer’s heart and soul; boldly treading where no pony had tread before. Had it not been for her, Cananor was sure that they would have perished countless times by now.

In a way, Starfire was glad of the prolonged silence. It allowed him to soak in the forest in its entirety. Too many times on his adventure, he’d been so caught up on other matters and found himself ignoring the world around him He vowed to rectify that. The range of animal life was stunning, and beautiful in its own, deadly way, as was the flora. Vibrant neon blues and greens and purples attacked his senses, and he smelled in the distance the fragrance of sweet honey and pungent roses, and for the first time since his meditation session, he felt at ease. As a biologist, it interested him greatly. The call of some unknown bird gently fluttered down from the fern green ceiling, and wild grey back squirrels hugged the trees which stood tall and easy and swept him forward with their gentle wooden smiles. Starfire returned the smile. The forest sure had its moments of being deceptively serene.

“Look alive

We have arrived.”

Arrived, they had. The thin, veiled woodland path reached its end, and successfully ferried its occupants to their destination. The trees merged together and bunched tightly alongside the next, like brethren, their long and twisting roots sealing off the swampy marshlands which had slowly been consuming the forest, one patch of grass at a time. The bubble and pop of the invading territories could be heard amongst the perpetual chirping of the wildlife, and the swish of the low growing forest ferns, which sprung from between the gaps in the mounds of boulders, nestled to the side of the ramshackle homestead.

Starfire hadn’t been expecting a mansion, but he was certainly surprised when he saw the ‘hut,’ that is, if it could be labelled so. Zecora lived not in a hut or a house or even a shed, but something far more simplistic yet so much more complex. She had rather skilfully utilised one of the many recourses at her disposal, in this case the over abundance of trees, to not build a house but transform into a residence. The city slicker could see a pattern emerging here; ponies out in the countryside seemed to have a fascinating fixation with living inside of trees.

Starfire made a quick mental note of the home’s features. Of course, he took a scientific perspective. A doorway had been cut through the trunk, and a grainy wooden door filled the gap. ‘Good,’ thought the student, ‘For opening and for closing, and for passing through to enter the house.’ Two oval holes, both varying in size, acted as windows, and a warming yellow light spilled out from within. ‘Windows. Very useful to see out of.’ His studious eyes were drawn, as though by voodoo magic, to the empty bottles and elixairs that hung around the thick branches of the tree-house, making the most delicate little melody as they blew like windchimes in the breeze, playing out their ballad of butterflies. ‘Decorations,’ Starfire nodded. ‘Good for... looking pretty.’

“Please, my friends,

Please do come inside,”

Zecora offered warmly, nudging open the door and standing aside.

“I haven’t much as of yet,

But you are welcome in this abode of mine.”

Cananor whispered a word of thanks, her voice dropping to below the squeak of a terrified field mouse, almost expecting the hideous four headed hydra to come crashing from the surrounding swampy pools which made up Zecora’s back garden. Hurriedly, he zipped inside.

Starfire, being the gentlecolt he was, stepped back and allowed the owner of the house to pass through before him. Ladies first, his mother and father had taught him. He gave one cautionary glace over to the homeowner’s acquired taste in garden furniture, and then pulled his hooves, heavy as lead, through the doorway, and swung the equally heavy wooden door shut.

Both visitors were taken aback by the grandeur, scale and utter bizarreness of the zebra’s residence. It was, in truth, much smaller on the inside than the outside, but Starfire would dare not call it small. ‘Homely’, he would dub the building, were it not for the overall emptiness of the single room. When Zecora had stated that she had recently moved from her homeland to the Everfree Forest, she certainly wasn't lying. Cardboard boxes sat in tidy bundles against the caveish walls, marked with mystery, for whilst they had what appeared to be letters scrawled upon them, they formed no words that neither Cananor nor Starfire himself spoke, a language foreign to them both. There was one box engraved with a word that he could hazard a guess to the translation of, however; it must have read, ‘This way up’ or something to that effect, for it was accompanied by a bold, black arrow. Naturally, this made it fairly easy for the stallion to notice that the box was upside down. And, of course, there was a certain brown coated, ginger maned stallion perched atop the box. His head swivelled around like that of an owl’s when he heard the door click.

What came next was a confusing blur of brown and orange and unnatural movement, and then the Pegasus was up from his makeshift stool and his forelegs were wrapped lovingly around the two guests. They were blushing from either the awkwardness of the reunion or from their constricted breathing due to the stallion’s tight squeeze, drawing them into his torso with little effort and holding them hostage in his prison of kindness.

“Starfire, Cananor, my friends!” Beamed a rather elated Derkington Robert-Alexander Bellray, tightening the muscles in his forelegs and further squeezing his friends until the pips seemed fit to squeak. Starfire tried to gasp out a response, but Cananor beat him to it.

“It’s good...” She grunted, writhing free of those deceptively capable hooves, “To see you as well, Derky.” The mare gave a slight stumble backwards upon escaping the friendliest grip of death known to ponykind, and she saw what Derky had been leaning over, tending to so intently.

The reclined figure of Weatherstorm stared back at her, wearing a half smile. His mane was matted, likely with sweat, and his fringe hung low over his eyes. It was a rather queer thought, but Cananor realised that for as long as she’d known him, she’d never seen the journalist without a gel product keeping his hair afloat. Maybe he was finally letting his hair down, as it were.

It took groggy eyes a good few seconds to find the newcomers, heavy eyelids concealing the most of the bloodshot blue marbles. Starfire, sweat trickling down his crimson cheeks, offered Derky a warm, if rushed, greeting and tore politely away from his hug. He too stopped dead when he spied Weatherstorm, lying rather comfortably atop a dark couch, crafted from mysterious and foreign plant life, the likes of which the student had not seen. When his rolling eyes rolled over the two silent ponies, standing like statues in the doorway, they widened, but his half smile did not fade, nor did it grow into anything more fantastic.

There was a brief period of uncomfortable silence. Weatherstorm had wronged Starfire. Derky had wronged Starfire. Starfire had wronged Cananor. Cananor had wronged Starfire. They’d all acted a little out of sorts, and the whole sordid incident was little more than one big confused mess. After minutes of uncomfortable shuffling, Weatherstorm began to sit up, winced inaudibly and wrinkled his muzzle, before lying back down again.

“Well, it’s certainly nice to see you chaps too.” He finally broke the ice in the only way he knew how; polite sarcasm. “Starfire,” He gave a slight nod at the stallion.

“Weatherstorm.” Starfire returned the gesture, still feeling a little conscious and troubled over the events of their last encounter, and hoped that time had healed the wounds they had all helped to create.

“Canan...” He stopped, and his smile instantly grew larger until it consumed his features. “Forgive me, for as you know, my eyesight is nothing short of abysmal without my spectacles, but did you do something with your hair?”

“What now?” Cananor’s hoof instinctively shot through her hair. Her face fell at once. And to think she’d almost forgotten. She remained quiet for a short time, struggling to find the right words, least she be mocked and laughed at, or called crazy or unnatural of freakish. At last, she just said it as it was. “Oh, yeah, I’m a mare, would you believe it.”

“And a very pretty one at that. Alas, I believed that to be of common knowledge.” He smirked, and rubbed at the pristine white bandage that covered the most of his abdomen, and obscured his right wing, with an equally bandage adorned hoof. Clearly, he’d gotten himself into a bit of a scrap, and he’d lost.

“No, really.” Cananor’s features hardened and she clenched her teeth. “This isn’t a joke.”

“It certainly isn’t. Your father doesn’t find it the least bit funny. I tease, naturally. All in good fun.” He reached his other hoof out and groped blindly along the top of a nearby box. His hoof brushed past an ornate mug filled to the brim with a frothing liquid, which would have toppled and smashed upon the hard wooden floor had it not been for Derky, who swooped past and caught the thing mere seconds before Zecora was down one glass. Derky breathed a sigh of relief and gently passed the immobile Pegasus the cup. “Many thanks,” the journalist acknowledged his companion’s efforts and downed the contents in a single chug. When he pulled the glass away from his mouth, foam clung to his muzzle like a beard.

“I’m not kidding,” Cananor repeated. “I don’t know how, or why, but I’m a mare.” The anger in her voice rose, and the sound of her teeth grinding was there for all ears to behold with splendour.

“Oh, come now.” Weatherstorm snapped his hoof, and Derky immediately brought him a handkerchief, embroidered with the letter, ‘Z’. Starfire didn’t need to put two and two together to realise that the handkerchief did not belong to him. Weatherstorm wiped the excess froth from his mouth, and the striking resemblance between he and a rabid animal faded altogether. “What nonsense this is. Mare, indeed.”

“He,” Starfire quickly corrected himself. “SHE isn’t joking around, Weatherstorm.”

Weatherstorm had to stop himself passing remark of, ‘And why should I believe anything you say?’ at the last possible moment before it came blurting from his mouth like a spew of ill-advised, cutting, old-wound-opening vomit. He disguised his efforts with a hacking cough, then settled down, and stretched his mummified limbs out behind him. Derky scurried over like a little maid or a nurse, and made sure he was lying comfortably, dampening a white cloth and laying it upon his glistening forehead. The journalist cleared his throat, and continued. “Well then, that certainly is odd. Mind filling me in on what happened?”

“We fell off a cliff and when I woke up it was gone.” Called Cananor begrudgingly. It was obviously a sore topic of conversation, and his pride hurt as much as his aching body.

Raising an eyebrow, Weatherstorm queried, “What was gone, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“MY BEAUTIFUL MANE!” The mare yelped back, water forming at the sides of her moist eyes. She adjusted the pitch of her voice with a slow exhale. “My dignity, my father’s respect, my self confidence... what didn’t I lose?”

“And my horn, too,” Chipped in Starfire. He adjusted his scraggly mane, wafting away his long fringe with a steady hoof. Alas, the unicorn was no unicorn, and the forehead was barren of any horn. Weatherstorm needed no glasses to spot as such.

“Oh, my,” He gasped, suddenly turning rather pale. Derky dropped the thermometer he had been hovering over Weatherstorm’s now fully agape mouth in shock. It clattered to the floor, and a puddle of greyish mercury expanded at the bottom of the sofa, and lapped noisily at the supporting legs. “That was quite the shock. It may take me quite a while to recover from such a ghastly sight. Derky, bring me another cider, will you, so I may forget that gristly image?”

Derky obliged, and carefully fed the injured stallion his beverage like a mother feeding a foal its bottle. The removal worker’s eyes couldn’t help but wander back to his friends; Cananor with her soft, willowing mane and curved, sleek form, and Starfire with his rounded forehead, as smooth as a young colt’s bottom. They were the same ponies that he had remembered, just tweaked a little. Against his better judgement, he smiled. “It’s freaky, but it’s pretty cool.”

Nopony was prepared for ‘Stormy’s reaction. At first, he seemed to choke on the frothing liquid that Derky was gently feeding pouring down his throat, and with a horrified expression, Derky removed the mug from the gasping stallion’s mouth, which was a bad idea. The very moment the rim of the glass was removed from quivering blue lips, a steady stream of foamy white, semi-brown, gingery spittle gushed forth like a waterfall, narrowly missing the onlookers by millimetres.

“Derky!” He croaked, cider dribbling down his chin. “It isn’t ‘cool.’ How rude.” He glanced down at the liquid slowly plopping off the couch and onto the floor, where it blended and mingled with the mercury into one unsightly mess. “As am I, it seems. My, my, here not only a day and already I’ve made a complete mess of our host’s house. I do apologise, Miss Zecora!” He called into the back room, where the zebra hoisted herself up from rummaging deep within a mountain of boxes and, spotting the aforementioned mess, sighed. Derky, with nary a complaint, scrunched up a roll of absorbent kitchen roll and began to scrub furiously at the wet patches, making sure to avoid any contact with the mercury, but draped another piece atop the liquid metal and hope that it absorb.

“As I was saying,” Weatherstorm continued, a little embarrassed of his extravagantly over the top reaction, “It’s not ‘cool’ and, in the words of Starfire, certainly no joke.”

“Ah, but it is, oh pony folk.”

All heads turned to the zebra. She still busied herself with her unpacking, but when she felt the eyes trained in her direction, she stopped, swivelled and leaned confidently against the cardboard stack, mouth twisted into a scented smile. She looked confident, knowing, superior.

“The mare and earth pony reek of poison joke.”

Starfire’s eyes widened, and despite his exhaustion and general weariness, he snapped to attention at the mention of this ‘poison joke.’ “Did you just say poison?” He gulped, turning a lot paler than he already was.

“And how dare you say I reek,” chirped in a pouting Cananor. “It’s just my natural musk. Also, we’ve been in the forest for at least four days by now.”

“Nights.”

“That wasn’t funny then, and it isn’t now.”

“Sorry.”

“What, pray tell, do I reek of?”

“Sweat and cider.”

“Do you think, perchance, that Miss Rarity likes the smell of sweat and cider?”

“...No.”

“Please, PLEASE!” Zecora rose her voice significantly to be heard above the ruckus, and the room settled in a heartbeat. She waited until all attention was focused on her.

“Poison Joke is but a plant

Its name, I thought you knew.

But tell me, strangers, as of late

Have you contacted a flower of blue?”

Cananor scrunched her nose. “We’ve been in contact with many blue flowers. 24/7 blue plants on up in here.”

The zebra nodded mater-of-factly, sauntered from the small room-cupboard, swaying her hypnotically pattered hips as she did so, and placed a hoof on the mare’s shoulder. She jumped, just a little, upon contact, as a rush of electric tingled along the back of her neck, and nearly made her mane stand on end. Zecora was certainly different, all right.

“The plant in question is unique, you see.

Widely regarded for its magical energies.”

And then the memories came flooding back to Starfire. The clearing, the serenity, the birds and the bees and the humming. Blue flowers. So powerful, intense. Blue flowers. Meditation. Poison?

“Oh, those blue flowers.” Cananor recollected, pulling the memory through the groggy mists of time. “I pressed quite a number of them with my behind.”

Sweat dribbled down the student’s teacher's forehead uncontrollably. His long, golden locks sucked up the moisture in a fashion akin to a sponge, or a mop, to better suit the context. He stumbled over his lolling tongue. “P-poison? So we’re sick? Is there a cure?”

Starfire wasn’t a prideful pony, at least, not since he was a foal. He could take a joke at his expense, or at least that’s what he believed, but their current situation was not at all humorous, not at all. So when the tattooed equine threw back her head and laughed, a deep, booming witch’s cackle, it took everything in the former unicorn’s power to stop him cantering over, there and then, and wiping that smile off her face.

“No, you misunderstand. A simple mistake.

You’ve no need to worry, I hope.

It’s nothing but a harmless jape,

As the name suggests, a joke.”

Again, she was met with three very blank stares.

Derky felt a twinge of embarrassment, and sighed heavily, allowing his shoulders to visibly droop. His friends could be so dim sometimes. He arose from his busy task, climbing to his hocks like an anointed knight... ‘Arise, Sir Derkington of Bellray...’

“Zecora knows all about plants and things. She says it’s the plant’s defense mechanism.” He started, without looking up. “I remember hearing about them once: coming into contact with the flowers results in some pretty funky side effects, kinda like a practical joke on the victim. Each joke is suited to the pony it effects, and I don't think any two ponies have had the same symptoms, but then again, due to like, how rare they are and stuff, there’s basically no records of poison joke sickness anyway... or whatever. With Cananor and Starfire, the flower has made the jokes special, just for you, ya'know? Like, Starfire, you're really proud of your magic, and as such, it makes your horn go bye-bye. In Cananor’s case...”

The mare loudly cleared her throat. It was obvious she wanted the conversation to go no further. “Thank you, Derky. That’s enough.” Cue crimson cheeks and bashful, avoiding eyes.

The Pegasus went back to mopping up the spillage. “It’s really just a funky practical joke.”

Starfire’s mouth hung open like a stable door, unaware of the silvery saliva trail which dangled from his lower lip. He was gobsmacked and bamboozled and confudled and flabbergasted and every manner of other funny sounding words, all amounting to his surprise and bewilderment. Not only was that the longest he had heard the Pegasus talk to date, but how did this stallion, this blue-collared simpleton, become so educated on the subject? How did he know things that Starfire, a biologist, a university educated scholar, did not? He wanted answers, but Weatherstorm beat him to it.

“Hold your horses, old sport” chimed Weatherstorm, taking another steady gulp from his mug. His face turned sour, and he blinked away the dizziness with a twitch. “I thought you, and I quote your very own words, ‘didn’t get flowers.’”

“I took a night class once,” was the only reply. “I was bored. Would you like another drink?”

“That would be lovely, thank you. The pain hasn’t quite faded yet.”

“Derkington is right, o Starfire,” Said Zecora to the aforementioned stallion.

“‘Tis a harmless joke, no need to worry.

Of course, a cure to combat the effects does exist,

But I have not the ingredients; to find them, we must hurry.”

Cananor leaned sceptically against the nearest wall, crossing her hooves. She anticipated what she knew was to come next. “What do you mean?”

The zebra nodded to Derky and he nodded back in the like, as though communicating through some secret code. The bookshelf that hung above the black Weatherstorm-adorned sofa-bed was one of the few pieces of furniture that had been unpacked, and atop it sat a row of musty tomes, a stark contrast to the relative newness of the place. The caramel Pegasus fluttered gently as a breeze to the shelf and, without thinking, slid the third book across out from its new home; a blur of green as it gruffly passed hooves from Derky to Zecora. The mare caught it daftly in midair, and with nary a second motion, the book was open. A flume of dust erupted from the book like a forbidding spirit, and wisped away through the open window as the covers peeled apart.

‘Supernaturals.’ Starfire noted the title of the book. It wasn’t a tome he had read, nor one he was likely to have an interest in. He had a scientific mind, did Starfire: he read of realities and probabilities and hard, cold, calculated facts and equations. Such a book would likely focus on ghosts and goblins and zombies, and he was far too adult to believe such nonsense. However, it beggared the question: Zecora did not seem the sort to keep such a book for a spot of light reading, so why was she in possession of a copy? And of what relevance was it now?

She didn’t even have to flick through the hardback to find the page she desired; it had opened obediently and effortlessly to the correct topic, as though black magic was at play. The page was then shoved into Cananor’s unsuspecting face.

“These ingredients must be sourced,

Before a potion can be brewed.”

Cananor took a list of ingredients that made up this ‘Poison Joke cure,’ accompanied by a slew of illustrations that covered the dog-eared pages. “Let’s see...” She skimmed down the list, mumbling aloud every ingredient. “Most of these aren’t really that hard to find. The shops in Ponyville sell all kinds of herbs and spices.”

“Whilst I have only just arrived,

I know that to be true.

However, I have yet to visit your peaceful town,

I have so much unpacking to do.”

Starfire knew that, when she did get the time to visit the quaint little hamlet off in the distance yonder, the residents of Ponyville would make her feel right at home. They were so hospitable and friendly, Ponyville folk. Celestia knows they’d made an effort to make him feel comfortable.

Derky chimed in again. “Zecora, we could go into town and collect the items you need, if you want.”

Weatherstorm was quick to correct the Pegasus. “Derky, do you happen to have the time?” He queried.

“Nope!” He smiled. “But it’s dark outside, so I’m guessing it’s late at night.”

“Indeed.” Replied Weatherstorm. “It has been for quite some time, hasn’t it?”

“Yep.”

“And do you know when the shops close, Derky?”

Derky, again, was quick to reply. “Why, they close at n...” Realisation dawned. “They close at night.”

“Now, couple that with the fact that most of the town thinks that this is the end of Equestria, and are probably huddled in their homes with their families. What is the likelihood of any shops being open for business?”

Derky thought for a moment. “Seven?” Asked he, cautiously.

“No, but you’re close.” Cooed the journalist. “Unless we’re willing to not only break and enter somepony else’s property, but steal their merchandise as well, in the dead of night no less...”

“That is not an option, I see,

Which brings me to plan B,”

Agreed the zebra, closing the book with an echoing thud.

“These forests can provide what we require,

From the Sloberry seed to bottled dragon fire.”

Cananor groaned and slunk further into her slouched position. “Dragon fire? Really? We all know how stubborn and reckless dragons can be. They’ll put up quite a fight.”

Zecora ignored her gripe and scooped a thin, glass vial from one of her seemingly bottomless boxes. A cork was jammed tightly into the rim. She followed suit with a small coinpurse, stitched from some patchwork cloth, and bound by a pull-cord.

“These will keep our desirables secure,

Our dragon fire fresh,

And our Sloberry pure.”

“I mean,” the attorney continued, “I don’t even know where we’ll find a dragon in these woods. This ain't the big city. You don't just come across dragons strolling the sidewalk in Ponyville.”

Starfire placed a guiding hoof on Cananor’s sleek shoulder. He ushered her to the window, and they both peered out into the night. “See that big range of mountains in the distance?” He asked.

“I’d be blind to not see them.”

“Well then, there be dragons. It’s called ‘Dragon’s keep’ for a reason.”

Sure enough, if she looked hard enough, the mare could spot the beasts, far off into the distance but recognisable, circling the tip and soaring through the clouds like, deadly, fire-breathing birds, with sharp teeth and spiked tails.

“I’m not going up there.” Cananor huffed and threw her forelegs across her chest in defiance. "Never met a dragon and don't plan on it, neither."

“If you wish to return to your usual self,

It is YOUR assistance I seek.

This task does require unicorn magic.

I trust you do not feel too weak?”

“Listen stripes,” Cananor pouted, wiggling a hoof in her face, obviously forgetting her place. “I appreciate you letting us into your home and all, and saving our flanks from those Timberwolves, and... ahem, point is,” abridged the mare, “You can’t expect us to just go out there again, tired and hungry, and go up against dragons. It's not even a joke. It’s just insanity.”

“Hear, hear,” agreed Weatherstorm as he spilled his mug of golden cider across his lap. Making a face, he stifled a swear.

Insanity was Zecora’s middle name, or it may as well have been, for the zebra was defiant in her decision.

“Starfire will be able to help you,” Cananor replied when Zecora insisted, a little ungratefully. “He’s far better at magic than I’ll ever be.”

“I realise...”

“Nah.” Cananor cut off the mysterious mare. She knew she was acting like a mule, but darnit, she was past caring. She was tired and sore and hadn’t eaten in days, and in no mood to get burnt alive by dragonfire.

Her eyes were suddenly transfixed to the floor when she saw Zecora’s face turn dark, and at that moment, she felt as though she would be transformed into some vile and repulsive creature, like a worm or a newt. Instead, Zecora went easy on her bashful soul, lending her ears but a stern warning.

“I would ask that you weren’t so curt

I ask this job of you as you are not hurt.”

That much was true. Whilst Cananor was fatigued, she bore no damage, but Starfire was in a bad way, and was evident to all. The wounds left by the Timberwolf skirmish had cut deep, and the stallion even found breathing a laboured effort, never mind fighting off a squadron of fire breathing, gold hoarding psychopaths with wings. He was hungrily gulping down air like each inhale was to be his last and, even if he tried his best to disguise it, he was in rather intense pain; the witch-doctor could read his face like an open book. Four unsteady legs wobbled and only the pain in the pit of his stomach could keep him from falling to slumber there and then, his exhaustion winning this ongoing battle of endurance.

When he felt all eyes upon him, his flitted back open. “Huh!” Coughed the teacher, snapping away the drowsiness that held him so comfortably. “Power nap. Just a power nap.” He tried his best to hold back the inevitable yawn but it slipped out, and the pain in his gut only intensified.

He dearly wanted to go. He did. WILD Dragons were one of many creatures that he would sorely like to see. Living in Fillydelphia for much of his life, he was no stranger to the winged reptilians, having passed by the Dragon Town district every day as a shortcut to his old school. Half the customers in his father's cafe, as renowned as it was, were dragonkind. They were a friendly sort, full of stories and songs and energy, but they were too... NORMAL. Now, not even the city dragons knew much of the wild migrating dragons when he pressed them, never choosing to dwell on the subject for long, as though there was a flicker of embarrassment towards their uncivilized brethren.

For too long he’d read precious little about them in books, and stared intently at the pictures, and listen to the ballads, the myths, the legends, and the cold, hard (or rather, flaming hot) truths. But Starfire liked, if nothing else, a little fieldwork. So far in this ‘expedition’, though he had nearly wiped-out in several messy instances, he could not help but treat the outing like one big research study. He’d learnt so much about new life, strange plants, other cultures. He’d made friends, lost friends, and found a morsel out about what was possibly, to him, the most complex being of all: himself. He couldn’t allow himself to miss this opportunity, nay, he WOULDN’T allow himself to miss this opportunity. With his familiarity of how half of their society lives, he could bring something new to the table, perhaps make successful contact with wild, migrating dragons at long last, a once in a lifetime chance to learn and grow and discover something worthwhile, to make a name for himself in the scholarly field. It was too valuable, too great. Sure, he ached like heck, his eyes refused to stay open for longer than a few seconds and he felt so weak that he couldn’t for the life of him have taken another step but gosh darn it, he was going with them. He’d drag himself if need be, because sometimes in life, you have to be just a tiny bit stubborn.

He opened his mouth to voice his strong opinion.

“No.” Zecora butt in coolly and quickly before a single syllable managed to manoeuvre its way out of his cake hole. He clamped his jaws shut tightly. She was a firm mistress, Zecora; he had no doubt in his mind that she was likely stronger than all four stallions in the room combined, and then some, and he certainly did not want to disobey her. He half sat, half collapsed onto the edge of the couch, and let out as much of a disappointed sigh as his broken body would allow.

Attention returned to Cananor. It looked like her fate was sealed. She was about to pick up her protest but stopped when she saw what appeared to be, for the briefest moment, the silhouette of a dark, shadowy figure, larger than life and suspiciously Griffon-shaped, flash by the back room. She also could have sworn that the figure, elusive as it was, drew up one of its limbs to its blackish blob of a face and curled it into what could only be a fist. The second shadowy tendril, likely the other arm, wrapped itself around said fist menacingly, and Cananor didn’t have to be a complete genius to deduce the message of the gesture. It was a little heart warming to see Phoenix was still keeping tabs on her. She still needed a little shove in the right direction. “Fine,” she grumbled reluctantly, sinking deeper into her cardboard sanctuary. “But if I get burned to a crisp out here, I’m gonna haunt you for the rest of your days and make your house stink of kindling. Good luck getting THAT smell out.”

Zecora was mature enough to ignore the childish threat.

“We may also need an eye in the sky,” Said she.

“For that, a stallion that can fly.”

Weatherstorm coughed up his cider once again. “Apologies.” Then he choked on his own manners. “As you can see,” he explained after his coughing fit died away, his voice suddenly horse and raspy, “I’m dreadfully ill, as you can tell.” His face then wore such an expression of pain that it put all those whom had ever suffered to shame. He groped meekly at his side and trailed his hoof along the fields of snowy white bandages that caressed his torso and wing. What a poor dear. How feeble and distraught he looked, and in no way did he appear well enough to move a muscle, nor collect Sloberries or chase down dragons for their breath. “I can’t move my wing, I’m afraid, so flying is out of the question. And I... I....” He stopped, his voice no longer audible, and perched his chapped lips just-so, that he bore more resemblance to one with trapped wind than somepony in dire need of medical attention. Derky, sympathetic as ever, fluttered over to where he lay and fluffed his pillow gently before slipping it back under his matted mane.

The zebra rolled her eyes and sighed.

“I’ll go,” Derkington announced, unsurprisingly. He sounded particularly thrilled by the prospect of meeting a real life dragon, face to face. “I’ve got wings, and such. Only... who’ll look after Weatherstorm when I’m gone?”

“I will,” replied Starfire. “But he can take care of himself, honestly.” There was a hint of malice there, directed at the blue coated stallion. He still wasn’t sure whether previous words had been forgiven or not.

“He’s right, Derky.” Whispered Weatherstorm with a delicate cough. “I... I can take care...” A laboured breath was held for several seconds, then released with a short convulsion of silent pain. “...Of myself.”

Derky screwed up his face and furrowed his brow. “Are you sure you’ll be okay while I’m gone?”

The Pegasus mouthed the word "yes" but no sound came from within. A blind, shaking hoof lifted with a mute grunt of effort and reached for the half-full mug that sat atop the nearby round table. This time the mug really did topple and smash, and Weatherstorm stiffened with a jolt, blushing alizarin red. “Go...” he whispered. “Zecora needs you... Equestria... needs... you... GUH!” He threw his head back down in a dramatic fashion that befit stage performance and his eyes snapped shut.

Zecora bundled her makeshift party to the door, one concerned of her own safety and the other concerned over the health of a perfectly capable Pegasus.

“Starfire, would you kindly mind Weatherstorm?

His wing is sprained, and it may be some time before he is airborne.”

The trainee gave the zebra his consent, but asked in a hushed whisper, as Weatherstorm took another fresh mug of frothing liquid to his mouth, “What’s with all the apple cider?”

“When he came to me, pale of colour and tattered of mane,

I could tell at once he was in some pain.

I’m afraid to say I had no anaesthetic,

So apple cider did the trick,” came her murmur of a reply.

Starfire saw the sense in that, but something else troubled him greatly, especially if he were to care for the fellow in their absence. “Don’t you think he’s drank more than enough by now?” He saw, in the corner of his peripheral vision, the stallion reach for yet another brimming mug, drawn from a seemingly endless supply. The last thing Starfire wanted to do was wipe up the vomit of a drunk.

Zecora couldn’t hold in her laughter.

“Worry not, for he won’t grow sick.

Between you and me, that cider is non-alcoholic.” She conveyed the message as quiet as a mouse.

Of course. The placebo effect.

Starfire gave the group a friendly wave of goodbye as they passed through the door, one by one, Zecora leading the way. “Good luck!” He called as her mysterious stripes merged back into the darkness of the outside world, the dark world.

Weatherstorm too saw them off with as much of a smile and a wave as he could manage in his current condition. “Farewell, Derky,” he announced, the triumph and vigour returning in his throaty voice as he saw them disappear into the night, “I wish you good fortune on your quest. Au revoir, mon ami! Au revoir!”

Derky was a hard character to read. His face usually bore no expression, nor emotion, nor any hint of how he felt deep down, but as he twisted his head around, standing half in, half out of the doorway, his mouth and brow were so oddly bent that he could be in nothing short of inner turmoil. He wanted to see dragons, but perhaps Weatherstorm’s health was more important? Weatherstorm gave him another wave, “Do come back in one piece, and uncooked!” and then Derky too faded to darkness and dissolved out of view.

Cananor was the last to leave, reluctant as she was. She envied Starfire . Starfire envied her. Weatherstorm envied nopony at that particular moment. The mare stopped and her blood turned cold when she heard,

“And auf wiedersehen to you too, Candy.”

The words of farewell were directed to herself, of that Cananor was sure. Who else could he possibly be talking to? Certainly not Starfire. She turned, slowly, to face the offender.

“What did you say?”

“I said, ‘Auf wiedersehen.’ It’s Germane for ‘good bye,’” Was Weatherstorm’s smarmy response.

“I know that. What did you call me?”

“Oh, that?” The Pegasus took a long, loud gulp from the mug, gripped tightly in his hoof. How better he seemed already... “I believe I called you ‘Candy.’ It just doesn’t seem appropriate to refer to you as Cananor in your... current state. A mare’s name is more fitting, for the time being, that is.”

“DON’T YOU EVEN THINK,” Cananor zipped over and tried to slap the glass from his mouth. “OF CALLING ME THAT!”

“My, my, how unladylike. Do mind your temper, Candy. I’m ill, and fragile; You might break me with your delicate touch.”

“Don’t call me Candy!” cried Candy in desperation. “It sounds horrible!”

“Candy, Candy, Candy. With an ‘i’ at the end.”

“Don’t you dare!” Warned Candi with an ‘i’ at the end.

“And an adorable little love heart to act as the tittle above the ‘i’. How cute.” Weatherstorm’s smile then was more evil and malicious than anything they had collectively seen in the forest thus far.

“You sicko.” Candi with a love heart above the ‘i’ retched. “Can you possibly belittle me further?”

“But of course!” The writer seemed to take great delight in the challenge. “There is so much I can work with...”

“Candi!” Cried the aside Derkington. His voice was garbled in the wind, but audibly tangible enough. “We’re going to miss the dragons!” A dark copper hoof shot, disembodied from the rest of the pony, through the open doorway and caught the protesting mare under the foreleg, then tugged harshly. She was swept off her hooves and stumbled out of the room, and the door swung shut of its own accord.

Weatherstorm released his pent up laughter. They say laughter is the best medicine, and maybe a good hearty laugh was what he needed. By the time he wiped the steamy tears from his cheeks, his face was peaky and full of colour. His chest hurt like eternal heck, but it was worth it.

“I fear I may have annoyed her somewhat.”

Starfire nodded. “I got the same impression.”

Weatherstorm sighed, contentedly and comfortably, and rolled placed his hooves on the flat of his stomach, smacking his lips all the while.

“Say, Starfire, old chum, pull up a chair and sit beside me, would you? I would rather like to pass the time by conversing with you, if you don’t mind.”

Starfire obliged in silence, and slid a rigid box filled with mystery and bound by a strip of clear tape over to the Pegasus. He dared not disturb the contents. The stallion mounted the box at once, wearily collapsing onto the makeshift stool.

“Oh, but before you do, be a dear and pass me another glass there, would you? Yes, right there... I would reach for it on my own you see, but I’ve already met my daily quota of obliterating our kind hostess’ finery, and I wish not to overwork and strain myself.”

Perhaps it was just the way that the Pegasus spoke that irked Starfire. Perhaps he was still sore about allowing the scientific opportunity he could have, nay, SHOULD HAVE embarked upon to pass him by, but more likely, he was just sore in general.

And he still hadn’t forgiven Weatherstorm for the way he had acted during their last encounter, not that the journalist had apologised quite yet, nor did he expect him to in the foreseeable future.

Whatever the case, he would have liked nothing more at that moment than to lift a glass mug and smash it over the top of his smug head.

He suppressed that urge successfully, but it required a lot more willpower than he actually possessed. Weatherstorm hungrily drank down the apple cider, allowed the glass to loll along the clean-swept floor beneath him, and politely asked for another. 'Then he would be willing to talk.'

Starfire could tell it was going to be a long night.

Chapter 12

Luckily for Zecora's ragtag troupe, the ingredients for the potion were none too difficult to acquire. The forest was huge, spanning untold miles of land, and as such, it had a lot to spare. In its vast generosity, it allowed them to take what they needed with relative ease, and little resistance from the locals.

One incident did spring up, but it was nothing of dire peril, and therefore, Derky decided not to dwell on it. The petals of a Venus Pony Trap were certainly a strange ingredient, but it was listed in the book, and Derky was definitely not one to argue with a book. Books, for the most part, were correct and far smarter than he, and he respected that.

‘Poor Cananor,’ he thought as he guided the now traumatised mare, dripping with thick globs of mucus, over another low lying stump in the ground.

The casually confident unicorn had thought that, in a moment of madness or lapse of common sense, to do a little less complaining and actually pitch her weight in with the rest of the group. For too long had she watched Derky, a featherbrained fool, be held upon a golden pedestal by Zecora; it seemed that they got along like an old married couple, which was odd, for they were like chalk and cheese. But when the zebra cast a rare glance in her direction, it was a completely different story: there wasn’t a mutual respect, nor was there any hint of, not even an ember, of warmth, of emotion. It was robotic, android like, devoid of life; like staring into the face of his father; a blank, silent disappointment. She didn’t take her seriously. Nopony did. Heck, she didn't even laugh at Candi's jokes. Yet, there in her deep azure eyes, Zecora held a glimmer of hope, like she did, somewhere in that hulking great webbed heart of hers, believe in her. And so Candi vowed that others would look down upon her no longer, and so, when the next ingredient, ‘Petals plucked from the Venus Pony Plant’ was announced, she volunteered with nary a second thought, allowing little time for the words to sink into that over-educated, under achieving brain of hers. What even was a ‘Venus Pony Plant’ anyway? She hadn’t a blooming clue, and she didn’t care. She wanted to get back to Zecora’s house as soon as possible. Weatherstorm was hogging all the apple cider, and she was in the mood to merrily drink away her problems.

To cut a long story short, (and this story is already long enough as is) the attorney found the plant before the others, nestled away in the furthest reaches of the thickest undergrowth. It matched the description given by Zecora’s musty old tome, much to her short lived delight, with white-speckled petals, bulbous and scarlet-crimson and tightly sealed together. It drooped from the stalk like a slumbering babe, and she was sure that, should she look closely enough, the flower would rise up and down as though gently breathing. The wind was growing stronger, however, so it worried her not one wit, for flowers do not hesitate to sway in the breeze, and lure the naive into such silly thoughts. The zebra had conjured up a sombre warning before their departure, dissolving at the nearest crossroads to widen their search, but whatever weight the words carried was ineffective and they fell on deaf, or rather proud and ignorant ears.

And so, eager as she was, the mare was a little on the rough side, tearing viciously at the entwined petals like a hungry, rabid animal, furiously digging to unearth whatever treasure may lie within. The scream must have been heard for miles, as far as Derky could understand. The night sky ruptured, the peaceful silence broken and torn asunder, and the whole world trembled in fear. It shook the birds free of the trees and sent the critters diving for cover. The stallion watched them bound away from his outstretched hoof, a gentle symbol companionship, wearing an expression every bit as twisted in horror as the scream itself. The cry of terror cut out as unexpectedly as it started, and then all was still and tranquil once more. The birds returned to their nests, gave a collective squawk of annoyance, and then continued their routine unperturbed, and the squirrels and mice and other forest floor dwellers poked their trembling, curious noses from the darkened holes in the hedges and cracks in the trunks, and black beady pupils shimmered in the moonlight as they suspiciously absorbed the foreign figure of the equine above them.

“Cananor!” Derky bellowed, swivelling around to find the source of the voice. He cupped his mouth. “Cananor...? I mean Candi!” He corrected himself, paused for a moment as though processing the information, then followed with, “Candidor!” Something about that last attempt was rather off, but as to why, he could not put his hoof on it. “Candidor, I’m coming to save you!” He tripped over his own clumsiness mere seconds later.Fortunately for him, there were none present to witness his fall, but for the giggling mice and such, and at that present moment the notion was well and truly out of his system, and he could have cared a less what the animals thought of him. They could go and get stuffed.

Zecora was already there by the time Derky just-as-deftly manoeuvred his way over other such small, knee high obstacles, and the leaf litter that clung to his hair highlighted the fact that, in his hurry, he’d likely traversed the majority of the short journey there on his face. His features relaxed at once as he saw the problem, and how utterly trivial it was.

Candi had her head stuck in the mouth of the Venus Pony Trap. The beige body attached to the end of said head was flailing wildly, forelegs and hind legs slipping and sliding over dirt and soil, and pushing up the daisies at her hooves into a horrid earthly mound. Her head was obscured from view, of course; the plant’s mouth, for it was all mouth, made sure of that. For all he knew, the plant was smiling, as though enjoying a private joke. Candi didn’t find this joke particularly funny, however, as her muffled cries for help made apparent, which was odd, for surely she, being the joker of the group, should get along just swell with a fellow prankster?

The zebra watched the scene play out with a solemn sigh and a weary whisper in her native tongue.

“Cananor, you didn’t heed my warnings, you fool,

I told you that waking a Venus Pony Plant is a recipe for doom!”

Derky sniggered. She’d certainly not heeded her warning, that’s for sure. It seemed as though his unfortunate friend Candi had made the same mistake that Weatherstorm had made, and now she was paying the same humiliating price. He shrugged his shoulders and scoured the floor below him for a snake to throw at the hostile flower. Throwing snakes could fix almost all problems, he was sure of it.

Zecora, as though she could telepathically read the stallion’s thoughts, gently lowered his hoof to his side.

“I know you mean well,

But I think I should handle this, Derky Bells.”

Derky gave a warm smile and shrugged. “Whatever you say, Zecora. You know best.”

The zebra did indeed know best. She sauntered confidently over to the ensnared Candi and her captor, and did something that Derky thought was either the bravest thing he’d ever seen, or the stupidest. On any account, it was bizarre.

She stroked the plant.

Derkington cringed so intensely that his face may very well have imploded inwards. This wasn’t going to end well.

Had the beast possessed eyes, they would have fluttered open at once. It shuddered to her touch, giving a little quiver.

“Shh,” soothed the soothsayer, calmly and quietly, like she was comforting a small child. “Shh...”

Biting his lip, Derky resumed his search for some passing serpent. A rock, a twig, a fallen leaf, anything he could throw. He saw only one possible outcome from Zecora’s actions: a two for one deal on ponies and zebras, and then it would fall on him to do twice the rescuing.

To his surprise, his assumptions were wrong, for Zecora remained relatively uneaten. The ferocious flower softened, saliva, sap and other bodily fluids seeping from between clasped teeth and dribbling down Candi’s erect body, limbs poised perfectly straight by her sides. She had given up struggling, likely after realizing that movement was constricting her further, rather than aiding her in her quest for freedom. Zecora kept her hoof pressed the top petal of the creature, whispering sweet and soothing melodies. “Shh,” cooed she. “Shh.”

The plant made a noise akin to a cat purring as she worked her hoof up and down the flower’s stem, and then back to its head, stroking its silky petals, caressing its every leaf. A thorny smile formed and at that moment, Zecora lifted her foreleg from the creature and took a step back, watching, waiting.

“Ah, ah, ah,” she cut through its whimpers like a stern schoolteacher as the bulbous bulb wavered blindly, groping at the still air to find her embrace once more.

“First you must do something for me.

In this case, release the one called ‘Candi.’”

The plant hesitated. Candi dangled uselessly, limply.

“Don’t fool me, Mister

You needn’t stop to pause.

Indeed, you know the one of speak of quite well,

For she protrudes between your jaws.”

If a plant could physically look disappointed, then this beast was making a darned good stab at it. Like a mischievous puppy, the Venus Pony Plant teased, opening its mouth just a little before clamping it shut again, prompting a startled, stifled scream from Candi. Eventually, though, the urge was too great and all at once, the behemoth of a mouth opened wide and out tumbled Candi, sprawling to the ground with a ‘Umph!’ and followed by a sickly gush of a sticky clear substance which spewed out like a vile waterfall.

The lawyer looked rather shaken up; she lay, coughing and gagging, collapsed along the grass with her limbs twisted at odd angles like those of a broken toy’s as the gloopy mixture lapped at her body like the foaming tide along the Equestrian coast.

Derky swooped over and, placing a hoof under each leg, hoisted her up and away from under the shade of the towering flower. Her complexion was as pale as that of a ghost’s, her fur matted and the fibres stuck together. The mare’s muzzle was screwed up into a crumpled frown, and her eyes were left wide and white and staring at nothing. Derky had heard about that in one of Weatherstorm’s articles once; the million mile stare, or something to that effect.

“There, there,” Zecora praised the plant. Eager to please, it rubbed against her hoof and soaked up the words of praise like a sponge. “Was that so hard?”

The plant shook slowly from side to side.

“Shh, rest a while. That’s it, sleep.

You’re feeling tired, so tired, so very, very, weak.”

The plant drooped, becoming as drowsy as Zecora told it that it was, until it slumped over altogether. A plant snoring is a strange sound indeed. It snorted, a thick glob of saliva stringing from its chin, then settled, finding the most comfortable angle for its slumber, then smacked its fat leafy lips and became still, silent.

Having dealt with the plant, Zecora turned her attention to the unicorn mare. She was as still and silent as the plant was, staring directly upwards with unblinking eyes into the reasonably concerned face of Derky. Her left foreleg trembled uncontrollably, but for the most part, she was at rest and motionless.

“Candi?” Derky pawed at her. “Candi, breakfast is ready! Candi? Cananor?” He faced Zecora. “She’s going to be okay, isn’t she?”

Zecora frowned. “I did tell her to beware,

It’s not my fault she got a scare.”

“But she’s okay, right?” Derky was panicking now.

The zebra cracked a smile. “Worry not, she will be fine,

I just suggest you give her time.”

Derky nodded in understanding, pulled the shellshocked lawyer to her hooves, and slung her hoof around his shoulder. The unicorn looked ready to topple, hooves swinging wildly and blindly, for their owners hadn’t it in them to look down. Her eyes lay fixated on the snoozing plant. Derky didn’t flinch under the weight of the unicorn, supporting her mass with nary a sweat. They started down the path, strolling and hobbling respectively.

“One minute, please, before we leave.

I must collect the required ingredient; a petal, a leaf.”

She tip-toed back to the Venus Pony Plant, wary not to wake the sleeping beast from its peaceful state. Her hooves were fainter than a whisper along the grass, making so little noise that she moved like a ghost, barely even disturbing the grass blades underhoof.

Let sleeping carnivorous flora lie.

Having reached the plant once more, she gently, barely even making contact, ran her hoof down its cheek (?) and across the length of its chin. Her dark swirling eyes, fireworks in the abyss, absorbed the hidden beauty of the beast, took in its smiling, sleeping shape. Her hands moved quicker than light itself, for there was a black and white blur and the muffled jangle of her bangles, and then she was gripping a waxy leaf like a fairground prize, looking rather pleased with herself. She’d plucked it straight from the stalk, somewhere near the bottom. It was small, unimportant, unnoticed; it wouldn’t be missed, surely. It was quickly bagged, tossed in with all the other odd ingredients they had collected. One thing was certain: it was going to be one vile tasting antidote.

“What now?” Inquired Derky, rushing to stop Candi tumbling off down an embankment and into some unseen ditch at the bottom. “On the list, I mean?”

“Sloberry seed is next to aquire.

After that, the dragon fire.”

“Oh goody, I’ve always wanted to see a proper dragon up close!” He clapped his hooves together and only realized his mistake when Candi slipped from his shoulder, no longer supported, and began to slide sideways down the embankment, rigid and solid as a stone. Derky caught her, tail in mouth, and with a garbled grunt, dragged her back up and onto all fours. He dusted her off, fixed her mane, and apologised.

And so, that led to now. They had been walking for anything upwards of fifteen minutes in absolute silence, for Candi was obviously in no fit state to talk, what with her ‘mind all sucked by a big flower and whatnot’ as Derky thought, and Zecora was a mare on a mission. He felt as though she liked him, at least he hoped she did, as an acquaintance and an equal, maybe even a friend; but she was cold, and focused, and unfriendly in the nicest sort of way possible. Distant, for a better word. Mysterious, and she seemed to like keeping it that way. He didn’t know what she had lived like in her home country: whether she had friends, or family, or any other equine contact at all was open for debate. Not a conversationalist by any means.

The witch doctor only opened her mouth once during the journey, ceasing her movement so sudden that Derky’s momentum carried both him and Candi into her behind. She did not seem to notice, for there was no reaction. Instead, she held her head high to the night sky, closed her eyes, and darted through the shrubbery. Derky clambered in after her, Candi staggering in beside him, taking quite a battering from the twigs that poked at their underbellies. Zecora sat on the other side, perfectly still like a gargoyle perched atop a spire. She didn’t move nor speak, her eyes closed and head tilted snobbishly high. The wind ruffled her Mohawk of a mane and separated the black strands from the white. A few short seconds later, Candi appeared, tumbling from the sea of green and rolling to a stop, upside down against the tree that Zecora rested under. The leaves rattled and the trunk shook, but Zecora kept her pose intact. Candi, still in her vegetative state, made no attempt to move.

“Candi!” Cried Derky as he galloped to his friend’s aid, motioning to help her to her hooves. Zecora’s voice came from behind him and he stopped, and turned. The zebra mare spoke quietly and deliberately, eyes still closed, from the corner of her mouth. It formed her words with no detectable emotion.

“Candi has the right idea, Derky.

Do not move her from that state.

The plant at your hooves is the Slobberry,”

The mare gestured with her head towards the base of the tree trunk. There, half buried under Candi’s tangled flank and tail, was a cluster of flowers. Derky did not consider himself a botanist but he’d never seen a plant like this before, not even in Everfree, home of the bizarre. Some of the strands were bell shaped, others more like domes, more still in every shape and size imaginable. They all drooped so low they touched the grass and lazily brushed aside the green strands with a sound akin to a high pitched, gentle sigh. There were many different colours, but none of them particulary exciting. Whilst the rest of the forest was alive with vibrant greens and blues and pinks and yellows and oranges as glowing as the sunset, the bulbs of this plant were drab and boring, monotone greys. It was almost as though they simply could not be bothered to even look in any way interesting.

“Be patient, please, and wait.” She finished her line of poetry and then fell silent once more.

Derky sat beside her and pondered for a moment. “I don’t get it,” he whispered to Zecora as lowly as he could.

“The Slobberry, or Slob-berry

Is a lazy plant, through and through.

It lacks the effort to spread its seed,

To obtain it, so should you.”

After a full minute, Derky’s dark green eyes lit up with understanding. “Ah!” he resumed, silently. “So you can't get the seeds by force, but if you act as lazily as it behaves, it might THINK we’re another Slobberry flower? By sitting still and doing nothing?”

Zecora gave a barely noticeable nod.

“Uuuuabababa...” stammered Candi, still reclined along the tree trunk. Her eyes did not deter from straight ahead, staring at nothing.

“No,” hissed Derky in reply. “I didn't take a night class on Slobberries, silly.”

In silence they sat. In silence they stared. In silence they... meditated would be a grievous misuse of the word, for meditation requires concentration, and concentration requires effort, and they were far too slobbish and lazy for such ‘effort.’ Even thinking the word was tiring. Hours passed without event. Sitting. Waiting. Letting out the occasional disgruntled sigh, back to waiting.

Derky had almost dosed off to sleep, eyes heavy and cumbersome, when Zecora nudged him (almost toppling the stallion) and gestured to the plant. “Look,” she whispered.

The bulbs of the plant began to rise off of the ground, ever so slowly. So slowly that one would be certain that they were not moving at all but alas, they were indeed rising upwards. Derky thought, as he watched the heads shiver and rise, that his eyes were playing tricks on him, that he was dreaming. He watched in disinterested awe (something he did not know was even possible) as they stiffened and erected and stood straight on their stalks. They still hung low, as though depressed, showing little to no vigour or energy, but they were a fair deal more active than they had been for the past few hours or indeed, since it had been since it was a tiny sapling. It was a miracle the thing had enough effort to grow, to strive for sunlight in this majestic green land. The biggest bulb, colourless petals closed like the dormant Venus Pony Plant, rose above the others and reached out to Zecora. Trying to make as little movement as possible, she held out her bag and the bulb peeled apart, revealing a singular seed within: the smallest seed ever seen. It was nearly too minuscule to be seen with the equine eye, but Derky swore it was a copper brown. The plant gave a wheezing cough and into the bag toppled the seed, and back to the ground the plant toppled too. There it lay, unmoving but for the current of the wind.

“Did it just fall asleep with the effort?” commented Derky.

Zecora re-bound the bag with the rope and gently shook it. Satisfied with what she heard, she sprung to all four hooves and said,

“Dragon fire

Is the last ingredient we must acquire.”

Derky, joints aching from hours of inactivity, flapped his wings and spun in a small loop de loop arc. “Whoo, dragons!” He cheered. “Oh, goody goody gumdrops!”

“Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh,” Groaned an upside down mare. Derky wrapped his hooves around her long, flicking, aqua tail and, with the greatest care, dragged her up.

“I know!” He beamed to Candi. “I’m excited too!”

“Mmmmmmmmmmaaaaaaaaahuh.”

As they walked further North-East, and the trees began to thin out, the massive mountain range known as ‘Dragon’s Keep’ grew larger and larger, towering above them like a colossus, until it consumed the horizon and their path lay dark, the moon and stars blotted from existence by its form. The steady crunch of hooves on grass faded away over time, soft footfalls giving way to the harsh echoing thuds of hooves on rock as the greenery drew back into itself, reclining further and further behind them until it was non-existent, and the ground underhoof became hard and unkind and barren. The slope was unnoticeable, at first. In fact, Derky failed to notice that he was slowly climbing the gentle gradient until Zecora informed him of such, and when he looked back he saw in the fading forest stretched out below him in all its greenish glory. If he peered closely enough, he could see a flume of smoke arise from somewhere in the middle of the vast woodland, and he could only assume that Starfire had lit a cosy fire in Zecora’s hut to comfort poor Weatherstorm. He dearly hoped he was okay, he truly did. Both the path they had came from and her hut were cloaked under the heavy forest roof, concealing them from view. But it mattered not to him; he was a stallion on a mission, never looking back from whence he came, only ever looking forward at where he was going. And so Derkington turned and faced his future, which just so happened to be a ruddy big active volcano range infested with fire breathing reptiles, and not once did he look back.

The gentle slope was short lived, and what lay before (or rather, above) them as they reached the base of the mountain was an almost 90 degree vertical wall, a murderous spire that sliced apart the clouds and, it could only be assumed, pierced the surface of the moon. Zecora made no effort to slow her pace and, without hesitation, she drove her hooves into one of the wedges in-between the cracks of the weatherworn rockface. And so, Derky followed her determination; he managed, with some minor difficulties, to levitate Candi off of the ground, place her on the closest ledge, and followed suit, aiding her progress with the occasional helpful hoist. The mare looked genuinely lost, her vacant expression like a snapshot, even during her frequent slips off of the side of the mountain. Luckily, a certain Pegasus was always at hand to stop her from falling too far. That’s what friends are for, after all: to be there when you’re feeling (or falling, for a better word) down.

When he felt the first drop of rain drop upon his forehead, Derky paused: rain wasn’t scheduled for this week, he was sure of it. But lo, there it was again, a tiny wet spec, landing on the tip of his nose with a silent splash. He licked at the wetness and crinkled his snout. Was he imagining things, had he gone mad? Not so! Another droplet of rain, then another, and another, and in but a few seconds the air was heavy with crystal droplets and the mountain-face dark and slick and precariously slippery. The stallion nearly toppled, hooves sliding out from the crevice which supported his body, as he craned his head skyward, but wings he had and wings he used to avoid a rather nasty fall. Flittering away from the mountainside, he held aloft his forelegs and allowed the rainfall to collect in his cupped hooves. The water sloshed and swished hypnotically in swirling little circles, and pooled out over the sides of his hooves, running down his legs and dampening the fur, and pouring out along the parting of his ginger mane.

The clouds, which mere minutes before were as white as white can be, looked as black as charcoal and as dull as metal, stained with ash. They wept over their lost beauty and soiled magnificence, heavenly tears transforming the land far below. Derky found the whole thing bizarre; for as long as he could remember, the weather kept to a schedule. And there was no schedule for rain this week, none at all, and certainly not in light of the ‘recent developments’ in Equestria.

But of course, the Everfree Forest was indeed truly free, as the name suggested. Free from the rules and regulations, the shackles of Equestrian society, Equestrian law, and as such, it bore no master and obeyed no pony. The weather abided by no silly ‘schedule’ and the magic of the Pegasi. No. Out here, in this beautifully deadly land of its own design, nature made its own rules. When it wanted to rain, it rained; when it felt as though it wanted to snow then snow fell, and there wasn’t an ounce of magical intervention involved, as there was no taming the will of a wild beast.

It confused and mystified Derky all at once. He’d lived in Cloudsdale for almost half of his admittedly short life, and his parents were the proud owners of Bell Incorporated; weather manufacture was their middle name. And in Cloudsdale, the celestial city in the sky, it was all too easy to become accustomed to the sight of element manufacture. He’d tagged along with his father to work countless times as a foal and he’d look out of those gargantuan paned double windows, that birthed life to society, outside of the cosy office and cold mansion, and peer down upon the scurrying workers below. There the colt would see it all: it was very surreal and magical. Rain and shine and hail and, his favourite, thunder, was all conceived in those fantastical machines and spat out in a flume of smoke and a flash of a creator’s divine delight. And then it was packaged and shipped and sent with the weather teams, who disappeared off to do their duty. His father had always told him, when he had paid him any attention or showed him but a sample of warmth, he said that one day when he was old enough, he would have complete control of the weather, just as his father did. Of course, such orders came from a higher being than his father; they came from the princess, and his father merely obliged to her ultimate will. But here, now, at this edge of the world, Derky came to grips with how unnatural and synthetic it all was. Sure, it went against everything he knew but somehow, out here, it all felt... right. He wasn’t sure how to describe it, but maybe the Everfree wasn’t as ‘unnatural’ as ponies stated it was. Perhaps, just perhaps, it was quite the opposite.

He was distracted by a snap and a muffled mumble emanate from somewhere below, and when he glanced down he saw that Candi had slid straight off of the mountainside in the absence of his attention, and she was spilled along a piece of thick vegetation which clung to the side of the rockface. The branches seemed to penetrate every orifice, but her expression seemed unperturbed: quizzical, if you will. Derky promised to cease and desist thinking on the rain further, for he had explored the subject and its relevance to him in its fullest, and was satisfied that somewhere, somehow, if some other were to be reading of his misadventures, he had explained his momentary confusion to the best of his ability, and such a fictional omnipresent onlooker would be at the very least content. Precipitation carving his brow, he gently untangled Candi and helped her up what remained of the mountain, in the pouring rain no less.

They stopped on a small, perilous ledge on the rim of the volcano, just out of view. By miracle or magic, Zecora was there by the time the duo arrived. For one without wings, she was one fast mare, and obviously an expert mountain-climber with balance and poise. She didn’t look up as Candi’s hooves and head appeared from up over her horizon, and then Derky. Her saddlebag lay open and the contents disassembled across the stone cliffside. A parasol, black and white all over, shielded her from the weather, wedged into some crevice in the ground. She seemed to be having a rather pleasant time, relaxed and cool, laid comfortably against the rock wall with her hind legs outstretched and bangles clanking as with every page she turned in her hardback.

“What took so long, Derky Bell?” She asked, flipping another page with a lick of her hoof.

“I began to think the worst, you fell.”

Derky dropped Candi safely from the ledge edge. The unicorn seemed rooted to the spot, staring off into the misty skyline. She was carefully ushered under the umbrella by Derky, for fear that she might catch hypothermia standing in such conditions.

Soaked to the bone and smiling all the while, Derky squeezed himself under the parasol and nestled in beside Zecora, as cosy as a bug in a rug, furry brown cheek rubbing against hers. He pulled Candi back under the cover. “No, I was just admiring the rain. I’ve never seen the rain do that before.”

“Admiration can wait, it won’t spoil.

But now we need ingredients to boil.

Stay low, and search the area, be quick, don’t sloth,

And very soon your friends will be sipping hot broth.”

The Pegasus nodded in understanding, slid back onto all fours, and hesitated before leaving the shelter of the umbrella. Instead, he held his hoof out in the rain for a few moments and shivered as the droplets beat off of it for but a few moments, watching the water drip away and mingle with the rest of the rainfall. Satisfied, a big beaming grin crept along his lips, and he whispered, “No magic. Amazing.” Zecora seemed far less fascinated by the whole thing and Derky had not a clue how the weather worked in her home country, but to him it was one of the most magical non-magical experiences he had ever even conceived the mere thought of.

It took a correcting cough from Zecora to get him back on track. He blushed, shrugged his shoulders, and then fluttered off into the rain, disappearing over the cloth of the parasol.

Zecora put down her book, straightened her back, and twiddled her hooves. The fate of Equestria was in good hooves, of that much she was sure. So brave and pure of heart, and of such unparalleled kindness towards friends. Yes, Equestria need not worry. She knew it deep down...

“Uh, what am I doing again? I wasn’t listening.” Derky’s face re-emerged but seconds later, upside down, peeping over the rim of the umbrella. His mane, dripping and matted, lay around his features and splashed Zecora, and her reading material, with transparent wetness.

With a grunt, the mare shook off the dampness, and swept away her Mohawk.

“We need to know if the area is safe and secure.

Your wings will help you scout ahead.

If we blindly march up there, unprepared, unsure”

She paused, and for a moment, a flicker of fear flashed along her steadfast features.

“Well, some things are better left unsaid.”

“Oh yeah!” Derky mumbled, drawing out the last word to an impossible length. “That’s it! Took me a minute or two to get my bearings.”

“Take care not to be seen, and good luck.

For if a dragon spies you, I’m afraid we’re...”

“I’m going to have to stop you there,” interrupted the upside-down Pegasus. “All the blood is running to my head, and I think I’m starting to smell colours. Back in a jiffy.” With that, off he flew.

“...stuck.” Zecora finished her rhyme to thin air, for Derky was no longer there. She lay back down, wrung her mane of water, and silently waited. Candi mumbled something intangible and wandered dangerously close to the edge of the cliffside, pacing back and forth, as though thinking deeply on some matter. Zecora bowed her head in silence. The fate of the entire world rested in the hooves of these individuals, and she had the utmost confidence in their abilities.

But a quick prayer did no harm.

Derky flew up the remainder of the mountain which, considering the altitude of their resting spot jutting out of the side, wasn’t very far at all. High, high above him rolled the graphite clouds, their depression an ongoing emotion showing no sign of fading, liquid sadness gushing down in great streaming rivers.

At last, the mountain narrowed considerably and Derky found himself atop the spire, and the Pegasus found himself breathless. He’d seen many beautiful sights in his short journey thus far, and he’d surveyed the land atop many wonderful vantage points, but none as special as this. For what lay beyond the stallion was more than just Equestria; it was the entire world. He’d seen it all before, in Cloudsdale, the cities and towns and rolling hills of his fair land far below him, and it was truly beautiful, but it FELT so small and enclosed. This, however... this was freedom. No ground below saw he, but an ocean, deep and pure and uncharted. The waves rolled and lolled hypnotically, and this blue canvas stretched on as far as his imagination would limit. There, in the distance, no bigger than a speck of dust, he could see a thin line along the horizon, and knew at once that it was land. What land, he did not know, but that added to the mystery of it all. The sea reclined gently to the Eastern coastline, tides lapping against the rock, the edge of Equestria. An entire mountain range sprawled along his field of vision, hundreds of cragged stony spires jutting proudly into the air like regal castles and battlements running miles to the Equestrian shore, some tipped with a velvet snow, and what inhabited them were the rightful rulers of the wilderness; dragons, the kings of their own private demesne. He could see them, those frightful flying fireballs, those fantastical phantasms. They seemed larger than life, every detail recognisable at first glance. There were at least ten or twelve, from what he could count, and they swooped to and fro where they pleased, for these were their kingdoms, their keep.

Derky could have watched them for hours and he did watch them for what felt like decades. They were very skilled fliers, dragons; they could pull off aerial manoeuvres like it was nothing. They swirled and danced and soared through the skies, performing valiantly for a show they had no knowledge of being a part of.

“Meep!” Exclaimed the Pegasus with a strangled gasp, narrowly avoiding the passing glare of a winged beast which seemed to come from thin air. With a quiet exhale, he dipped back below the mountaintop and pressed his stomach against the cracked rock, hooves hooked around the rim and head peeping mischievously over the top. The dragon, no more than twenty meters from his position, scanned the area hungrily, narrowed its greedy eyes to nothing but slits, and gave a mighty sniff, nose twitching furiously and blinding teeth armed, unsheathed by its thick, leathery lips.

Heart in his mouth, Derky ducked his head back behind the mountainside and held his breath, making sure to cover his mouth least some errant breath slip betwixt his sealed lips. Over the sound of the falling rain, he heard the dragon grunt, snort, and then the great flap of monstrous wings. He felt the swoop of air cut through the falling water and alter its direction, and a swift breeze the ruffled the hair on the back of his head and caused it to stand up tall. Smiling manically, he leaned back over the side of the mountainside, wings flapping wildly; directly below him was another volcano, small and squat. The mountain culminated in a round, rough-edged crater, filled to the brim with a viscous lava and it was within this lava chamber that the dragon made itself comfortable, laying as gracefully as one so enormous and bulky such as itself could muster. A pile of treasures lay close at hoof, bundled in a gruff manner along the slope of the crater, and around these treasures the dragon curled itself into a ball, chin resting on the spines of its tail. A guttural yawn filled the atmosphere, one last weary look to the sky, then slumber.

The Pegasus giggled at the scene. It was so cute! Well, despite being quadruple his size and able to breathe fire, that is... Back down the mountainside he descended, taking care to make as little noise as possible, and in no time at all he had scaled his way back to the ledge upon which Zecora and Cananor resided. The hind leg of the Pegasus shot out at an awkward angle and knocked over the brightly coloured parasol, exposing the duo to the elements. Candi remained ever unfazed. Zecora wringed her mane but kept a straight enough face.

“There's twelve, maybe thirteen dragons,” explained Derky, tilting the umbrella upright. “I wouldn’t worry, though. They’re mostly pretty far away, so they won’t see us.”

“That is all well and good,

And will prevent us becoming dragon food,” Replied the zebra.

“But we must get close to them and risk death,

To bottle their up their dragon’s breath.”

Derky pulled a smug, ‘matter of factly’ face. It did not do him any favours appearance wise. “Aha!” He quipped, stoking his chin and nearly losing his balance off the side of the crumbling ledge. “We’re lucky duckies, then. There’s a particularly fatigued fellow from the looks of it, snoozing away on the other side of this mountain, isosceles from... I mean, ISOLATED, from his bro... brethren, and, uh... filibuster...” His head began to spin, and Derky feared he had used too many semi-big words he didn’t quite fully grasp the meaning of. “I mean, there’s a big dragon and he’s asleep and he isn’t beside the other dragons and we won’t get seen and we won't get eaten.” He pasued and gasped in air as though each mouthful would be his last.

Zecora slammed the pages of her book shut. “Then let us sneak upon this sleeping titan,

And relieve him of but a sample of his heat, to execute our plan.”

They scaled the rest of the mountain without much more to be said, Derky showing them the way and helping out where he could, making sure Candi didn’t fall to a violent demise. At the top they once again rested, for the sake of Candi more than any other pony, and caught their collective breaths.

The dragon still slumbered far below them, so small from such a height, yet so full of character. Great funnels of smoke rose with every snore the beast took, which stretched out like a thunderous boom over the mountain peak, shaking loose rocks from under the onlooker’s hooves.

“Mmmmmmuahhhh...” mumbled Candi deafly, shuddering in sync with the seismic-like shaking.

“Yeah,” Derky agreed. “Dragons DO look like big lizards.”

“Huuhhh...”

Passing down the other side of the mountain made climbing up look like foal’s play. Derky didn’t dare look down, for even he grew visibly sick when he saw the vast, infinite drop below them, and the bubbling vat of lava at the bottom, eager for one of them to slip and meet a violent demise: and he had wings. He could only imagine how Zecora felt clambering down the rocky mountainside with such a great drop below her, and could only guess what Candi’s panicked grunts actually meant as he lowered her. Derky’s heart was racing, and a twinge of fear niggled at the back of his mind – what if his wings gave way? What if he had wing cramp? He fought such silly thoughts away. He’d been flying for years, after all, and whilst he was hardly an expert aviator, he’d certainly never experienced such unpleasantness whilst up in the air, nor did he even know of anypony who had experienced such unpleasantness. Well... aside from Weatherstorm, but he was a big drama queen sometimes, bless him. And so the notion was forgotten.

With blind luck (and it truly was blind, for Derky’s eyes were sealed shut for the majority of the descent) the three pony party made their way down the perilous slope, and found themselves on the equally perilous slope of a magma chamber.

Out of the frying pan and into the literal fire.

Derkington gave Candi his hoof and gently helped her flailing forelegs find the floor. There they stood, three insignificant specks against the might of the world, amongst the true giants of the universe. It put things into perspective, for Derky anyway. On the other side of the volcano lay one unconscious dragon, paramount to their quest. Carefully, they slowly tread their way around the thin rim of the crater, shimmying sideways, spoilt for choice regarding a view of their deadly journey; either they looked directly forwards and were met with the sight of millions of tons of burning molten liquid sloshing mere meters below their hooves, or maybe they would prefer to glance behind them and see how high up they still were, the ground below nothing but a blank, indistinguishable blank grey canvas? Neither seemed particularly riveting to Derky, of course: he kept his eyes on the dragon-shaped prize and didn’t dare falter.

Guiding Candi by the hoof like a mother, Derky made sure she was safely out of harm’s way and on a more stable, more spacious piece of the volcano rim before he went back, met Zecora halfway, and too lent her aid, the nice little pony that he was. The Pegasus smiled as he helped her over the last jump to safety.

The dragon was close now, very close: Closer than Candi ever wanted to be to a dragon, but of course, Derky didn’t hear her complaining, so all was well. With such a substantially-sized creature laying asleep no more than ten to twenty meters from his muzzle, Derky suddenly felt inferior, like he was nothing on this planet. It was the very definition of immenseness, claiming the entire mountain peak as its own, and he was so small in comparison.

Only a second, less sizable lava pool stood between them and the dozing dragon. What this second magma vent lacked in size, it made up for depth and volume. Orange it wasn’t, rather the burning molten magma was a rich volcanic red, burning hot even to look at. Every raindrop that hit the surface of the crushed rock snapped and crackled and wisped off in a sizzle of smoke, most droplets not even making it that far, evaporated into nothingness as they approached the open pool. Zecora stopped their party from venturing forward at once.

“Stay back, ponies, mistake this not for a mere candle,” the witch doctor issued a grave warning.

“The heat is far too hot for the likes of us to handle.”

With the newest verse of her ever-expanding poem delivered, Zecora once more slid the saddlebag off of her muscular shoulders with a muffled jangle of metal, and slid it to the floor. Out came the vial, cork and all. It was time to get down to business.

However, one member of the team was still less than motivated to chip in her part, and her part to play was the most crucial to their overall safety. If she didn’t get her act together they would be partaking in considerably less living than they were doing so at the present moment.

“We cannot pass this bubbling pool,

We’ll perish if we get too near.

Unicorn magic is a perfect ranged tool,

With it, the bottle Candi can steer.”

But as of that moment, Candi could not manage to steer her eyes forward, and they rolled uncontrollably around her sockets like glass marbles. Derky began to worry whether the close encounter she’d had with that Venus Pony trap plant had perhaps scarred her a little more than he’d imagined.

He placed a supportive hoof on her back, and it came off running with sweat. He gave Candi a stare almost as blank as her own. “Hey Candi,” he quizzed, standing along her line of vision. “You alright?”

Some garbled reply passed Candi’s lips, but intangible as it was, it was enough to deduce that Candi was, indeed ‘not alright.’ Derky continued. “Could you levitate that vial over to that sleeping dragon? Huh?” He cooed quietly, playfully. “You want to use your fancy-pansy magic bottle us some dragon fire, hmm? Hmm? Would you do that for your uncle Derky?” Chirped her ‘uncle Derky’ with a smile.

The only response was a dry raspberry, half spat from her flopping tongue. Her head wavered wildly.

“Don't need to use that kinda language.” Muttered Derky, a little disappointed. Placing a hoof under his chin, the Pegasus pondered aloud for a moment. “Aha!”

The lightbulb that flickered into life above his mop of ginger hair was an indication that an idea had lent itself to him. Trying on a smarmy smile that only Weatherstorm could truly pull off without looking the creep that Derky did now, the removal worker guided his hoof over Candi’s back until it rested atop her head. His hoof slowly, nonchalantly, manoeuvred its way across the back of her neck, brushing aside her long locks of mane, and suddenly wrapped around her beige neck. Derky expected a chicken-like squawk to emanate from her tightly pressed lips, but no such sound was made. The Pegasus held the mare in a soft headlock, applying little pressure and not needing to, for there was little resistance, and grappled her horn with his free hoof, gripping to the appendage tightly. With the utmost care, he tilted the unicorn’s head downwards, and aimed Candi's horn at the bottle which Zecora held as far away from her cringing face as she could. He gave the horn a quick squeeze...

...and nothing happened. Derky frowned, and tried again. Nothing. The bottle sat as immobile as an inanimate object could possibly sit, and he felt the fool. “Huh,” he grunted, still holding the horn aloft. “I actually thought that would work.”

“You cannot hope to operate a unicorn’s horn by force.

The only one who can utilize their magic is the unicorn horse.”

Derky Bells ‘pshaw’ quietly. “I’m sure I can get this to work.” He squeezed the horn again, and again, expecting a burst of magic to spew forth from the tip. His brow furrowed itself into his bottom lip when no such occurrence occurred. The lightbulb, so full of vigorous light but moments earlier, was growing dim. The stallion tapped the horn gently. He blew on the tip of the horn. He rubbed it thoroughly with a sack produced from Zecora’s bag, on the off-chance that some grime or pixie-dust or cobwebs had accumulated around it from prolonged negligence and lack of use by the owner, and tried again.

Still nothing.

“Maybe it requires some sort of magic word...?” He turned to Zecora for guidance. The zebra shook her head.

“We cannot hope to progress,

Until Cananor’s mental health has been returned.

Only she can control her magic,

And...”

“UP!” Cried Derky, almost drowning out Zecora’s speech at once. “Up!” He spoke clearly and deliberately, staring intently at the bottle as though that would somehow factor into helping the situation. It did not. “Up!”

Perhaps if he tried wiggling the horn...? He gave the notion but nary a second thought, and rotated the horn, and the head it was attached to, in a small, slow circle, which produced no effect. Then he shook the horn furiously.

“Up, up,” he muttered, shifting the mare’s head to and fro. “Down, down, left, right.” He repeated the last action again for good measure, shaking her hair wildly along her face. “Left, right, uh... B A?”

“Would you stop,” Candi chirped in once the assault had been acted out, “Shaking my horn around like it's an arcade cabinet joystick? There's no player two in this game.”

Rather than complying with the instructions, Derky applied both his forelegs around the mare’s body. “Candi!” cried he, much to the joy of the unicorn in question. “You’re not a mental vegetable anymore!”

“I was never a vegetable,” was the retort. “I like to think of myself more of a fruit, if anything. Thanks for violently shaking my head around. It felt as though you were going to rip it off my neck.”

Derky apologised, and obeyed Candi’s request of ‘Letting her out of that insufferable headlock,’ for she ‘couldn’t breathe or anything.’ “I thought that silly old plant had broken you, and you’d be a still mute forever, and that your brain had been EXPLODED into a million pieces.”

“Nah, wasn't as dramatic as that. I was just having a little think.” She craned her neck, twisting it one way, and then the other. It creaked like an old barn door. "Gotta get the brain juices flowing every now and again."

“It must have been a very deep think, because you didn’t say a word for, uh,” despite his lack of fingers or toes, Derky counted off the hours on his hoof. He gave up somewhere around 17. “Hours!”

“It was a deep think, yeah,” confirmed Candi. The clouds parted, just a little, and with both the moon shining in such a way that it cast its glow under her chin, and the light from the sparking fires of the lava pits heating her cheeks with a fiery radiance, the scene played out unintentionally dramatic as she ushered Derky over to the cliffside with a gentle hoof on his back. They stood on the rim of the universe, and peered down. “A very deep think. I began to think about a lot, actually. A scary experience like being eaten by a plant will do that to you.”

Derky struck a confused face. “You’ve had a lot of scary experseensees," he butchered the pronunciation, "in the last few days...”

“Nights...”

“...Nights. All of us have."

"Yeah, well, as I flopped around uselessly in the mouth of a living plant, slowly being digested in citric sap, I had a lot of time to think. More time than I did when facing a Cockatrice, or a Manticore, or a pack of Timberwolves or even falling off of a cliff. Those instances didn't give me time to think, just act, you get where I'm coming from? But in the case of death by overgrown daffodil, there was nothing I could do to prevent it, so I guess I accepted my fate and thought about how I might do some stuff better, if I somehow got away.

“And you did!” Interrupted Derky. “Don’t forget that part.”

Candi laughed. “I'm sure as heck not gonna forget that part, man. But even after my rescue, the whole incident left me shaken. Sorry for not speaking much, but I was trapped in my own little thought bubble for a bit. I began to think, ‘Boy, I’ve been a bit of a pain sometimes since we left Ponyville. Not quite on Belove’s level of jerkishness, but still.’ And for that, not exactly always being a team player, I guess I’m sorry. And if we get through this whole mess in one piece, there’s a lot more I want to change. I’m going to be nicer to my aunt. And my mom. I’m going to write a Phoenix Flight fanfiction. I’m going to give my dad, the old fool, the biggest old hug and tell him I love him, and I darned well better hear those words back. I’m...” She roared like a lion, so loudly it rattled Derky’s bones, confidence rising. “I’M GOING TO BECOME A PART TIME STAND UP COMEDIAN, BECAUSE I WANT TO, AND GET BACK IN CONTACT WITH MY LAW SCHOOL BUDDIES, BECAUSE WHY NOT? I’M GOING TO WIN A GOSH-DARNED COURT CASE AND START MAKING MONEY! I’M GOING TO LOVE LIFE TO ITS FULLEST, BECAUSE I’VE SPENT TOO LONG FEELING SORRY FOR MYSELF! AND I’M GOING TO RESTORE THE SUN TO EQUESTRIA, AND SAVE THE PRINCESS” She rose to a crescendo and pumped her hoof into the air, fisting through the clouds above, and offered her dreams and aspirations to the night sky. “NOW LET’S GO,” she bellowed in a speech befitting her fictional griffon pal, “AND GET OUR FIRE IN A BOTTLE! I’M READY TO KICK SOME DRAGON BUTT!” She was sure that Phoenix Flight was looking down on her and smiling, wherever he was.

“Yeah!” Derky cheered in unison. His voice never changed, monotone and reticent. “I’m so pumped right now!”

The duo gave a high-hoof, whooped, and turned, ready to give the aforementioned slumbering dragon’s keister a bit of a thrashing. And in that sense, they meant waiting until the beast exhaled in its sleep, bottle some of that sweet, sweet fire, and hurriedly be on their way.

They turned, and literally came eyeball to eyeball to the dragon, and it appeared that if any flanks were to be served upon a silver platter, it would be theirs. Big and ballsy and scarred with green, glistening scales that shimmered in the rain, the dragon snorted and blew two hot steamy streams of smoke upon the duo that ruffled their fur and drew back their hair, and felt powerful enough to rip the skin from their skeletons. It didn’t look at all happy for two reasons: firstly, the whooping and hollering made by the insensitive, miniscule little ponies below it may have been loud enough to disturb its peaceful slumber, and it really was hoping to remain in a state of hibernation until the rest of its comrades arrived during the great dragon migration a few months from now. Secondly, it may or may not have overheard their plans regarding firebreath theft, fire which, by all rights, belonged to it, not these two pathetic equines. Thirdly, it didn't appreciate ponies talking about its backside in such a manner. All in all, pleased is not an adjective that would be attributed to this particular dragon at that particular moment.

“Huh.” Candi gulped and tried her best to disguise her shuddering, which was hard with all the noise of her chattering teeth. “Aw dude, that’s not funny. If it makes any difference, I want to take back my previous statement. It did drag on a little too much.”

“Nice one.” said Derky, who did not allow the pun to fly over his head. He wasn’t frightened, not at all. “I'm not scared; Zecora saved us from that plant, and you from those Timberwolves you were talking about. She can handle this dragon, right Zeco...”

The name caught in his throat, because Zecora was already halfway down the mountain, fleeing for her life, leaving only dust in her wake.

Derky turned back to the dragon. “Excuse me, Mr Dragon,” he explained, “While my friend and I think up a plan. Candiiiii...”

The name exploded from his vocal chords like a beastly grumble, as he saw Candi tripping and tumbling down the mountain in pursuit of her striped sherpa, closing the gap between the zebra and herself. Derky thought it high time he jumped on the 'fleeing' bandwagon and followed the recent trend.

The dragon advanced another step, and then two more, arcing low like a true predator. Its thick, curved claws clicked and scraped along the cracked stone landscape like chalk on a blackboard. Malice in its eyes, it threw back its head as far as it could and bellowed out a fearsome rally cry with a gravelly voice like a broken trumpet. It had an immediate effect, and for a few moments, the whole world was still and silent but for that ghastly, strangled cry of rage. The dragons which swooped and sailed against the ocean backdrop, wet scales sparkling in the moon as vividly as the stars, became as still as statues mid-air, and their heads swivelled around to the cries of their comrade. And then there was a flurry of motion the likes of which Derky had never seen (he had no idea that dragons could move THAT quickly) for when his eyelids peeled away from his millisecond long blink, they were all there; thirteen dragons staring down at the little brownish blob below them. They were all different shapes, and sizes: with emerald greens and silvery sapphire blues and such deep, ruby reds. Their spines that ran the length of their heaving backs looked perilously sharp, and their clenched teeth spelled out vengeance.

But Derky didn’t feel scared, not at all. He was purely in awe.

“You’re very beautiful.” He giggled bashfully to the crowd.

“WHAAAAAAATTTTT?” The first, and biggest, dragon screeched. He seemed to be the leader, if such a thing existed in dragon society. It didn’t look pleased with the latest remark of this silly little stallion. It blinked away the last of its slumber, and growled furiously.

“Whoa,” Derky gave them a nervous smile and threw up his hooves in defence. “Listen, Mr dragon...”

“It’s pronounced, 'DRAGOON'!” Bellowed the beast, cracking its neck violently. “Say it with me: DragOON!”

“Whatever you say, Mr dragon,” the Pegasus once again murdered the pronunciation of Mr Dragoon’s last name. “I didn’t mean you were, you know... ATTRACTIVE or anything like that.”

One member of the world’s most intimidating family barged her way to the front of the angry wyrm crowd. Her hair-spines were still in rollers, and her thick pinkish lipstick applied heavily and in a hurried manner. She pouted with about much sass as a bass fish. “Are you,” she wiggled her front leg in front of the equine’s face and snapped her claws a few times for effect, “Saying my husband is UGLY, then?”

“Mrs dragon, please, I said no such thing. He’s handsome.” Derky was growing more and more disenchanted by the minute, and he wasn’t one to stereotype, but he was starting to think that dragons were a bit rude.

“That’s IT!” Mr Dragoon screamed. He liked to think he was a rather tolerant sort of fellow, and he certainly had no problem with pony kind, but this particular stallion infuriated him for some obscure reason, and he wished for nothing more than to engulf him in flame. “You want my fire, eh?” The little glint of death in the beast’s eyes intensified, likewise for the rest of the dragon crew. They smiled in anticipation. They knew what was coming next.

“THEN COME AND TAKE SOME!”

“Oh, cripes,” were Derky’s famous last words as flaming fury erupted from the dragon’s mouth in an instant, accompanied by a terrifying guttural belch, and the pony’s retreating form was enshrouded in blue-ish fire at once. His shadow sizzled from existence in a heartbeat, and the stream of Tartarus-fire mingled with twelve more, green and orange and red. They kept up a steady flow for a solid 15 seconds, before, content with the assumed outcome, they stopped as quickly as they started.

And a rather sooty Derky stood in the middle of that flame-scarred land, miraculously alive. He only had one eye open, darting furiously. In his scorched hoof he held aloft a vial, and within this transparent vial burned a strange mixture of their combined efforts. Their fire-breath floated around like multi-coloured wisps, and Derky corked the bottle at once to prevent the concoction from willowing off into the night rain.

Mr Dragoon certainly was baffled. He scratched his scaly head in amazement. “Now, how in the world...?”

Derky didn’t stick around to explain. Tossing the undoubtedly hot bottle from one smoking hoof to the other, he tucked the vial safely under his hoof, gave a little salute and a genuine smile, and thanked them. “Thank you for the fire,” he said, before turning and throwing himself off of the side of the volcano.

Thirteen dragons stood in absolute shock. No words could describe the events that had just transpired.

Naturally, Derky landed on his stomach. The slope of the volcano was not at all steep, rather it curved out into a nice, manageable, gentle slope, lined with glowing orange veins, and not at all like the previous mountain he had to climb up to get here. He didn’t turn when he heard the chorus of roars from atop the volcano, nor did he falter at the flapping of 26 waxy wings, nor did he slow his pace when the shrill cry of “GET THAT PONY!” was issued. In fact, as one can imagine, such occurrences only quickened his pace.

Derky passed Candi within seconds, but perhaps that had something to do with his mode of descent: lying flat upon his stomach and hooves stretched in front of his face, in a comically outlandish fashion, like a bobsleigh. Despite her obvious cause for concern, Candi couldn’t help but pull a quizzical expression which just about summed up the whole experience thus far. She was stumbling and tumbling in the rain, which made the slope precariously skiddish, and was in no way suited for hooves to traverse. Derky offered her the most obscure offer:

“GET ON!” He screamed as he flew past her like an Equestrian Games Olympian. At least, Candi thought that is what he said, for he zoomed past with such speed that all she truthfully got was, “BLAGHAGH!” and a face-full of spittle. Still, as odd as it was, she would take the chance. With a hop, a skip and a big old jump, Candi gave a quick prayer to Celestia-knows-what and wished for the best, leaping from the rock-face and, with more accuracy than she had believed possible, landed perfectly on her friend’s back, prompting a quick raspberry as a reaction. And then they were off.

Sure, Candi was fleeing for her life, but the entire situation was so laughable and ridiculous that she simply couldn’t hold in a little giggle. There she was, literally sitting on her companion, riding him down an ash-strewn volcanic mountain with a gang of dragons in pursuit. Such a scenario could not be imagined by any comedic mind, no matter how psychotic and unhinged that mind may be.

“I think I’m beginning to live a little TOO adventurously!” She cheered as they slid along a flat surfaced rock and caught some serious air time, narrowly missing the explosion of flames that burst along the path they had been on just moments before. The night sky became thick and heavy with a blanket of shadows, and the wind was jostled with the wings of the bringers-of-the-end. Despite this obvious peril, Candi allowed herself a little ‘Whoop’ as they landed back on the slope with a bump. She sure was having fun, in the most bizarre sort of fashion.

Zecora heard the hollering duo long before she saw them. What she DID see was the dark skyline become ever darker, dragons bursting from every mountainside. The next thing she knew, there was a dull thump as something hit her from behind. Suddenly she was head over hooves and carried along for the trip on Mr. Bell’s wild ride. The zebra, spluttering out a thread of her own Mohican, managed to regain her posture using Derky’s tail as leverage and grimaced when she saw the steadily approaching Everfree forest below them. They were leading those fire-breathing freaks straight into the woods, and she could only imagine the entire forest reduced to nothing but smouldering kindling before the night was out. Candi’s concerns were more focused on the steadily approaching belt of trees, specifically the thick trunks of said trees; as in, specifically the thick trunks that their little makeshift bobsleigh, and by extension the two passengers, were about to come crashing into. She gulped, swallowed her cheer, and estimated how badly this would hurt.

The only pony who seemed rather unperturbed was Derky.

Derky was happy, because Derky had seen the dragons.

Chapter 13

Starfire felt his eyes glazing over, and his eyelids grow heavier and heavier, but every time he closed his eyes, even for a moment, a softly accented voice shot out of the darkness, sharp and quizzical.

“Starfire, dear chap, I’m not boring you, am I?”

And so the stallion’s eyelids would reel back open with an audible snap, fast as greased lightning, and he’d disguise his startled cough as best as he could. “No, no,” he would reply each time. “No, no.”

This always seemed to please the reclining Pegasus that lay below him, as he’d give such a wide mouthed smile each and every time, and smack his lips contently, wetting them for whatever string of information he was to divulge in next.

“That’s good,” would be the response, “So, as I was saying...” And so he’d continue along his previous point of topic, about this and about that, which turned out to be fairly one-sided, with little in the way of response. And then the cycle repeated anew, and conversation was far from flowing for he was forced to stop every thirty seconds to make sure his one-pony audience was paying ample attention.

Starfire had no idea what Weatherstorm was talking about by this stage, little more did he actually care. It was something irrelevant, of little consequence, something about the writing processes or editing or his childish fixation with the fictitious fantasy novels he would frequent, and a stallion of his caliber and of his profession should be far more engrossed in the educational tomes of learning and understanding that Starfire himself would consider a good read; but then, that was but his own opinion.

Starfire once more swallowed another yawn, and hoped that they didn’t all accumulate in his stomach, a big bulbous ball of trapped air, and explode out of his every orifice in one horrendous release. He was tired of course, that is, if such an assumption had not already been made until now.

Sleep was gold-dust to him as of late, as rare and in want as immortality itself, and now the bags under his eyes had bags themselves. It wasn’t the gruffness and roughness of nights on the road that kept him from restful slumber, however: sure, he was used to a comfy city bed in a bustling Fillydelphian city community so having only the hard dirt ground to lay his head upon and utter deathly silence to turn in to was an odd and foreign experience, but even these small details were not what reduced him to the shell of his former self that he was now. No, what kept him from his rest was the nightmares. Unrelenting, unforgiving, the most horrific scenes that his mind could not even dare to conceive, for his imagination was not nearly vile and twisted enough to spawn such visions.

They'd been seeping into his dreams as of late, no matter how pleasant, like a plague, a parasite, feeding off of his emotions; they came fast, and hard, and more becoming more and more frequent. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it: his family’s business, up in flames. The horrified expressions on his parents' faces as the fires and the darkness engulfed them were forever fresh in his mind, burned into his retinas. They were always there, the shadows: always. They held no permanent form, just some shapeless, shifting, faceless thing, an unidentifiable abomination of a presence. Even as he sat there, accompanied by a slightly-tipsy reporter in a fairly comfortable home, he felt the sickly fingers of the unknown, dreamy foe slither through his mane and fondle his shoulders. It was a great incentive for keeping awake, anyway. He had no wish to re-visit those horrid, ghastly scenes.

But then, why did his head droop so? Why did his eyes grow so blurred, his brow so heavy? Why could he not control his yawning? Could he simply not shovel enough air into his mouth at one time, had his eardrums not stretched themselves amply? It was interesting, and worrying, to him that his bodily functions were far beyond his control. He was winning a losing battle against his own fatigue.

He had to concentrate. On something, anything. His wildly wandering eyes found Weatherstorm’s faded form once more. The stallion was finishing his story on some unspecific subject matter, likely about himself. “How,” he paused to yawn. “Did you find this place, again?”

The question seemed to puzzle Weatherstorm. “This place? As in this very place?”

Starfire fought to keep his mind focused. His stomach still hurt like heck, but slowly, the pain was fading and he did not yet know whether this could be attributed to his worsening sleep deprivation, but for whatever reason it was, he was thankful. “This very place.” He repeated, as though that was not made obvious the first time he had inquired.

Weatherstorm placed a feeble hoof to his chin. “I’m afraid I cannot divulge in much information, sir, for I was rather unconscious for the better part of the experience. I had a slight run in with some gargantuan eels of questionable motives and they seemed adamant of removing me from my life. They tried their best, bless them, but all they gave me was a slight bonk on the old melon,” he tapped his skull, “and a ruddy broken wing, the fiends.”

Starfire shivered visibly. He was growing unnaturally cold. “You don’t say.”

“I do say, indeed.”

"You haven’t a clue as to how you ended up here with Zecora, then?”

Weatherstorm shook his head at once. “Heavens, no. I heard snippets whilst fazing in and out of my comatose state, and I like to think myself intelligent enough to figure out the correct sequence of events fairly accurately.”

Starfire shifted his position, leaning forward on the cardboard box which sighed softly under his weight, as though waiting in utter anticipation. In reality, he was growing numb and couldn’t feel his legs.

“So there we were, Derky and I,” the Pegasus began, setting the scene with a magical gesture of his hoof, “At Ghastly Gorge, the great split in the Earth, some say the pit to Tartarus itself. Ever been there yourself, old chap?”

“No.”

“Well,” Weatherstorm stated, “You’d love it. There we were, Ghastly Gorge, the great split...”

Starfire wiped his eyes lazily. “You’ve already said this part.”

Weatherstorm shrugged nonchalantly. “Have I?” He asked with half hearted sincerity. “I must have, for you say I have.”

He turned his mug upside down, peered inside the upside-down glass, and licked at any stray droplets which landed upon his soft blue muzzle. “To cut what would be a fairly long-ish story considerably shorter, one of the blighters managed to prang me, and gave me a right concussion. It’s scary, when you feel yourself falling into the unknown like that: body giving way, darkness fading in, the ground approaching fast and hard and knowing there’s not a darned thing you could do about it.”

“I...” Starfire fought away the darkness even as he sat there, afraid that at any moment, he too would find himself falling into the land beyond the waking eye. “I can imagine.”

“But at the same time, I was more relaxed at that moment than I have been in years,” continued the winged one, “I heard Derky screech out my name like a wailing banshee-pony, and the horrid cry of a Quarray eel puncture my bliss, and instead of the cold, unforgiving ground, I felt myself land atop a warm blanket of fur, ever so gently. Wings stretched out over my head, and I daresay I must have looked quite the fool, laying sprawled upon dear Derky's back like that, but I was certainly wasn’t in a position to worry about such things. He called out once more, panicked and desperate, and shook my person around like a ragdoll, and he felt so close but sounded so far away. I have no idea what happened after that, for I was out cold like a sack of potatoes.” There was something decidedly un-poetic about that last analogy. “I awoke here, upon this very sofa on which you see me now. My wing was crushed to high heavens, my head pounding like a drum, my body mummified in these accursed bandages.” He tugged at them and lost, tangling himself instantaneously in the white strips, and certainly looked the part for Nightmare Night.

Starfire bit his lip and watched the Pegasus flail around desperately, entrapped in his own bindings, like a fly in a spider’s web. With a strained groan, he pulled himself up and gently rescued Weatherstorm from his predicament. It took but a gentle tug, and the white sheets floated to the floor like streamers, or toilet roll, depending on one’s view. Weatherstorm gave him a cheery, tipsy smile and thanked him from the bottom of his heart.

“I hate to be a burden on you, dear Starfire, but since you’re already on your hooves, would you mind if you fetch me another...?”

Into the kitchen area of the hut he trot, or rather, stumbled. Weatherstorm managed to make himself look mildly concerned, at the very least. He winced, clutched at his now bare, bruised chest, and inquired, “Oh my, dearest Starfire. Are you quite alright? Whatever is the matter?”

Starfire felt dazed, and little white stars exploded through his vision, but he kept himself steady. He took a moment to catch his breath. There was something terribly wrong with him, and he wasn’t sure whether this was a relatively new development or had always been with him from the moment he’d placed his first step into the forest. Whatever the case, he felt queasy. “I’m fine.”

He returned, composed, and handed Weatherstorm the newest victim to his unquenchable thirst; the zebra had enough apple cider to last a year, it seemed. It was truly bizarre.

The first gulp was long and steady, and ended with a satisfied mumble. “That’s when I met Zecora. Truly remarkable soul, to let two strangers into her house like that. I heard them talking, in secret, when they thought I was asleep: of how Derky had carried me the whole way through Ghastly Gorge, how he’d dodged eel after eel and risked his life to save me, how he’d brought me here, just by chance. And so I was cared for, and treated with the utmost hospitality.”

“You’re lucky to have a friend like Derky, then,” was the reply.

The journalist was silent for several seconds, and the only sound that could be heard was the ticking of an invisible clock, yet to be unpacked and welcomed into its new abode. “Yes,” he finally answered. “I guess I am. As are you.”

There was something about that last remark which stayed with Starfire, and burrowed itself deep into his heart. It both cried out joyously yet throbbed painfully, skeptically.

“And how did Cananor... oh, excuse me, CANDI and yourself find your way here?” Weatherstorm inquired, taking another swig of his drink which turned his cheeks a warm, rosy peach.

“Zecora found us. Protected us from Timberwolves. She saved all of us, in a way.” Starfire flopped back down upon his seat, and sat still. He still felt as though there were eyes in the trees, onlookers in the oval windows, faces in the wind. He dearly hoped this wasn’t the hallucination portion of sleep deprivation. He had no desire to see what he had already seen outside of the dimension of his dreams. “She said she heard the commotion. A funny co-incidence that she should be the factor which reunited us.”

Weatherstorm gave him a perplexing stare, complete with dripping white beard. His lips were puckered together, solemn. “Coincidence? Our reuniting was no mere coincidence, sir, not by a long shot. No, what brought us our aid, and each other, was nothing less than fate.”

“Hardly,” Came Starfire’s fatigued reply, “I don’t believe in fate. Just coincidence.”

Weatherstorm’s face dropped like a ton of bricks, and was twice as unsightly. Cider and dribble coated his chin. “Oh, but my dearest friend, you simply HAVE to believe in fate! You must!”

Starfire almost laughed outright at the prospect of being named Weatherstorm’s ‘friend’. He found it fairly remarkable enough that the Pegasus should act so natural in spite of their recent falling out. “I believe what is backed up by scientific fact. Personally, I think fate is utter nonsense. There’s no scientific proof to back up such an argument.”

“Not everything in this boring, mundane world can be attributed to mere scientific fact. The world seems so colourless if you hold such a philosophy. But there is true magic out there, my chum, and in all of us. You ask how I know that fate exists? Because of what exists in here.” He tenderly placed a hoof on his chest, draped with the remnants of his bandages.

Starfire tried to focus on the smiling-faced journalist’s chest, rising and falling softly like the smooth waves of a still ocean, calming to the soul. It made him feel sleepier than before, and he cursed Weatherstorm for doing so. Biting his lip a little harder than he had planned to, the taste of copper flooding his mouth, he kept his eyes as wide as possible. “What,” he asked, skeptically, disguising his unintentionally patronising tone, “Your heart?”

And Weatherstorm could keep a straight face no longer. His laughter erupted through the single empty room, and rebounded against the boxes in plentiful supply. It startled Starfire so much that he was rather close to the ground by the time the laughing hyena coughed, choked a little, apologised for his outburst, wiping the tears from under his eyes with a dramatic swipe and a dab of the embroidered cloth that was oh-so-not-his. “My heart? Are you getting symbolically deep on me, Mr Starfire? What I was pointing to was a belly-full of cider, of course! I’m tipsy as all-else and rambling on about complete nonsense, and that’s all the proof I need.” He laughed again, and indeed, his cider consumption was likely a major factor of his nonsensical tone as of late. “’My heart.’ Pfft. Believe you me, it’s rare that I should get such a response from anypony else. I’ve grown to expect little, and ready myself for disappointment.” His tone grew once again sombre, and he settled himself in his seat.

Sucking in a panicked yelp, Starfire visibly shivered as a chill whispered along the back of his mane, and he turned in his place, convinced that he’d witness the dark slimy tendrils of nightmarish proportions caressing his person. He could see the shadow from his dreams, that mess of evil conjuring, lurking in the stack of containers that teetered behind him, nestled within the crockery and the loose Polystyrene, squeezing through the unopened gaps in the packaging. He saw it slither through the cracks, and slide over to him, breathe down his neck with breath as icy as death itself, and scrape its foul fingers down his back.

No. Of course not. The window lay slightly ajar, and a draught of cold night air was blowing through, and stroking the fibres of his fur. Nothing more.

His sigh of relief was audible, and he was sure that Weatherstorm heard, but the Pegasus said nothing. Creaking and groaning more than the settling floorboards under his hooves, Starfire sluggishly dragged himself over to the open window and tugged it closed. Beyond the glass lay the many layers of trees, Zecora’s private garden, all around. Every now and again he’d see the wind blow a crack in the leaves, and he saw the shifting clouds that rolled thunderously above the hut. They were darker than the sky itself, grey and miserable, almost as though it were going to rain soon. Impossible, he told himself, for he knew that the weather teams never ventured this far into the wilderness, and certainly not during the panic and confusion which was currently running rampant in Equestria. But he had heard the tales; of how the unnatural forest’s weather worked on its own, free from pony intervention, and whilst it did seem a little ridiculous thinking about it, it also made so much sense, and it wouldn’t be the first old pony’s tale to be proven reality in the last couple of days.

He’d wager that they’d pass soon, and make their way over to the mountains of the Everfree, where Candi, Derky and Zecora were headed. The trio had been gone for some time, but how long, he knew not. Several hours seemed to meld into mere minutes, and minutes meld into hours simultaneously. The packaged clock, boxed and safe from prying eyes, mocked his efforts with every tick, and kept its secret safe, concealed.

The room was still chill now, and the window pane rattled as the strong winds crawled under the gaps. A strike of flint and rock and the sizzle of a flaming match lit up the dull room, and Starfire threw the lit stick into the frame of the ornamental fireplace. He’d never lit a fire by using his hooves before, but until this elusive ‘cure’ was in his possession, there was little else he could do with his lack of horn. The wood, lying dormant in the hearth, was ablaze at once, sending great flumes of black smoke up the chimney funnel and into the atmosphere. Warmth flooded the room in a heartbeat as the wood crackled and popped, but Starfire didn’t feel any more at ease. The flickering patterns that the flames cast upon the walls and ceiling kept him cold, and clammy.

“So then, why do you believe in fate?” Inquired the scholar.

The journalist merely shrugged, tapped his noise, and winked. “I guess I have my reasons.” He finished with a sly smirk. He seemed satisfied with the newfound source of heat, and he stretched his hooves out behind him, to where the fireplace was, and yawned.

Half an hour passed. Starfire grew more fatigued. Weatherstorm grew merrier. With every mug of sparkling cider that went down the hatch, the slower and more slurred his speech became, and the content of his conversations became more obscure and cryptic. His laugh did seem to improve somewhat, however: a high pitched cackle that could only be described as deliriously feminine.

“Starfire,” the Pegasus would begin, each and every time, always accompanied by a resounding hiccup, “Mr Starfire, I’m sorry about the way I behaved a few days back. I am, old chap.”

And Starfire would forgive him each and every time, and when he would repeat himself less than five minutes later in his intoxicated stupor, he’d forgive him again. But Starfire’s heart wasn’t in it, and he knew that neither was Weatherstorm’s. It was half courtesy of the copious quantities of the apple cider when now resided in his stomach, or rather his brain, and the other half the journalist’s pride, and his false morals and deceptive gentlecoltly appearances.

He must have fallen asleep for a few seconds, for he woke with a frightened start when he heard the gentle voice whisper his name, and he was sure it was the shadow figure which haunted him, hunted him, and was returning to finish him off once and for all. But lo, he awoke to find a solemn looking Weatherstorm returning the glaze with bloodshot eyes.

“Starfire.”

“Yes?” The unicorn sighed and straightened himself up.

“Are you awake?”

Starfire mustered the last of his energy to roll his eyes. “No,” he strained, “I’m still asleep.”

“Well, wake up.” Weatherstorm demanded.

He went through the motions. “What is it?” He inquired. He could barely have cared.

“He landed perfectly, as always...” Weatherstorm began, with genuine drunken enthusiasm, and waved his hooves around dramatically. They swiped the stacked boxes at the side of the sofa over at once, but he didn’t seem to be aware, or care.

“Wait,” Starfire struggled to find speech. “What are you talking about?”

Weatherstorm whinnied in outrage, as though it should have been obvious. He swung his brimming cup and sloshed the liquid along the floor. “Why, my dear Starfire, I’m telling a story.”

“Well... WHY, exactly?”

“Because... oh, I’m not quite sure, exactly. Be quiet and listen, if it pleases you.”

Starfire groaned. He just wanted to SLEEP, but alas, he knew he could not until the others returned to this place. He sucked up his courage, readied himself, and allowed Weatherstorm to continue. “Go ahead then.”

“Thanking you, Starfire. Now, where was I, exactly...?”

Ah yes, that’s correct...

He landed perfectly, as always, with a soft plump atop the rolling white clouds. The dark mane of the Pegasus took on a life of its own as it was cast back, gloriously, floating in the wind. He stretched his light Welkin blue wings, powerful and commanding, above his head, a confident smile smeared across his face. He was handsome, of that there was no doubt. His mane and tail, still willowing in the breeze, took a few seconds to settle and become still. Then he removed his eyewear and the cheering broke out at once.

The Pegasus was you, I take it, Weatherstorm?

My, my, whatever gave you that idea, Starfire?

“Soarin’!” Coach Crusher cried, his dark eyes alight with pride and admiration. He zipped over, blowing back the still hollering fans, and landed beside the blue colt. The stallion peered down upon the radiant little figure below him, and the radiant little figure stared up at the massive hulking giant above him. The contrast was vast, but one could tell at a glance that, young as he was, Soarin’ would grow up to be just like his mentor.

“That phenomenal performance was just the reason why you’ve been picked to attend the Wonderbolt Academy!” The coach continued joyously, giving the much smaller Pegasus a friendly punch on the shoulder, laughed heartily, and drew him close beside him.

Coach Crusher was a big stallion, in every sense of the word. In fact, he was so huge and hulking that a new word needed to be invented just to put his considerable height into scale: gargantuous seemed like a nice fit. He wasn’t just tall, but wide, with broad shoulders and broader wings, like a walking mass of muscles. His wing span stretched for miles, each yellow feather rippling with raw power, and his voice sounded akin to a sonic boom, throaty and deep and heavily accented. It demanded the attention of all who surrounded him and held them in a trance until he finished speaking. He had a rough way about him, and he was both gruff and sharp in his tone. He held no kindness for wimps, and layabouts, and slackers, and working as a school flying coach in Cloudsdale was the perfect way for him to vent some endless anger. His cousin, a young earth pony in the Ponyville guard, shared many of his traits; and that pony would end up becoming known as Captain Blue Brigade, Cananor’s father, carrying on the family honour.

Removing his red and white patterned cap and wiping the sweat of victory from his brow, he called out to his audience; a class of young Pegasi, fillies and colts alike, stood in total silence, huddled around the sky-stage. They looked both terrified and exhilarated, eyes wide in wonderment. “You should all learn a few things from this colt, foals,” Coach Crusher beamed. His name wasn’t ACTUALLY Coach Crusher, naturally. He was born as Kindness Drops, but of course, such a delightful sounding name did not merit a stallion such as he, and after several displays of his violent attitude, the nickname of Coach Crusher stuck, and he’d made it his own. “This is the face of a successful flier. Such power, such poise, such control. He’ll be a Wonderbolt some day, you all just wait and see.” He gave the grinning colt a wink. “You’re gonna go far, kid.”

And then his moment of kindness was over in an instant, and, clearing his throat, he barked, “How many of you maggots think you can fly as well as that performance that my prize pupil Soarin here gave us, hmm?” His eyes searched the sea of faces below him like spotlights, weeding out the weeds.

A light, cobalt blue colt slunk back into the crowd as far as he could. Slick sweat gushed down his forehead and dribbled along the length of his round, chubby face. He knew that he’d have to face the music sooner or later. It was the day of his flying exam, after all. But he didn’t want to go: not yet. Let some other headstrong fool be the first up. He held no sympathy for headstrong fools.

Coach Crusher’s eyes lit up when he spied the blue-coated colt, almost camouflaged, nestled into the bulk of the crowd. A cruel grin seeped along his features, and Weatherstorm knew at once that all his hoping and praying was in vain. A malevolent, muscled hoof shot out in his direction. “You there,” he croaked, “Weather, isn’t it? Soarin’s brother.”

The coach did know his name, of course. He yelled it at the top...

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait up. ‘Soarin’s brother?’

That’s what I said, isn’t it? I-isn’t it? I do hope I didn’t stutter.

As in, THE Soarin?

Do you know many others, Starfire?

He’s your brother?

Indeed he is. My big brother, in fact.

THE Soarin from the Wonderbolts? The very same Soarin?

The very same pony. I thought that much was obvious. Is there a problem, Starfire?

No, but... I mean, he’s famous!

I hadn’t quite noticed that. Thank you for the validation. Are you a fan, perchance?

Of the Wonderbolts? Well, not particularly, but still... Having a famous brother must be exciting.

Is it? I’m learning quite a lot today, it seems. May I continue with my story uninterrupted, perchance?

Sorry.

Coach Crusher did indeed know his name, of course. He yelled it at the top of his voice quite regularly until it became routine. It wasn’t the colt’s fault that he wasn’t the strongest flier in all of Cloudsdale.

“Weather Storm! Storm, can you hear me?” The coach once again boomed. He wasn’t the sort of pony who was particularly fond of repeating himself, and he spat out the three syllable name with as much contempt as a teacher could legally shower a pupil with.

The crowd dispersed at the mention of his name, and he was met with the glaring silent eyes of all of his fellow classmates. The colt’s blue face drained as white as the patchwork of clouds he was standing atop and he wished, he just wished, that he’d fall through and meet the ground below, swallowed up whole into a fluffy white abyss.

Murmurs spread like wildfire, and certainly cranked up the heat like one. One voice, then a chorus of whispers, and the voice of the coach parted all over chatter, “Come up here, Weather. You’re first.”

The blue Pegasus nodded silently, and slowly cantered up to the stage, nearly tripped on the top step, and found himself up against the podium. It stood at twice his height, casting an evil, eerie glow overhead, which settled on Coach Crusher’s darkened form, and caused his wide-mouthed smile to glow a nasty shade of white. The flying instructor gave a gesture with his head and, summoning his bravery and his dignity, Weatherstorm hoisted himself atop the podium with a single bound.

The laughter broke out even before he had hit the ground. He feverishly opened his eyes and found himself in a rather unusual position; one leg up and over the towering platform, his other limbs strewn to and fro in a confused tangle. His mane swept along his face, his wings flapping furiously, his rump risen majestically for the whole crowd to see. The coach’s laughter rose above the rest, a mocking, bellowing jeer, which showed no compassion or remorse whatsoever. He roughly grabbed a bundle of Weatherstorm’s tail and yanked it upwards, dangling the colt at eye level, allowing him to soak in the fear in the youngling’s eyes, before hauling him like the trash he was onto the podium. Weatherstorm landed with a thump, and a pained grunt.

“There you go, princess,” Coach Crusher chuckled, patting the colt on the head, “Don’t disappoint, now. You don't want to fail and have to repeat the year. How embarrassing that would be.” A false pretentious smile was flashed, courtesy of his mentor, and then the heavyset heckler took a step back, and Weatherstorm was left to his own devices.

“Think fast!” Came the voice. Of course, Weatherstorm certainly did not think fast enough, for the object which had been hurled in his direction was not caught by a deft hoof, but in fact only ceased in a forward motion when it collided with Weatherstorm’s face. It hit with a wet slap and knocked the fellow senseless.

This merited another round of laughter and mocking. The callous coach chuckled under his breath. One of the bigger kids jeered, “Never mind goggles, Weatherstorm needs glasses!”

Soarin’ blushed, just a little bit, but it didn’t dampen his attractiveness. “Sorry, I guess,” came his awkward half-apology. “I didn’t think I threw them to you THAT hard.”

Weatherstorm’s face glowed red from where the rubber-strapped, bronze-rimmed flying goggles lashed out around his cheek. He valiantly fought back tears. The pain was throbbing and unforgiving. He mouthed 'It’s okay,' and then he gulped, sliding the eyewear over the back of his head, and resting the cold metal upon his muzzle. Wearing glasses was a foreign experience to the foal, and he was sure that he’d rather not make any item of such attire a permanent fixation of his person. The entire courtyard fell silent as he stepped up to the start line, a red velvety ribbon, embroidered with gold. It was peculiarly lavish for a school flying exam, that much was certain.

Sucking in a sharp breath, he turned, trying to disguise his violent shaking, to his classmates. They offered no support, nor did they condemn him. They merely watched in silence. He looked for his only friend amongst the faces, to no avail. In a final effort, his eyes fell on those of his brother’s. Soarin’ gave him the smallest of smiles, and whether it was truly genuine or not, he hadn’t the faintest idea. He felt so much bigger than his sibling at that moment. He felt bigger than them all, a million miles high above them all the audience, the family, the entire city, standing as still as stone atop his mighty marble pillar, but he felt half as confident.

“Well, Master Storm? We’re all waiting…”

The wind stopped for pause, as though for breath, when Weatherstorm’s small wings timidly unfurled. He felt so exposed, so frightened and alone and inferior, all those gawking eyes pressed on him, and so he thought no longer on failure or misery and performed the bravest feat he had performed in his short life.

He jumped.

He remembered little after that, for his eyes were pressed shut and his heavy breathing caused the protective eyewear he wore to steam and fog up the moment he left the podium, just as he completely fogged over the entire sordid memory as a whole. It was the first time he’d felt that feeling of falling; that feeling of helplessness, of gravity tugging at your insides, stomach tightening, blood rushing to the head and swamping the mind. He couldn’t scream, for screaming requires some semblance of thought and at that moment his mind was a blank. But, unbeknownst to him, the wind gathered under his outstretched, feathered appendages and the feeling of falling changed into something more, much more. It was the feeling of weightlessness. The sensation of effortlessness.

The little foal was flying.

The entire thing struck him as odd. He’d never flown before – never. No matter how hard he tried, and tried, and tried into the late hours of the night, no matter how much taunting he’d faced from his coach and his brother, he’d yet to have lifted an inch from the ground.

He opened one eye cautiously, then the other. And here he was, flying; not falling, but flying. He felt the cutting wind slide over his aerodynamically shaped wings with ease, and trail behind him in a stream of white lightning, and the pressure pushing against his goggles, burrowing them deeper into his brow. He saw little of any consequence on his flight: clouds, of course, and he sailed over the white-wash marble ancient buildings, their architecture grand and distinguishably elegant with their shining columns, which lined the sprawling, floating streets. He might have even seen the Equestrian Weather Corporation rainbow factory in the distance, high above even himself, the huge flumes of grey smoke willowing from the stacks protruding from the wispy warehouse roof, and the sparkling fountain of multi-coloured magic spewing over the edge of the city, and mingling with the waterfalls, before poofing into nothing but vapour.

But the experience was brief. Had he flew for even a second longer, heck, he might have felt a smile emerge from his worried features, aged before their time with stress. There was a slim chance, a very slim chance, that he may have even enjoyed it, but it was over in what seemed like a millisecond.

He wasn’t aware of how fast he was moving, but it mattered not, for he failed to see the brazen flagpole bending in the gusty wind, or the flag perched atop said flagpole, proudly blowing along with every swirl of its extended, metallic arm. It snuck up on him so fast he hadn’t time to register a reaction. Coming in a blur of blue and white and yellow and red tarp, the flag muffled his screams at once and encased him in darkness, his eyesight obscured by black cloth, pressed tightly against his face. With his eyesight extinguished, every other sense became oh-so-much-more keen, and he was aware of every bump. He cried out when he crashed into a column, which crumbled into confetti as he was carried through the centre. He screeched as he smashed into the sturdy steel statue of a steadfast stallion, his steely stare silenced as its hardy spherical head was severed from its shoulders, sifting through the soft clouds. And he wailed when he walloped into the wall of the Weather Outlet pipe.

Most intimidating to him was when he heard the soft ‘plumpf’ as his little body sifted through the layers of clouds that made up Cloudsdale’s base, and, even as blind as he was at that moment, he knew that he was falling to his doom. His heart stopped altogether, and he felt himself fall to the foreign earth below.

But this was not, whatever the little blue colt might have thought, the end. The wings of his guardian angel were far softer and kinder than any cloud he’d felt in this harsh, white world, and he barely felt the landing at all. He didn’t dare remove the cloth that obscured his vision. He preferred the suffocating blackness to the humiliating white.

“Hold on… I’ve got you…”

Had the patchwork flag been swiped from his nose, the tears in his eyes would have been made apparent to the crowds of gawking onlookers as he was chauffeured back to the starting platform by his disembodied rescuer. It could cover his face, but never his shame.

“Are you okay?” Derkington's squeaky voice was like music to his ears then, smooth and delicate and caring. And Weatherstorm felt less than a spec of dirt, for he knew what was coming.

Coach Crusher tore the makeshift mask from Weatherstorm at the same time that he tore him from Derky’s back, and dragged him to the floor with a strangled grunt. The world span and shifted, and as the colt lay on his back, looking up to the very bluest of blue skies with teary eyes, the heavens gave way to a scowling face, overflowing with contempt. Hate incarnate, and upon it was a red cap.

“That was a foolish thing to do. You could have severely hurt yourself doing that.” the face began, looking down with eyes as glaring and scarlet red as the cap they sat under. “Pathetic attempt.”

Pathetic.

Pathetic.

The word was spat out like a gunshot, and left a ringing in his ears, drowning out whatever other vile comments continued to spew forth from the fat, worm like lips. Weatherstorm's head was light, and his eyes rolled lazily, dizzily in his throbbing skull. Pathetic.

The ringing grew to a crescendo. His body was numb. Derky might have aided him to his hooves. He thought he saw the coach shaking his head at him. His classmates must have cleared a path, made an isle as he stumbled past them towards the bleachers. Did Soarin sit with him, talk with him, or didn’t he? Everything was a blur, of lights and colours and shapes and that insufferable ringing, and the laughing and the mocking and the white, white, so much white all around, brighter than a star yet as black as coal.

Pathetic.

He told himself he wasn’t. But alas, he wasn’t a very good liar.

The rest of the school day went like a flash. He was lost in his own thoughts, his own little bubble, his own little world, disconnected from everypony else. Safe and secure in his own mind, armoured against the hurt and the pain and the never-ending failure. But that word, that one malicious word, kept seeping through his defences, jabbing at the weak spots of his psyche, and burrowing into his very soul until the flame of determination was extinguished, dampened and moist with sorrow.

“Weatherstorm, are you okay?”

It took the colt quite some time to respond. Lifting his head, he found the school sports field empty, devoid, but for the brown fur and ginger mane before him. The pony’s mouth was twisted in confusion and worry, and his big lime eyes, wide and unblinking, shimmered like emeralds. Weatherstorm nodded, just a slight movement of the head. He said nothing.

The beginnings of a smile slid into place along the lines of Derkington’s steady muzzle. “You didn’t answer for a while. Everypony has gone home.”

And he was right. The wind picked up and whistled through the skeletal gaps in the bleacher stands, one of the long, cheerful banners that adorned the side of the seating hung loose and jostled like a ghost amidst the solemn graveyard. There was not a soul, but for Derky, and himself.

“Are you coming?” The Pegasus continued, “Our parents are here to take us home.”

Weatherstorm silently consented, and they crossed the white, gossamer playing fields with each other, and nary a word passed the blue one’s lips.

“It’s actually really peaceful here,” Derky said, “When there’s nopony around, I mean. I don’t like the others. They’re mean.”

Weatherstorm seconded that motion with a tilt of his head, (for they were both outcasts in this city, the two of them. Two weird, little outcasts, strange little leftovers) but he shivered when Derky said he, 'disliked the coach most of all, more than any of the others.'

“He’s mean to us more than anypony else. He made me go straight after your turn, um... everypony watched, and Coach said that you...” Derky stopped there, his mouth divulging more information that he morally should have, and he was smart enough to recognise this. Weatherstorm saw the colt slowly bring his wing closer to his side as though to conceal something from visibility, and he spied the little white roll poking out from underneath the feathers, and the little red ribbon that sealed and bound the certificate. Weatherstorm said nothing, and pretended not to see anything at all.

Their parents were at the sheening, golden gates that separated the schoolyard from the street, and there they were congregated, engaged in conversation, so much so, that they failed to notice their children approaching. The sun, huge and magnificent (Weatherstorm always thought it close enough to touch, if he tried hard enough, but he yet to achieve this) was setting now as the day faded slowly to night, dipping behind the rolling waves of clouds, and casting the most magnificent orange glow across the bronze dyed skyline. Weatherstorm knew at once that that he’d sat on that bench for far too long, but not once did his parents go searching for him.

Mr Bellray was a slim and trim sort of pony, his fur as light creme as his business-stallion’s cut mane, and his waistcoat as black and cold as his beady eyes. It was his voice that floated over to the youngsters’ ears first, for he was a loud and pretentious pony, and he made sure his voice was heard. “…Can’t have any more slip ups this year; Profit is down 2.53% and if it continues, there’ll have to be some heavy budget cuts. Perhaps even more layoffs, redundancies. And believe me, that’s the last thing I want, but remember: it’s your job on the line. If things continue as they are at present…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.

Weatherstorm’s father laughed, his face jovial, but his eyes were rigid with fear. “It won’t come to that, sir,” he spoke as formally as he could. He never was very good at disguising his thick, common, foreign accent but in the presence of his boss, he still made an attempt to smarten his dialect. The result was something humorous indeed. “I have utmost faith in my team, and we the utmost faith in you. We’ll pull this around, sir. We at weather station are dedicated to cause.”

“See that you are,” Mrs Bellray butt in, with a flick of her expensive red fur scarf. Her cantaloupe-orange face told the full story: she no more wanted to be with this rowdy working class family than Nightmare Moon wanted to be banished to the moon. She cared not for her formalities (they were awarded only to those she deemed worthy, and of the same calibre of herself) and so she spoke to the ‘gutter trash’ as though she were talking to a stain on the sidewalk. Her voice was akin to that of a squealing pig, and her front teeth were more prominent than those of a squirrel’s, and nopony was certain whether there was a chin under those pearly white peckers. “Else my husband will toss you onto the street and you’ll shine horseshoes for a living.” Her eyes remained narrow slits, and her head remained snobbishly high. Why was her son taking so long? She hoped he’d fallen through the clouds and they were finally shot of him. She disliked the colt as much as she disliked his little mute, blue commoner friend.

Weatherstorm’s father shifted uncomfortably from hoof to hoof. He said something then, but the shifting wind stole his voice and carried it off into the distance.

Weatherstorm frowned intently at the couple as he drew closer to the gate. He liked Derky, of course, but his parents were repulsive indeed. They were a living testament that having great wealth did not make a great pony, and as was the trend with self-made ponies, they looked down upon those that belonged to the social class they had clawed and scratched their way out of. It was fortunate that their son shared absolutely none of their ‘qualities’.

“I can’t hear what they’re saying,” confessed Derky, “Are they being horrible again?”

Weatherstorm nodded slowly, and although he didn’t say a word, there were a thousand unspeakable adjectives burning in his flickering eyes.

“Ayup, there’s our lad now.” It was Weatherstorm’s mother that spoke this time, turning back towards the approaching duo. She was short and round and cerulean-coated with a short faux hawk of blonde, but not at all beautiful, and one could tell from a single glance that she wasn’t quite all there.

Derky passed the swaying gates first, and as he expected, he wasn’t greeted with a hug and a kiss as normal parents would to their foal; in fact, he wasn’t greeted at all, but for a sharp, “Oh, there you are. You’re late. Time is money,” from his father who drew his embroidered pocket watch from his waistcoat and, dangling the glaring yellow clock by the chain, he tapped the face with an impatient hoof. “Well? Spit it out, boy! Did you pass your flying exam or didn’t you?"

“I doubt it dearly,” remarked his mother, poising her chin to the steadily retreating sun. “Our son can barely walk in a straight line, least of all fly.”

The foal heard, and the foal hurt, but he held his tongue and, like the centrepiece of a magician’s act, he materialised his certificate from under his wing with a half-smile.

"Be quick about it, boy. Quickly now. I've a shareholder's meeting in half-an-hour, don't you know." His father barely reacted as he yanked the bound paper from his son’s grasp. The red seal was torn and cast aside, and the parchment unrolled. It was very white, Weatherstorm noted. Like everything else in this city. White and white and white, so bright, so bright it hurt.

Mr Bellray’s lips moved to the rhythm of the written words, his beady, cold eyes, stony as coal, scraping along each and every line, and Weatherstorm was sure the friction were to cause the sheet to burst aflame there and then. But it did not and, when he was finished, the suited stallion simply released his grip on the scroll and allowed it to re-roll with a snap. “Hmm,” he grunted with a hint of surprise and an air of superiority, “That'll do. Good."

Derky was unaccustomed to feeling two emotions at once, just as he was accustomed to his father lending him a civil word at all, but when he heard his father say that, he felt both happiness and sorrow; it was dually the nicest and saddest sentiment he had ever received from his distracted-dad, and the tears that sprung up behind his big, emerald eyes were unsure of their own origins, and of which emotion provoked them first.

“Let’s not flatter the boy,” sneered his mother harshly as she too scanned over the results, “He barely scraped a pass.” She craned her head downwards and spoke, this time directly to the colt. “Remember what it means to wear the name ‘Bellray’, because it's important to keep up appearances, and scraping passes just won't do. Not at all. Unless you actually start showing some strength, and…” The word ‘ruthlessness’ had so nearly escaped the dungeon of her mind, but she crammed it back in and discarded the key, as she was in the presence of the working class, and gossip amongst the working classes spread like wildfire, tarnishing her respectable name. Derky had gotten the message, of course: she didn’t want him showing any kindness at all in this life, especially not to one such as Weatherstorm, a colt she deemed inferior and unfit to play with.

The Storm family stood huddled beside the other open gate, and they pretended not to hear the ruckus which transpired behind their backs. Weatherstorm slinked over, with his head bowed down towards the soft, silky white clouds that the grand city was built upon. They were very white, like fresh snow. Weatherstorm had never seen snow, but for it being deported with the weather teams in huge shipping boxes, and he’d heard it was very white indeed. White as clouds. White. White.

“And how did you, my son?” Weatherstorm’s father asked, his plump baby-blue face squeezed into a friendly smile. Out of earshot from his employer, his accent reverted to its natural state, and his shoulders drooped as the tension left his body. "Gut, oder, nicht so gut?"

“I’m positive he's done just fine, dearie. Soarin passed on his first attempt, last year, remember?” The mare placed a tender hoof on Soarin’s head, nestled between the husband and wife. The elder brother looked up and sighed contently, his enflamed ego growing by the second. “I bet his presentation helped you today, didn’t it, laddie?”

“Well, WetterSturm? Where is certificate? Can your mother and I see?” His father inquired, and he too placed a hoof on his elder son’s back.

Weatherstorm’s head slowly lifted, but what he saw struck him in the heart like a knife. The trio just looked so… RIGHT together, the sun glimmering with the final embers of day behind them. All three of them, standing there, so alike, smiling at him, happy families. He knew deep down that his parents loved him, but sometimes he felt as though they had nothing in common with him whatsoever, and maybe they’d be better off without him. Soarin was the son they wanted, and he’d rather spare them the constant disappointment. His head was lowered again, and a ball developed in his throat, tightening, compressing. The clouds were very white today.

“Lad?” Asked his mother, her smile fading, just a little. Mrs Bellray yelled something behind her back, and the wind carried Derky’s hushed whisper. “Where is th’ certificate, honey?”

Weatherstorm coughed, but the clot in his oesophagus didn’t move an inch. He tried to find the words but couldn’t. “I-I-I…” He began but that’s as far as he got. “I… I…” The youngster stammered, and the youngster stuttered, just as he had done for as long as he could remember, but his labours simply refused to bear fruit. He’d faced ridicule time and time again for his stuttering, but he couldn’t help it; the words simply refused to leave his mouth, and it infuriated himself most of all. Slowly but surely, he began to recline into himself, to the point where he barely made an effort to try to speak at all. “I…”

“It’s okay, son.” Cooed his father, glancing casually sideways to his employer, deep in argument with his own son. His words were muffled, but his face were fierce and his stern forehead crinkled. “Tief Luft Holen. Relax, and tell me what you want to say.”

“I-I-I…”

Soarin spoke for him, as he always did. Weatherstorm’s voice was his voice. And that infuriated him all the more. “He didn’t pass his exam.”

His father bit his lip. His mother sucked in a sharp breath of air. It sounded unpleasant. Mrs Bellray scolded her son, and Mr Bellray nonchalantly, distantly, mummered in agreement. Somewhere in the distance, in the bustling streets, a door slammed shut. There was laughter, a female’s soft laugh, and the echoing bawl of an infant, the whistling roar of the wind. Weatherstorm’s cough. Nervous. The crimson blush of embarrassment.

“O-of course,” continued Soarin, only now noticing that the tears that glistened in Weatherstorm’s eyes were now falling to the ground like snowflakes, “He tried really hard.” The sporty Pegasus may not have been a particularly learned individual, but he knew his brother well enough to know that he was in emotional pain, and so he tried to amend things.

And even though the world continued to carry on as normal around him, Weatherstorm was met by silence.

It was his mother, this time, that was the first to speak. “Never mind, Weatherstorm. We’re… not all perfect. Some of us just take more time learning to fly.”

“Ach, just so,” agreed his father, “Everypony is different, and some ponies are suited to different things. It’s all part of growing up, and discovering your talent.”

Their smiles, like lavender and honey, mingled into one and almost caused the colt to choke. He knew that they’d bring cutie marks into this: they really wanted him to get his in flying, just like Soarin. They had hoped he’d join the Wonderbolt Academy just like his brother was to in a few years’ time when he came of age, but it was seeming less and less likely that Weatherstorm would ever be accepted.

Not that it was of much concern to Weatherstorm, of course, but to his parents, having both their children in the Wonderbolt team was their ultimate dream, and he felt like every time he let them down, it crushed them inside. They’d named him Weatherstorm in tribute to the original famous member of the Wonderbolt flying squadron, such were their aspirations of him.

‘This city is obsessed with flight,’ He thought. ‘It’s sickening and cruel, and I want no part of it.’ And that’s what he dearly wanted to tell them, that he never wanted to work on the weather teams like his father or join the Wonderbolts like that long-gone distant relative of his. He wanted his own destiny to be his own. That is what he wanted to tell them. But words were a rarity.

“No sweat,” said his mother as delicately as she could, “You can always try again next year, can’t ya, laddie? Tell him, dearie.” She ordered the last of that sentence to her husband, and her soft touch on his shoulder tightened.

His father’s white smile stretched, intensified, “But of course he can,” he beamed with a dwindling fire in his heart. “We can get much more training between now and then.”

How very white the clouds were today. How very white.

“Now,” his mother clasped her hooves together with a resounding crack and smiled her pretty smile. Her false smile. “How about we go get something to eat, as a treat for… trying so hard?”

“Pie?” Soarin’s eyes lit up like lanterns. “Can we go get pie?”

“Of course we can, dearie.”

“Apple pie?”

“Whatever pie you want, honey.”

Weatherstorm hated pie. He hated apple pie most of all; the powder that dusted the top of the pastry reminded him of the clouds, or the snow he had heard so much but seen so little of. He saw little up here: he only saw the clouds and the sky.

And that was it. They walked off together, the happy trio, with their plastic smiles and their false support. They sang together as they left the grounds, as a unit, a family, their voices one and the same, into the white streets, and the golden gates swayed as they passed.

Weatherstorm stood alone. He didn’t follow: it didn’t seem appropriate, for they weren’t his parents, and Soarin wasn’t his brother.

They may have acted like it, they may have loved him like it, they may have been genetically identical, but they were not his family, and they never would be. They were so different in nature that he truly believed he was adopted. They wanted Soarin, not him. And Weatherstorm didn’t know where he belonged.

“Your family are walking off without you,” Derky fluttered softly over and spoke barely above a whisper of wind. “Aren’t you going with them?”

Weatherstorm shrugged, but after letting out his bottled sigh, he nodded and forced a smile. “Y-y-y-ye-yeah.” He stuttered. It was strange, but he could find his words with Derky, and Derky alone.

“I really like your family,” the brown coated colt continued, glancing quickly behind him and catching a glimpse of his father angrily tearing his pocket watch from his pocket. He swung it to his face and tapped the transparent face once more, then coughed loudly, deliberately. The ginger-maned colt mouthed something in return, and his mother rolled back her foul eyes and tapped her hoof impatiently. “Uh… anyway, I have to go. My parents want me, and my mom doesn't want to be seen in public with me if they can help it… so, bye I guess.”

“G-g-g-g-…b-bye.” The cobalt pony retorted, “S-s… see y-y-y-you at sch-school t-t-tom…” He stopped and tried to regain his composure, but what Derky said next literally left him speechless.

“Tomorrow?” The young Pegasus finished the sentence for him, but his face spoke of confusion, and a hint of melancholy was prevalent in his tender dialect, as though the word held some hidden meaning, buried and forgotten. “I didn’t tell you?”

Whatever it was that was so special about the day proceeding the current, he had indeed not told Weatherstorm, and the gentle look of a distant sorrow in Derky’s face told him at once that the news was dire and sombre. A part of him had no desire to hear, but he knew, somehow, that he must.

“I’m moving tomorrow. Away. From Cloudsdale.”

Weatherstorm was unprepared. It came quickly and sharply, like a fanged dagger in the side, and caught him in the stomach with a sickening stab. His head reeled. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. He refused to believe it. It was a lie, like everything in this city. A veiled imagining, a conjured fabrication, smoke and mirrors, mirrors and smoke as dense and concealing and white as the fog and the clouds.

He tried to speak, but his mouth was numb and his throat dry and barren like the sands of Saddle Arabia, not that he’d ever seen the place. “W-w…” He coughed and wheezed, his face growing pale, pale and white like the clouds of Cloudsdale.

“Away from here.” Derky answered the unasked question. His face, in comparison, with glowing with compassionate crimson red. “To Ponyville. It’s a little town, quiet. On the ground. I’ve always wanted to see the ground more often. There's animals down there.”

That made two of them. But Weatherstorm was unconcerned with such things. How could he possibly be now? “For-for-…” The word ‘forever’ seemed incomprehensible, unspeakable; forever was such a long time…

“Forever, yeah. I’m sorry.” He turned away to look at his parents; they were ready to leave without him. “My parents say it’s to get away from the hustle and bustle of the big city. It’s stressing them out, or something. I’m sorry.” He repeated.

Weatherstorm dearly wanted him to stay. He was his only friend, the only pony with whom he could talk, communicate, connect: they were outcasts both, one and the same, against the world and all the badness and sadness that dared to steal their happiness away. Derky was the only pony who understood him, just as he was the only pony who understood Derky: they were each others' lighthouse beacons burning through the darkness and the cold white ice, but in one fell swoop, the fire was put out and smothered with a damp white cloth, the white of the sky. Weatherstorm felt physically sick, and tears sprung like leaks in his eyes.

Derky could not bear to look at him, but he forced himself to be strong. “I want to stay. More than anything, ever, but it’s decided. I thought I’d told you sooner. But it’s okay,” He smiled. “You can come visit me whenever you want.”

That was a lie. Derky’s parents, his mother in particular, hated Weatherstorm and he knew it. That much was no secret. This was an official cutting of ties, a final goodbye, the last sayonara. And even as tears sparkled in his blue eyes like crystals, Weatherstorm scowled inwardly. He hated Derky’s smile. He hated it, hated it, hated it. That stupid, lopsided, whole-hearted grin. Was that meant to make him feel better? Stupid idiot. Stupid, stupid fool. Let him go; he didn’t need him. Let him go to his new home and his new surroundings of green and brown and the azure skies in the mornings and the golden skies in the evenings and the snow, the nice snow, in the winter, and the rain in the fall and the colour that shone along the skyline when it stopped. Let him go, and leave him alone, for Weatherstorm didn’t need him. Weatherstorm needed nopony.

He threw his hooves around the ginger-maned colt, and tears came freely now, seeping into the thick, brown coat of his friend. He was unsure of who shed the most tears in that particular moment, but he’d wager it was himself.

Derky broke away and, silent as a ghost, he slunk back and rejoined his parents and faded away into the shining white.

Weatherstorm stood alone by the gates. They moaned like lost souls as they swayed. His family were out of view. Derky was gone, forever, it seemed.

The sun set and, and the white clouds ushered in the moon.

The little colt cried his tears alone. Alone, alone, alone in the white void.

Weatherstorm’s voice wavered, then trailed off. It was evident that something was upsetting him, but Starfire had no idea as to what that could be. This could be attributed to Starfire not actually being conscious to hear the majority of his sombre tale. “Looking back on it, the day I took my first flying exam wasn’t a very good day at all.”

Starfire awoke with a grunt, and the blackened forms of his imagination stayed put for all of a second, as though to tease him and question whether they did indeed exist, or whether they did not. They shifted form the corners of his vision, and when he turned, they slipped away without a trace. Good riddance. His head span with the abrupt awakening, and his stomach churned violently. He swallowed his slightly acidic saliva and his stomach rumbled in protest. “W-what was that, sorry? I dozed off for a few minutes.”

Weatherstorm appeared irked somewhat. “Are you…” He hiccupped and made an attempt to cover his mouth, and he still seemed rather stunned as he sat there, soaking in cider. Obviously, he’d managed to forgot about the flagon he held in his right hoof. “…Telling me that I was talking to myself the whole time?” He added, “You couldn’t pass me a towel or something of the like, could you? There was a small error on my part.”

Ain’t no rest for the wicked.

And so the student teacher found himself on his hooves once more, this time in search of an instrument with which to cleanse the journalist of his sticky situation. The Pegasus was worse than a foal, of that there was no doubt, and the irony that Starfire, as a teacher, would spend a good portion of his life repeating the same actions he performed now with scaled down Weatherstorms was not at all lost on him. “I was awake for a good portion of that story.” He said, instead choosing to ignore the stallion’s self-confessed lapse of judgement. “I was resting my eyes.”

“Aren’t we all.”

Starfire didn’t get it. What he did get, however, was a dishcloth, soiled and dirty, with frayed fibres and worn colour. Obviously, it wasn’t as new as the rest of the abode, perhaps some odd family heirloom of Zecora's. It hung from the kitchen sink, draped across the dripping tap. The light from the window above shimmered through and illuminated the object like a holy grail.

It was almost automatic, like clockwork, for as soon as he pulled the cloth from its resting place, the dripping intensified and grew a little louder, more frequent.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

It wasn’t the tap. The window glimmered with tiny rain droplets. Barely noticeable, at least at first. But then another hit, then another, and before he knew it, the entire slab of glass was weeping, tears trailing down the transparent surface. The mingled into one before they slid off altogether, and the pattering intensified until it rose to a crescendo. The noise was all around them: the sound of water gently beating off of the treetops, and moistening the soil, and the moon gleamed intricately like a diamond amidst the jewelled fragments, beautifully distorted by the surprisingly natural phenomenon.

The blond-maned stallion had experienced rain a million times in his life, but not once did he ever think of precipitation as ‘relaxing’ or ‘peaceful’. And yet, his eyes grew as big and bold as the moon itself, and lay transfixed upon the droplets as they slid elegantly along the window and melded into one form. His muzzle grew slowly into a tender grin. The sound the water produced as it rushed overhead and pooled over the branches and slouched the leaves, gorged with rainfall, was exotic and foreign but familiar and comforting. No pony intervention: the rumours rang true. How very unnatural this bizarre forest was. What was even more bizarre was that this established unnatural occurrence was one of the most natural things the student had experienced.

“It’s raining,” he muttered, sparkling with radiance.

“So it is,” was the other’s reply. And then they said nothing for a long time, and the forest was silent, but for the pouring rain, and the sweet sound it made as it fell form the heavens and moistened the soil.

Starfire’s problems subsided at once: the stabbing pain in the pit of his chest, and the throbbing in his legs, the heaviness of his eyes – and the shadows and the dark, obliterated, made obsolete by the rainfall, it was no longer real nor relevant: only the rain remained. He felt soothed, safe, and happy. The lit fire cracked and popped in synch with the falling rain outside, and for the first time that night, everything felt as it should. With a sigh, he trotted back to his patient and lowered the towel upon his person.

It took the Pegasus a few seconds for his rolling, clouded eyes to find the object, and when he did, he simply balled the thing up in a bundle and dabbed under his eyes. “Thank you,” he announced, before following, “I knew that old sailor was telling the truth about the weather here. A journalist always knows when somepony is telling the truth. What a bizarre world in which we live; get used to one thing, life just throws you a curveball and tells you to suck it up.”

“Say what you will, but it’s a beautiful curveball,” Starfire smiled and sat by the fire. The heat it gave off warmed him to the core, and cast the room a rosy red. “It goes against everything I know, but I could get used to it, I suppose.”

“’A beautiful curveball,’” Weatherstorm repeated, “Alas, my good friend, I could not agree with you more.”

The day was bright and cheery, in theory, but Weatherstorm lived not in some fantasy world and he wasn’t a brainless fool. Today was, to him, grey and dull and sad. And still, it tried to deceive him, the ground, with its flowers and colours and ‘grass’, and the floor so solid he could feel it underhoof. He refused to believe any of it. No place could be so magical: none. Not today.

He’d come to see him off, his only friend. Come to see him off to his new home, his new school, his new life without him. Derky was free of Cloudsdale’s deadly shackles now: no longer would it ensnare him so, whilst Weatherstorm would do as he always did, and stagnate, this time by himself.

The little town was quite a beauty, and there seemed far worse places to make your personal residence. Trees lined the cobbled streets, beside the white-washed shops and cookie-cutter cottages. They swayed softly in the breeze – there was a slight breeze, he could recall. He’d never shaken like this before. It felt as though his fur and skin would slide off of his rattled bones, and he’d be left there, naked and vulnerable and frightened.

The residents greeted him and his mother as they made their way through the thriving market district, with a warm smile and small, delicate wave.

“Hello!” They would beam, “Fine day!” and “Wonderful weather we’re having!”

He wanted to live here at once, but he knew such an action was not likely to transpire. And for that, he hated them, those unnamed ponies. Their cheer and smiles and pleasantness. He stayed by his mother’s side, and hadn’t it in his heart to falter from the path. The world was so open, yet he felt so enclosed. All paths lead to the same outcome, in the end.

The air was thick down here, on the earth. It felt heavy and cumbersome but strangely comforting, and not at all like the choking, claustrophobic smog of Cloudsdale. The sun and the clouds seemed lustrous and new, so much so he barely recognised them at all, reshaped anew. A squirrel veered across their path, and his mother laughed and moved aside for the creature to scurry up the thick trunk of a golden tree, brown leaves already accumulating along the bottom. It was a very different world down here. Very different indeed.

Derky met them outside the schoolhouse, leaning lazily along the glaring white fence which ran the length of the school perimeters. The copper Pegasus, brown as the autumn leaves, rummaged through his rust-coloured saddlebags with genuine enthusiasm, but there was no worry about his furrowed features. Weatherstorm couldn’t blame him: he was, after all, starting a new life, meeting new ponies, exploring a new world, and for that he knew he could only pretend to, for his own sake, be so sad.

He looked up when he heard the approaching hoofsteps, and, flicking his wild, orange mane aside, he smiled his same goofy little smile. He wore its obscurity well. He didn’t seem at all surprised by their unexpected arrival: he welcomed it. “Hello, Mrs S,” he greeted Weatherstorm’s mother first, such was the done thing to do. “Hello, Weatherstorm.”

It was goodbye that was singing mournfully in his heart, and Weatherstorm knew it all too well. They were, after all, one and the same.

Weatherstorm’s mother spoke for her child. “G'morning, Derky. Where are your parents?”

“They’re not here,” he replied, still smiling his sad smile, “My mom is at home, making sure the new servants are getting the house ready. And my dad said something about, ‘scoping the local market.’”

Of course his father was. ‘To get away from it all,’ they said, ‘The hectic city lifestyle.’ The Bellrays did nothing unless they saw a profit, and it seemed Ponyville was the next small Equestrian town to fall prey to the couple’s money-making schemes. Whatever their plans for the new sleepy abode they called home, it interested Weatherstorm not. Obviously, it was important enough to tear his only friend from his grasp.

“And there’s nopony here at all to wish you good luck on your first day at your new school, my lad?”

“Nopony but you, Mrs S. Is that why you’re here?”

“’Weather wanted to see you, and wish you good luck.”

Her colt stepped out from behind her legs, and bowed. Weatherstorm’s face was like a stone; cold and hard and grey. But there was life in his eyes, and they were locked on Derky, alight with something, but it was indecipherable whether it was vengeance or jealousy or sorrow or the whole darned lot. He didn’t attempt to speak, to wish him good luck and say goodbye, for he knew the words would never come. He had some dignity, and he wanted Derky’s last impression of him to be proper. The placed their hooves on each other’s shoulders, and squeezed tightly.

"G-goodbye." The blue one choked out. His voice might have been lifted by the breeze and sent spiraling off like a kite. He couldn’t remember.

Derky’s smile was gone now, and his face was barren. “Why? I’ll see you again. Positive.”

Were it so easy.

The bell, nestled like a giant in the great, shingled spire of the schoolhouse, tolled, signalling the start of the school day. It was like a crack of thunder and twice as demanding, and shook the rolling plains the building was perched upon. Derky spoke when it rang for the ninth, and final, time.

“Classes are starting soon. I have to go.”

He walked off then, and slipped away from Weatherstorm’s touch, and he knew at once that this time it was final. Halfway before he reached the single wooden door of the pleasant, peachy, primrose pink schoolhouse he turned and, with a grand sweeping motion, he waved.

“Aren’t you going to wave back, honey?” Weatherstorm’s mother asked under her breath.

He did not.

The noise was unbearable, and Weatherstorm’s head began to throb furiously. Foals laughed and played in the school grounds, their voices high and shrill and joyous. Their parents chatted and murmured by the gates, and cheered their children goodbye, wishing them all a fun and safe day. There was another voice, that of a colt’s, shrill as all the others, emanating from behind the building: it sounded as though he were telling jokes. How could anypony tell jokes on a day like today? A horrible, miserable, solemn day? All these noises mingled into one big mess of sound, like a low, buzzing drone. But one noise stood out amongst the rest.

“Oh! Excuse me, darling.”

It caught his attention at once, and almost as though he were in a trance, Weatherstorm stopped dead, and his muscles locked up. The voice’s master stood out from behind him, and into his vision for the very first time.

She was stunning, that much was immediately obvious. Petite and delicate, her horn small and round and perfect, like her nose, her eyes big and bold and captivatingly deep. “I didn’t quite see you there. I’m afraid to say I almost knocked you over.”

She gave him the slightest embers of a smile then, and the heat that emanated off her pearly white teeth was magnificent. “Sorry again.” Her mane, velvet purple, blew wistfully in the wind, swirling in hypnotising little circles, but never enveloped her face. She waited for a response. “You don’t talk much, do you?” What a beautiful voice she had: soft and wonderful and as willowing as her mane, it reminded him of roses and lavender and all the other plants he had heard of, but never been fortunate enough to be in contact with. “Are you new here?”

“No, no,” replied Weatherstorm's mother to the filly, “We’re only visiting.”

“Oh,” The filly appeared somewhat surprised, and a little disappointed. “I heard tell that we were receiving a new classmate today. I do so like meeting new ponies, and, perhaps in time, bringing out their own, unique styles.”

There was something about the way she talked that mesmerized the colt: never before had he heard such a wonderful way with words, and her accent emphasised what she was saying just-so. Had he had the time, he could simply have listened to her all day, and all notions of seeing Derky off were instantly forgotten as he basked in her presence.

Derky’s stomach was in knots by the time he ascended the short flight of steps, up to the front door of the school, and the gateway to his new life. The door was being held by a cheerful, magenta-coated mare, her mane bedraggled and her braces glaringly bright. She beamed at him and ushered him inside. She introduced herself as Cheerilee, the new student teacher, and that her younger sister also enrolled here. She seemed trustworthy, and pleasant, and when she took him by the hoof he made no attempt to protest. But he paused just before entering the classroom, and turned back to his friend, who was here to see him off.

Weatherstorm wasn’t even looking in his direction. He stood with his mother, talking to another, a filly. His face was blank, but his eyes were wide with wonder, and Derky could tell at once that he was smitten. And that made him smile. The butterflies in his stomach subsiding, he calmly walked into the classroom, still shaking, but urged on by his friend’s happiness. The door shut behind him.

The mysterious filly’s head snapped backwards at the sound of the door slamming shut. “Oh, look at the time. I must be off. It was a pleasure to meet you… Actually, I didn’t catch your name.”

“W…W-W-wea…” He mumbled, trailing off into a whisper.

“What a darling name. Absolutely fabulous to meet you, Wea.” She gave him one of those heartwarming smiles that burrowed deeply into his soul, and then she was off, running down the path to the schoolhouse, rounding the swings and the roundabout which turned to attention as she sped past, up to the steps and inside the building. As quickly as she came, she was gone.

“We’ll go now, honey,” Weatherstorm’s mother cooed. “Derky is already inside.”

The walk back through Ponyville seemed considerably shorter than the journey to the schoolhouse, and all the while, Weatherstorm uttered not a cheep. He thought, and thought, and thought, but no longer of his friend, but of the mysterious new girl. She was so pretty, so perfect. Underneath her saddlebags, brimming with opaque cloths and decorative fabrics, were three shining, pale blue diamonds upon her flank – he saw them only a moment, for diamonds were indeed fleeting, but they were as pretty as the filly who wore them. He was intrigued, and there was a stirring of emotions in his chest.

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly WHAT it was about her that moved him so. Was it the way she talked, the way she acted? The way that he had almost talked without stuttering when she was near? It was very confusing, but he simply could not tear his mind away.

The cart was right where they had left it, near the market square. The same ponies said hello to them a second time as they passed. The owner of one local establishment, Quills and Sofas, patted the foal on the head and gave him a free quill and inkwell. Something about a ‘promotional offer for his new business,’ and whilst his mother thanked the stallion and they exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes, she did mumble that ‘She’d rather have a free sofa’ when they were out of earshot of the shopkeep. Weatherstorm would have complemented the stallion for daring to bring Equestria such a daring fusion, but alas, as previously stated, his mind was elsewhere. He half climbed, half stumbled into the back of the wooden carriage, and his mother shackled herself to the front, and in a moment’s notice, they were off into the sky.

Weatherstorm watched Ponyville sink further away into the distance, the sprawling town reduced to nothing but a pebble in minutes. She was still down there, somewhere. Who was she? Where did she live? He sighed, dreamily, and leaned against the back of the cart as it carried him away, back into the sky, where the blue and white merged. He’d known happiness now. He’d stood alongside it, and heard it whisper in his ear. It was a physical entity, happiness, something he could touch, that existed of this world.

It was nightfall when they got back to their home in Cloudsdale. They lived in a less than stellar area of the floating city, but whilst the terraced, cloud-brick houses were featureless and cramped and claustrophobic, the streets outside never lost their white sheen.

His father and brother were already there as they trotted in through the front door of the residence, and they sat by the kitchen window, father and son, hooves around each other and dinner in their laps, watching the activity outside. The great coliseum of Cloudsdale, domed and oval and always bustling with ponies, stretched out a mere layer below them, and from the kitchen window everything was visible: the try-outs for the Equestrian Games had begun, and nearly everyone in the city, young and old, wanted to be on the team. Huge sconces lit up the darkened sky like hundreds of miniature suns, and illuminated the Pegasi below, each one zipping and zooming along with a gigantic smile plastered across their faces. The stadiums were full to breaking point, and others were in the streets, cheering wildly like things possessed. One pony, adorned with the distinctive navy uniform of the Wonderbolts (Weatherstorm could not for the life of him identity which member it was – he had no interest in such things) soared past the window in a trail of smoke, so blazingly fast that the window shuddered and rattled in the pane. This caused a collective ‘whoop’ of joy and adrenaline from mother, father, and son.

The other, the ‘guest’, rolled his blue eyes. How could they find this entertaining? He’d rather watch paint dry than be subjected to such foolishness.

All three sat in a row on the windowsill, their shadows cast lengthily along the room by the flickering candle that rested on the small dining table. They huddled together, and warmed the fire in their collective family heart, and felt an overwhelming sense of belonging.

“Weatherstorm, come and sit down also, and we shall all watch the fliers together,” commanded his father.

“But dad, there is no room on the windowsill.” Soarin pointed out with a shrug. He was, indeed, correct. No room remained for poor Weatherstorm, not even if he tried and struggled and forced himself to fit, it would be in vain.

“He can pull up a chair, then.”

It didn’t take Weatherstorm very long to decline the generous offer. He gave no reason as to why other than yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“But sweetie, what about dinner?” his mother inquired. She did not want him going to bed with an empty stomach, after all.

He yawned again. His excuse was fool-proof.

His brother’s eyes lit up with greed and indulgence. “Dibs on his helpings!” Like that, he was stuffing the pre-cooked servings into his mouth and munching down upon the foodstuffs furiously.

‘Let him have it,’ Weatherstorm thought as he ascended the stairs, quill tucked safely under his wing. He stopped on the last step when he heard his father’s low whisper.

“There is something very strange with that boy, I tell you. Something very strange.”

“Leave him alone, dearie. It’s just a phase.”

“Ah, but when will he grow out of it? Will he ever fly at all?”

“When it’s his time.”

“Ack, I so wanted him to be…” The whisper trailed off, slinked away. “Soarin, watch this! Here they come.”

Weatherstorm didn’t move for quite some time. He stayed there, prone at the top of that narrow fluffy stairway, enable to move or feel anything. He wished he had tears left to cry, but he did not. They refused to come, abandoned him, cast him away like…

He knew now what he had to do. He felt it, deep in his soul.

Rushing up to his shoebox of a bedroom, he flung the door open and threw what few possessions he possessed from the little oak desk, huddled in the corner amongst the propaganda, the less than subliminal messages his parents had strewn around his room to urge him to fly: nothing he owned was truly his own. As Wonderbolt dolls and Olympian figurines scattered across the stained, white carpet, he turned to his bookshelf and yanked free his only tome from the surrounding Wonderbolt posters and Equestrian Games banners. The cover was a light blue, the same colour as his fur, and the title read, “Wonder Years: A history of the Wonderbolts.” His parents had bought him that for his birthday, and he’d yet to read the thing. Even if he could read the big, daunting words, he assured himself that it would be of no interest to him. And yet he stopped for breath before he began his work, as though having a change of heart.

‘No,’ he decided at last. ‘I must.’

With a tug, he ripped the first page from the book and it screeched like a living creature. He tore out the second page, and the third. Faster and faster and faster. With each and every shining white page he ripped free from the spine, he felt his confidence grow, like he was tearing free the badness from his life, and transforming himself a husk, ripe for re-programming.

He wasted no time when the book sat barren and lifeless. The pages were bundled like kindling and thrust upon the bench in unorganised piles. He sat down, hunched and gently dipped his quill into the inkpot. They wrote sparingly at school and he was not accustomed to such an apparatus and so he took it slow and steady. One stroke, one letter, then another stroke, another letter.

The filly was still playing on his mind, fresh as winter snow. From her mannerisms, she was wealthy, for she spoke well and looked well and had a bag of expensive things, more expensive than anything Weatherstorm had laid eyes on before. For this reason, he began to make a list, a scrawling of notes of everything he had ever learnt from his time in Derky’s parents' presence. They were well to do, as she must have been, and ponies like that only befriend other ponies of the same social standing, of which Weatherstorm was not. But he could fool her. He could pretend. He could write himself anew, with this holy pen and this heavenly paper, he’d re-write his life: past, present and future.

When he was satisfied with his notes, he started into his real work, his real mission. Stoke after stroke after stroke he delivered to those marked pages, for he hadn’t the privilege of blank sheets. His hoof was a blur as the writing became faster and faster and faster, and his maniacal grin grew stronger and stronger. He sat there, just a colt, into the long hours of the night, writing away his past and re-imagining himself rising as a new pony from the ashes of his figurative death like a phoenix. A pony with class, and style, with friends and a family that were just like him. And his mystery girl was there, worked skilfully into this intricate fabrication, a tale of fictional ponies and fantastical, wonderful lands, where magic wasn’t stale but fresh and free. He was all grown up in this story, and he had friends with jobs as did he, and they all shared flaws and faults but for her. The story was taking shape, growing, growing, and the old Weatherstorm was growing smaller and smaller. All he could do was write, guided by the light of the moon, filtering in through the open window.

So hard at work was he that he never noticed his cutie mark fizzle into his existence. There it sat upon his thigh like something of beauty; the image depicted a rolled scroll bound by the red ribbon, and the moon above it was a sentry guard, a caring mother, keeping watch over his secret and forever keeping it safe and enlightened. He had done it. After years of silence and obscurity, he’d found his voice, his method of communication. He would write forever, and sail to the moon on his paper yacht of literature.

The door creaked open a fraction and in slid two shadows. The foal’s parents found their youngest son asleep at his desk, quill still in mouth, and fresh ink blotched along the creases in the crumpled pages. They could do nothing but smile when they saw the cutie mark that lay upon his person. A tear formed in his father’s eye as his mother gently carried the bundle of fur to his bed, and delicately tucked him in. The colt stirred, but didn’t wake.

“Our little boy has done it,” she whispered to her husband. “He’s growing up.”

“I know he’ll never be strong flier, nor will he ever be Wonderbolt, but... Weather has to make his own choices. And if he’s happy, then so be it.”

His mother reached down and kissed his forehead. “Goodnight, my little pony.”

“Gute nicht, Weatherstorm.”

The door shut with a click behind them.

Weatherstorm didn’t stir once in his bed, rather he slept more peacefully that night than ever. Subconsciously, he pulled the sheets up to his chin and sighed in his slumber. They smelled of roses and lavender, and they were very, very white. A wonderful, beautiful white. As white as the snow he had heard so much about, or the clouds.

Even living amongst them, he’d forgotten that clouds could be that white.

Chapter 14

Weatherstorm stopped dead, and Starfire was sure there was more story to come, but alas, it never arrived. The Pegasus turned to the flask and downed the last of the liquid, and licked at the remnants that clung stubbornly to the bottom of the mug. When nothing remained, he gently set the glass down on his chest, and drew out an extended sigh. His eyes, so small and beady without his spectacles enlarging them like full, pale moons, were veined and misty and it seemed, to Starfire at least, that tears were simmering along the bottom. He blinked them back.

“You asked why I believe in fate,” he spoke softer than Starfire had ever heard him speak before, and any trace of his usual exaggerations were gone. “It was no mere co-incidence that I came into being that moonlight night. And that, Mr Starfire, is my reply.” He yawned then, the drink slowing his cognitive functions to a grinding halt, and his head drooped.

“I’ll get you another glass, if you want…” Starfire began to shift, but was quickly seated by a tender gesture. The journalist wished him seated.

“No,” whispered the blue one. It seemed that telling his story was simply too taxing on his vocal chords, and his speech was all but depleted. “No, I’m fine. Listen,” he leaned in close to the student teacher, “I’m sorry.”

There was no airs and graces about his apology this time, and Starfire knew at once that he meant it. He’d been apologising all night, but this was real. This was Weatherstorm.

Weatherstorm’s expression remained blank and bare, but his eyes did all the smiling for him, as diluted and imperfect as they were, and that only added to the charm. He spoke not a word as he turned, slowly, arching his back, to his side, facing the stiff back of the sofa he lay upon. It wasn’t long before Starfire heard snoring, and he knew that the Pegasus had been carried away to slumber by his own imaginings, and of course, the copious cups of cider he had consecutively consumed.

Starfire could not help but smile down at the sleeping form, curled in a cerulean ball. “It’s okay,” he said as the rain pelted down against the walls of the tree, “I’m sorry too.”

He leaned back on his box and popped himself against the wall, simply staring at the stallion opposite to him. He looked so small, all of a sudden, but as tall as a king, a sleeping giant, and his gorgeous little rag of a cloth, still resting on his cider-drenched body, became something of a regal artifact. There was something pure about him now, at long last.

The minutes ticked by, and blackness stretched into the horizon of the night, and time became timeless, and all the while, Starfire suddenly and curiously felt not tired like his comrade, but curious. He lulled the story he was given over in his mind, and felt a twinge of pity. Many questions burned through his mind: who was Weatherstorm? Had he perished long ago, on that fateful, rather, co-incidental night? Was the pony before him nothing but a conjuration of that young colt’s mind, a self-imaging that he yearned for, and felt was right? It was most confusing. For a stallion that had never once described himself as a ‘romanticist’ he had spent his life waiting on his one and only love from a chance childhood meeting for so long that it became who he was, and defined him. What did he plan on doing if he were to win her affections? Marry her, or forever remain distant a distant admirer? Would he ever pluck up the courage to tell her his feelings? Maybe that was the biggest fear of all, for she was his true mother, in a way – she made him who he is. If she were to reject him and cast him away, what would become of him? Would he simply dissolve away into nothingness, with no further purpose to fulfil? Everything he was, is, and ever will be, was for her all along.

The questions came to him thick and fast, and Starfire was unsure as to whether he would ever receive an answer to any of them. Something he was sure of was that everything he had heard was true, and not the slurred ramblings of a drunken dipstick; he seemed far too sincere, and the pain in his eyes were as revealing as anything he had said. In fact, that may have been the only time that Weatherstorm had ever told the truth without manipulating some small thing. Strip away all of the formalities and the niceties and the lies, and you find the saddest, yet most inspiring pony in all of Equestria within.

He was a somewhat callous and careless creature, was Weatherstorm – he seemed to do as he pleased to ponies and creatures with nary a thought or the slightest regard for anypony else to meet his own whim and fuel his own desires, and then, whilst the chaos reigned, he retreated back to his vast thoughtlessness and his pure, incorruptible dream: and he did it all for one mare. And for this, Starfire couldn’t hate him. Not any more.

There was a soothing innocence in Weatherstorm’s aspirations and his dreams, as though he had never truly grown up at all, and Starfire felt that he was dealing with no more than a foal. He wasn’t sure that Rarity would ever love him as much as he loved her. Acknowledge him, aye, and befriend him, maybe, but it would never be love. Starfire knew little of this ‘Rarity’ but he knew less of the Pegasus he had spent several days with, and he knew the Pegasus knew less still of himself. But he wished him luck, for it was the only present Starfire had to spare him. Perhaps, in time, ‘fate’ would bring the two together, and they could be happy. The dressmaker could do a lot worse than the journalist, after all.

He was sure that, should one dig deep, there was a diamond in the rough.

“Are they following? A-are...” Candi’s frantic cried were cut short by another blast of blazing hot fire, scorching fibres at the end of his femininely fluffy tail. She screeched, and ran ever so slightly faster, motivated by the thought of how being roasted alive would most certainly become quite a hindrance to her life. She dared not look back, and just galloped.

“Yeah,” Derky answered the somewhat rhetorical question in a surprisingly nonchalant manner, craning his neck backwards in time to see the entire flock of avian-reptilian adversaries still in pursuit. They weren’t happy, made evident by the big, scowling sneers they wore so naturally. “They’re still behind us.”

Zecora, ever dominant, led the retreating party of three. The duo behind her could not see her face, but they heard her voice, and there was clearly panic amidst the fake calmness.

“Derky Bells, I have to know,

What did you say to upset them so?”

Derky shrugged mid gallop, an incredible (if ill-advised) feat for a quadruped. On the plus side, he could now closer inspect the soil, and all the little insects in it. On the negative side of things, the immobile stallion was likely going to be snatched up by any one of the gleaming talons swooping down to meet him. Still, despite his peril, he thought he could at least try to straighten things out. Rolling onto his back, he stared valiantly at the diving swarm of dragons with something of a baffled shimmer in his eyes.

“Excuse me, Mr Dragon,” he asked politely to the hulking reptilian beast, mid dive, “What did I do to upset you again?”

Candi heard the question, skidded to a stop, and sighed. How Derky could remain so calm in such situations was clearly beyond her. She had to gruffly yank the Pegasus up by the scruff of his neck and drag him away as a bout of fire connected with the particular patch of grass that Derky had been sprawled across. “Derky!” exclaimed the mare, her voice cracking under the pressure, “Run!”

“Give me a minute, Candi,” Derky replied to the lawyer as though he were talking to a child, freely allowing himself to be dragged along backwards. He turned his attention back to the dragons, and gave them all his sweetest smile. “As I was saying, Mr Dragon, what did I do that upset you so much that you want to eat me?”

“I DON'T WANT TO EAT YOU! I’M A VEGETARIAN!” The scaled fellow bellowed.

“What a funny co-incidence. So am I.” The Pegasus gasped as the still-galloping Candi swung him upwards and onto her back. ‘A pony riding a pony’ thought he. ‘How bizarre.’

“Of course you’re a vegetarian! I’m a vegetarian!” Candi shouted, heart racing, “We’re horses!”

Derky shushed him gently, then folded his hooves and repeated his question to the dragon. “Why do you want to set me on fire? Lots of ponies want to set me on fire, but at least they give me a reason.”

“YOU AWOKE ME FROM MY SLUMBER!”

“Ah,” Derky tapped his chin in a know-it-all-manner manner. “I see. I’m sorry about that, but let’s be honest: you weren’t asleep for that long, were you?”

“FOR YOUR INFORMATION, I HAVE SPENT SEVERAL DAYS TRAVELLING, AND… HOW WOULD YOU KNOW HOW LONG I WAS ASLEEP FOR?”

Derky blushed as he laughed. “Oh, well, you see… I was hiding, um… watching you sleep?” Even he began to panic a little as he patted out the fire that erupted from his mane, the flames almost indistinguishable from his ginger hair. “I think we’re making some progress here!” He said, a little less optimistic than he had hoped for.

“YOU WERE SPYING ON ME AND MY FAMILY…”

“Not in a creepy way.”

“YOU TRIED TO STEAL FROM ME…”

“I only wanted a LITTLE bit of your fiery breath, is all.”

“YOU’VE GOT A STUPID LOOKING FACE…”

“Debatable.”

AND YOU ARE QUITE POSSIBLY THE MOST ANNOYING PONY I’VE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE TO MEET!”

“Again, debatable. But don’t you feel like this is a great way to bond?”

Candi managed to swerve around a tree with little room for error, as the blast of fiery doom engulfed the trunk at once, flames twisting around the gnarled features and the tree silently screamed, burning. “Flipping ‘eck!”

Zecora’s face, pale as ever, matched that of the flaming tree.

“We must stop these dragons,” she yelled with a frown,

“Else they’ll burn the whole forest down!”

What Zecora said did not exactly rhyme, but forget technicalities, Derky hadn’t the time. Another fireball sailed over the stallion’s ducking head, and another aged tree erupted in flame. Candi yelped as the heat lashed at her hooves and burning ash enveloped her eyes, but the Pegasus passenger remained as cool as a cucumber, and twice as dim. “My friend, the zebra, her name is Zecora by the way, she thinks you might accidently start, uh... a, er, little big forest fire. Just so you know.”

“I DON’T CARE!” Roared Mr Dragoon, and without a second thought for anypony he snatched up Derky’s mane between his teeth and yanked him skyward, caught in the creature’s powerful jaws. How he was not reduced to a quivering, screaming wreck by this particular stage was anypony’s guess. “He says that he doesn’t care!” He called back down to Zecora, voice escalating with panic.

The dragon bellowed, “I AM GOING TO SPIT ROAST YOU!” in between clenched teeth. The sparking embers in his dark eyes showed he was telling the truth.

“Um… Please don’t?” Responded an uncertain Derky with a half-smile. “Zecora, he says that he’s going to spit roast me! I don’t even know what that means!”

Candi wasn’t one for making rash, foolish decisions on a whim, when she could help it: she liked to think her actions through and act on the most appropriate response catered to the current situation. But there was a little streak in her, an adventurous streak, a dangerous streak, a daring streak, which had only inflamed over the years of her mundane, dissatisfying job, and now it was shining out like a diamond. Call it a momentary lapse of judgement, but Candi certainly did not want her friend to get burned alive. Not today, anyhow. Before she knew it, she was dangling in the air with Derky’s copper tail in her mouth, tickling the roof of her gums. If she was going to be a hero and prove herself as a stallion worthy of her father’s love, she may as well start now. She yanked her head down, hard, and tore Derky free from the monster’s foul grip.

At least, that was the plan she had running through her mind.

In reality, she was swept from the ground at once, screaming hysterically, and all of a sudden two ponies hung from the dragon’s jaws. Even he seemed stunned by the events that had just transpired. But no matter; they’d feel the heat soon enough.

Zecora heard the frantic yelling long before she saw the duo dangling from the corner of her emerald eyes. “Zecora? Zecora?” She heard the winged-one call her name.

“What? Do tell me, Derky Bells,

What can I do, do tell, do tell!”

“Help please.”

She sighed then, and came to terms with the fact she was staring peril in the face. And then she acted.

The first fireball was nimbly dodged as she doubled back, the zebra mare sweeping low and the edges of the flames burning away the corners of her mane. The second, too, failed to hit the moving target, sailing under the striped equine’s hooves and spreading the soil in dirty clumps. She jumped then, before the third blasting stream made contact, twisting her agile body backwards in such a manner that the pillar of flame hadn’t even the opportunity to so much as singe the fur on her back, and the world seemed to distort and slow. She spread her arms like an angel, and she flew into the valley of death.

“Wow,” Cananor mumbled through a mouthful of Derk's tail, “Just like the Maretrix!”

The other dragons dropped back a little, mouths agape in awe. Some stopped altogether, the only movement that of their eyes, black, snake like slits tracing her arc in the air. She was fast, and she was accurate, her eyes closed and forelegs spread heroically, the rain shimmering off of her exotic curves.

Then her eyes shot open, a smile materialized across her solemn face, and her hooves caught Candi’s tail mid jump, tangling around the aqua-marine tangle of hair with expert precision. The yelp that came from the mouth of the unicorn was something unnatural, but she didn’t dare open her mouth fully, and risk letting go of Derky. They were in this together.

“I’ll tell you this, let it ring true,” said the enchantress with a chilling grin.

“The only one getting burned is you!”

With that, she pushed her weight sideways and swung out to the left, back hoof outstretched like something from a Nann-ga, before it connected with a sickening crunch to the dragon’s cheekbone. The sound of the smack echoed through the forest in its entirety, even louder was the roar of pain that the dragon let loose as it swung its mighty head to the moon and the stars and swore, jaws wide.

“Now!” And a whoosh of cold air.

Mr Dragoon had only realised his somewhat obvious error when he watched the three ponies, still daisy-chained together, sail over the treetops into the distance. “Oh,” he muttered, “I forgot that would happen.”

Derky had had some rough landings in his lifetime, but this one took the metaphorical biscuit. Into a treetop he sailed, up into the thickly leafy confines, shaking with delight at his presence. Candi wasn’t far behind. It was pleasing, for a while, at least, as the wind and the rain streamed along her skin and sifted through her fur and the fibers of her mane, and she truly felt as though flight had been bestowed upon her person, but she too saw the tree fast approaching, her mouth opened wide into a ghastly cry, and her body disappeared into the vast greenness. Zecora was the only one that landed with something close to poise, and control, and grace, managing a strategic mid-air combat roll before she too sifted and merged into the thick leaves. The tree was still for a few moments after that, and then,

“Ze-Zecora! Get off! You’re crushing me!”

“Candi, I think that you’re standing on my tail. And your horn is poking me in the eye a little bit.”

“Ze-cora! I can’t breathe!”

“Guys, does anypony know where my wings are? I can’t… oh, there they are. They were still on my back. Disaster avoided.”

“Stallions, stallions,

Hush if you will.

I can hear wings approaching,

Be quiet, sit still.”

“…”

“What was that, Zecora?”

“Shush!”

The three silent equines sat in their shared darkness, and listened intently. The leaves in the tree shook and fell as a mighty, ferocious growl ripped through the forest, and the beating of the wings drew ever closer, rising to a horrendous crescendo until, at last, there was a terrible crash and a thump. The dragon’s voice was close now, so very close Candi could have reached out beyond the confines of their green sanctuary and touched it, and there were other voices too, all talking hurriedly amongst themselves.

“WHERE ARE THEY? I’M GOING TO SQUASH THE GINGER ONE!”

“Don’t tell me you actually LOST them?!”

“Azure, my dear, PLEASE, I can’t concentrate with you nagging me…”

There was a sound akin to a tree being angrily uprooted, most likely the direct result of a tree being angrily uprooted.

“NAGGING you? You’re so rude sometimes, speaking that way to your own wife! My parents were right about you, you know that? And did I listen to them…?”

Cananor frowned as the voices rattled on in this manner, verbal spats being thrown too and fro between the married dragon couple. It hit a little too close to home; it may very well have taken place in the front room of his own parents' house. Ponies and dragons were a lot more alike than he had thought.

“Do you listen to any dragon but yourself, dear?”

“WHAT, WHY I OUGHT TO…”

“Dad?”

The voice was different this time, refreshingly new, gravelly and horse but youthful and decidedly feminine.

“Dad? Like, what are you doing?”

“H-honey! What are you doing here? I told you to stay at the volcano where it was safe, and look after your brother…”

“This is getting good,” whispered Derky, taking a cautious peek outside, “There's a teenage daughter in the mix. I want to see how this goes.”

“Grind got his head stuck in a volcano vent. He’s such a jerk sometimes.”

“That’s no way to talk about your brother.”

“Your mother is right, you know.”

“But, like, where did you go? My friends think you’re cuckoo flying off like that. I mean, OMC.”

“I just wanted to set ONE TINY LITTLE INSIGNIFICANT LITTLE pony alight is all. I don’t have to have your permission. I’m your father.”

“DAD!” The female’s voice cracked. “I TOLD YOU NOT TO DO THAT HERE! YOU’RE EMBARRASSING ME!”

“You get your nagging prowess from your mother, you know that?”

“I heard that!”

“Don’t you start, dear.”

“You’re such a dinosaur, dad. Like, who even sets ponies on fire any more? Leave the horse alone, or whatever.”

Silence for a few moments, intangible murmurings, then, “Fine. I will. For you.” Mr Dragoon turned then, and spoke out to the wilderness, “Little pony, you win, and I shall take my leave. Keep my fire. But know this: you’re lucky that I am a parent, and that kids are so embarrassed by their fathers in today’s society.”

“They grow up so fast,” Derky agreed with a straight face, opening a large gap between the tree leaves and giving a slight nod of acknowledgement to the dragon on the other side.

This was greeted by a bout of fire on Mr Dragoon’s part, and suddenly the tree was lifeless and barren and devoid of trees. The three ponies that were hidden there, had taken shelter in the once leafy confines, wore faces of shock as the coverage crumbled to sooty ash and flaky black snow. The Pegasus stallion was still holding intently onto the now skeletal branches, a big-lipped frown simmering under his wide, shell-shocked eyes.

“AHA! GOT YOU, YOU LITTLE…!”

“DAD!” The teenage dragon’s voice cut through her father’s ferocious growls. "Remember why we had to leave Fillydelphia?"

Mr Dragoon stopped mid-lunge, comically hanging in the air as still as a stone. “FINE!” He threw his claws up in defeat. “Fine. You win. I won’t brutalize the little twerp. Come, one and all, let us retreat back to the volcano, and put this whole horrid ordeal behind us.”

The other 14 dragons consented, and off they flew, back to the distant mountain ranges, the rain beating off of their scaled bodies.

Derky watched them go and sighed dreamily. “You know, I think they’re going to be just fine.”

Candi did not have any sort of comeback, so she merely laughed heartily and slung her hoof friendlily around his scorched shoulder. “Oh, Derky. You almost got us burnt to a crisp.”

“The important thing,” Derky smiled over the sound of the burning tree trunks, engulfed in a quickly spreading flame, “Is that we got everything we came for, and we taught a grumpy old dragon the true meaning of friendship.”

“Yeahsurewhatever.”

The smell of burning bark was prevalent in the air, intoxicating, and Zecora seemed horrified, her hooves to her cheeks and mysterious eyes wide and white. “Oh no,” she muttered in her foreign tongue, “Nonono…” Several trees had been bowled over, the earth still clinging to their dead roots. Several more were alight like twisted birthday candles. The rain was doing nothing to extinguish them, the flames too thick and fierce. The whole forest was in agony. “Oh nononono…”

“Hey Zecora!” Cananor slapped her on the back like a playful pup and squeezed her tightly, pointing off to the flume of smoke in the distance. “Check it out! You can see your house from here!”

Starfire snapped to attention when he heard the voices.

Groggy, head reeling from the sudden, brash awakening, he groaned and then, upon realising that Weatherstorm still lay motionless, chest rising and falling rhythmically atop the dipped sofa, he covered his mouth and strangled any further sounds of protest. His vision was blurred, white spectral beings dancing along his line of sight, accompanied by tiny black dots, whizzing along in delicate patterns. His ears pricked up slowly, cautiously, intently, prowling for more indications of voices from beyond the hut. But there were none, so he sleepily rubbed his eyes, yawned inwardly, and lay back down upon the stack of boxes. It was not comfortable in the slightest, and he had to bend his neck at an obscure angle to even formulate a lying position in the first place, but frankly, he was tired enough to sleep on a clothes line. That was, if the nightmares should allow him to catch some rest…

His eyes shot open, lids reeling back like blinds. It was definite this time, he could hear it. Voices, distant and muffled, but loud enough to be heard above the roar of the pelting rain. He tore himself from slumber, quicker now, more alert, and stumbled to all fours, almost tumbling across the slick, barren floor of the hut. Taking care to keep the sleeping journalist in his comatose state, he slithered over to the window, wiping the last of his sleeplessness from his system, and peered out. The pane was fogged with specs of precipitation, carved like lines into the glass, forever etched into the very fibres with such gentle force that they would never iron out.

The forest outside was, though distorted through the rain speckled window and sleepless pupils, no more unnatural than it should have been. The trees were dark and foreboding, their backs cast on the full moon’s glow, shrouding them in shadowy mystique. Their skinny branches took to a life of their own, creaking as they twisted in rhythm with the precipitation, rainfall dripping from the fingers like viscera. He was almost sure that he saw a lick of black hovering in the tall grass between the trunks, vaguely equine shaped, watching him, coaxing him.

Was it the being from his dream? That faceless, tentacled, black creature, a succubus of malice, bent on plague and pestilence? His mind conjured the images instantly, drawing parallels with the urban legends that he’d heard as a foal in Fillydelphia: The Slendermare, sharp black buttoned suit ever prim and proper, tie as red as blood, that saw everything but had no eyes, heard everything yet had no ears, ate everything, yet had no mouth. Or the observers, ponies from the future, watching equine-kind’s every move with a permanent scowl under that infernal bowler hat, or the Forest Sprites, spirits of the woodlands that…

Stop it.

Starfire was a pony of science, of reasoning and logic. Those stories hadn't frightened him since he was a young foal. He was a smarter stallion than THIS, surely. Such wild assumptions were the product of old pony’s tales. No more real than the Olden Pony, or the Headless Horse, or the Mare in the Mo…

He paused to think. Perhaps I should rethink that last bit… But when he turned back, there was nothing there. Clichéd, of course, but the pelting rain and gusting wind that burrowed under the gaps in the windowpane chilled him thoroughly.

Shaking ever-so-slightly, Starfire backed slowly away from the window and, walking on the edges of his hooves, made his way around to the other side of the hut, making sure to check Weatherstorm along the way, just on the off chance that the sleeping Pegasus was prone to mumbling incoherently in his sleep, and by extension, would be responsible for the murmurings he had heard. Alas, this was not so, and whilst the slumbering stallion did toss and turn gently, he made no audible samples similar to what he had heard, and so he chalked down his unintentional involvement as inconclusive.

“The… not yet…”

“Fire… peril…”

Starfire stopped short suddenly, before he was given the opportunity to peer from the opposite window, dripping with the condensation of his rapid, erratic breaths. He could hear talking, not mumbling, more than one voice. Clear enough to register as ‘voices’ to his subconscious mind, but too muffled to be correctly deciphered, but for a few select words.

“Yes… alone… worry.”

Relaxing somewhat, Starfire rationalised the activity. It was, in most likelihood, his friends returning from their quest for a cure. They had been away some time, after all. That is who it was shifting in the trees. That is who it was creeping around to the front of the house. That is who it was talking in those raspy voices, evil and foreboding. It was his friends.

“Burn… Starfire…”

Or perhaps not. Mind and heart racing, he threw himself against the front door, pressing tightly against it with his full weight. Sweat trickled down his forehead like water gushing over a waterfall, damp blonde strands of hair hanging limply over his eyes like hay. He sure wasn’t taking any chances: not with Icarus and his crew of psychopaths still on the prowl. Trusting his gut, he dragged one of the heavier cardboard boxes to the foot of the door, scraping it noisily across the wooden floor, and began to pile the lighter boxes atop it, building a sort of makeshift barricade, or something akin to the aforementioned. The voices stopped. The handle turned. Starfire closed his eyes.

He heard the doorknob rattle mechanically as whoever, whatever, was on the other side began to violently twist the metal sphere to and fro like a thing possessed. Then a knock, followed by a second, louder. The raspy voice called out to him. “Let me in.” It croaked and coughed, and he knew then that this was most certainly not Zecora nor Derky nor Candi. He waited for what seemed like hours, then another knock, and finally a thump, with such force that it nearly shook the windows from their panes. Then silence. No more murmuring, nor knocking, just the sound of the rain beating furiously across the branches of the hut’s roof, and the mournful wind.

The window flew upon with such force that it nearly shattered, like Starfire’s nerves. Before the student even had time to realise the threat, a figure, blackened, limber, with the smell of fire and brimstone clinging to it like rot, hurled itself into the room. It arose, and snarled at Starfire.

“Dude. I knocked on the door for ages. Why wouldn’t you open up?”

Starfire stumbled to one side. His face was white, knees weak, legs like spaghetti, breathing heavily. He reached for his heart, grasping rapidly at his chest.

“Jeez louise!” He announced, shaken, “What is wrong with you, Candi? You scared me half to death!”

The unicorn pouted and shook soot free of her mane with a raspy cough. “Don’t call me that. Why wouldn't you open the door? I'm not selling vacuum cleaners or anything. No need to barricade the house."

Derky clambered in behind her, managing to trip himself up over the windowsill, landing with an audible ‘oof’ on his chin. He looked up at Starfire with equally blackened features. “Hello Starfire, we’re back.” His eyes wandered to the mound of piled furniture and assorted boxes, barricading the door. “Were you doing some re-arranging, or…?”

Zecora was the last to clamber in through the window, but she did so sleekly, stylishly, like she’d been window hopping for her entire life. The zebra was all black now, no white remained.

“Why block my door? It makes no sense.

Why make me break into my own residence?” Zecora did not seem pleased. Not pleased at all.

“I’m sorry,” Starfire apologised, ears still ringing, heart still furiously pumping. “I thought you might have been somepony else. I haven’t slept. I think I might be delirious. For instance, you’re all black.”

“Huh?” Candi looked down at her own, pitch black coat. “Oh, you’re not delirious. We’re covered in soot and ash, is all. Why? Do you think I wear it well?” She pulled a vogue pose and flashed her eyelashes. “Don’t be shy, tell me what you think!”

Starfire ignored the obvious jape. “Covered in ash? Why in the world would you be covered in ash?”

“We were on fire!” Derky spluttered enthusiastically, clapping his hooves together and sending a cloud of soot sprawling over the confines of the room.

“On FIRE?”

“Yeah, from the…” The Pegasus paused to cough, waved the particles of ash away, and then continued. “Dragons we f… *cough* fought.”

“You FOUGHT them?”

Candi grinned, her dark, chapped lips parting, revealing her white teeth underneath. “Heck yes, we did!” She and Derky shared an excited high-hoof and a holler of happiness, and then they fell into fits of laughter. “Whoo! Those overgrown lizards didn’t know what hit them!”

“You fought with the dragons?” Starfire was in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

Candi straightened up and snorted. “Of course. That’s me, Cananor, dragon fighter, putting wild hot-heads in the drink. Rained on their parade, didn’t even break a sweat.” She chuckled and Derky laughed with her. “Please, please, I won’t be signing any more autographs. I’m sorry.”

The only one who did not seem at all amused was Zecora, her face stern and hard and frightening underneath its new makeup.

“I am surprised that you show so much zest,

For you were not mentally with us for most of this quest.

And let us not forget the raging flames,

That may well the whole forest claim.”

Candi shrugged her warning off with nary a second thought. “It’ll be fine.” She added a sceptical ‘probably.’ “The rain will put it out, I’m sure.”

“Whoa, whoa. Slow up, there.” Starfire interrupted hastily, “You FOUGHT the DRAGONS?”

Derky scratched his head. “Are we still on this?”

“Give him a moment, Derky. It IS pretty amazing, after all. A real knockout. Why yes, Starfire, yes I did.”

“I hel…”

“A moment, Derky. I beat them this-a-way and that-a-way and perhaps in several other directions that haven’t been discovered yet. I’m like a pioneer in beating up dragons, boldly braving life and limb for new dragon-beating techniques, discovering new dimensions into which to beat them. Cananor Acapella, slayer extraordinaire...”

“This is really racialist…”

“Let me boast just this ONE TIME, Derky.”

“Gentlecolts,” Interrupted an accented mare, standing by the lit fireplace, the fire illuminating the darkest fathoms of her expressionless face. “If I may be so bold as to intrude,

A potion awaits to be brewed.”

“Ah, she’s right, of course,” Candi replied, humbled. She shrugged and her long, aqua hair fell about her slender shoulders. “We can talk of my radical accomplishments later. But for now, we have a cure to acquire.”

Starfire laughed, and seconded the motion enthusiastically.

“Excellent, you’re glad, I’m sure,

That we have successfully procured a cure.”

Zecroa winked and gave a smile, thankful of the recent reconcile. Into her bedroom she did hop, and returned in time, and with a pot. It was black as night and twice as cold, metallic, dull, and rather old.

“A cauldron,” Derky observed, eyes gleaming. It was obvious to the onlookers that his mind was thrown at once to the tales of witches and warlocks, spellcasters and hedgewizards, and powerful unicorns, all chanting and mumbling some vile and wonderful incantations.

It was, indeed, a cauldron. The presence of the cooking pot was imposing and demanding, and it made an ominous growl as the zebra dragged it into the room, and let it drop over the open fire with a startling clang.

Starfire could have kissed the utensil as Zecora hastily ripped the carefully packaged ingredients from her bag, each one delicately encased in a red dotted handkerchief.

“Now that I have the ingredients I require,

The time has come to cure our comrades, Cananor, and Starfire.”

“Zecora, we can’t thank you enough…” Starfire was silenced benevolently.

“That will not be necessary, I do what I need to do.

Whilst I prepare the ingredients, will you add water to our brew?”

“Sure.”

Zecora laughed inwardly as the three stallions rushed to the taps and, with hooves trembling with excitement, waited on the creaking and groaning pipes, still new and unused, to dispense H2O post-haste. They were so young, and eager, and foolish, bless them. But there was a certain spark about them that she could relate to. She lined the ingredients up atop her tabletop, and inspected every one of them.

‘These will do nicely.’ She thought to herself, allowing a sly grin. She pulled the last ingredient from her saddlebag, the limp rucksack and emptied coinpurse laying unburdened of their contents. Opening the aged tome that she had brought with her, she checked each ingredient off, one by one.

‘Mettle Nettle, Venus Flytrap petal, Slobbery Seed, this is what we need, yes, yes…’

And yet, when it came to the bottled dragon fire, she paused, and quickly slipped it, so daft of hoof that it was barely noticeable to the equine eye, atop her shelf, nestled behind several of the books, until she could find a more permanent residence for it later.

Dragon fire? For a simple poison joke remedy? The thought was laughable to her: no mere natural remedy for a harmless ailment such as that which they were stricken with required such a complex and rare find. Those ponies were too easy to fool, after all, but she did not want them to know that the dragon fire they had risked life and limb for was not, in fact, intended for them. This particular item was for one of her other… projects. It was no concern of theirs. At least, not yet.

Still, oblivious as they were, they were useful little tools for obtaining it, all the same. And the best part is, they would never know. Smiling all the while, her hoof ran over the ingredients list in the book and when she removed her foreleg, any mention of dragon fire being listed as one of the essential ingredients was gone, evaporated into the chill air, as though the letters had up and left. Pleased with herself, the book was closed, slowly, and set back to its resting place, lifting her mortar and pestle instead. These REAL ingredients would have to be crushed into a fine powder and applied to the water accordingly.

“Zecora, the cauldron is filled and bubbling nicely.”

The witch-doctor turned, slowly, at the mention of her name, covered in soot, black as coal. Her face, all teeth, grinning wildly yet softly, was alight with every crackle of the fire, an orange haze flickering under her chin, and casting a sinister shadow across her brow.

“Good, good, that is very good.

How about taking a nice, hot bath before your food?” She cooed in her singsong voice.

“Food?” Derky’s voice cracked from fatigue, but his eyes lit with the very prospect of nourishment. “Zecora, you're doing too much for us."

“I do not mind, you are my guests!” Cheer was prevalent.

“You need to build your strength, please eat, and rest!

But first, please take a nice, long soak,

To rid you of your poison joke!”

“Thank goodness. I can’t wait to have my horn back. I feel so… NAKED without it.” The student helped Zecora carry the ingredients over to the bubbling cauldron, milky-clear bubbles rising to the surface. “We’ll be glad to be shot of these ailments… BOTH OF US. That means YOU, Candi.”

The mare, who had been admiring her trim figure with a warm smile in the reflection of the musty old mirror that Zecora had tucked behind the many boxes and containers, blushed at the mention of her name. She dropped the white cover-sheet back over the stained glass and smiled sweetly, in a way that only a female can. “S-sorry. I was just checking if I had something stuck in my teeth.” Blushing, she reached her hoof back around her head, to her twitching ear, and materialised a gleaming golden bit coin. “Or maybe behind my ear.”

“Do you want to get cured, or not?”

“Humph. You know what your biggest flaw is, Starfire, old pal? You never see the humour in things. You’re so straight faced, like this.” She pulled a fairly similar blank, semi-stern half simper.

“Do you want to get cured, or not?” Repeated the sure-to-soon-be-a-unicorn-once-more.

“Fine.” Candi gave once last, fleeting glance in the mirror, admired her charming good looks, and then mentally waved goodbye to ‘Candi’ forever.

The ingredients were chucked with careful precision into the pot, and a terrible bout of steam arose upon contact, and the water turned a vile green. Not at all like a cure.

“One more ingredient is needed for my brew;

Feather from the wing of a Pegasus, blue.”

Starfire stepped back and pulled the blanket from Weatherstorm’s sleeping chin. He stirred lightly, but remained still, eyes welded shut. “He’s all yours.”

“Oh, good,” Candi murmured, “I relish the thought of swimming around in my friend’s feathers. Sounds very hygienic.”

Derky added, “Now we know that Weatherstorm is somehow part of a remedy for a flower-related illness.”

“When you say it like that, it really throws everything into perspective. I honestly don’t know I’ve kept up with it all before now. Still,” The lawyer laughed, “At least we know ‘Stormy is good for something, am I right?”

“I was being serious.”

“So was I.”

Starfire seemed somewhat perturbed, one eyebrow raised suspiciously. “Will it hurt him?” He had no desire to fuel Weatherstorm with more aches and pains to moan and cry over.

“I’ll take one from his healing wing.

Believe me, he won’t feel a thing.”

Zecora wrapped her hoof around one of the Pegasus’ errant, baby blue feathers, silky and soft to the touch, and yanked harshly without hesitation. Weatherstorm winced in his slumber and Derky winced alongside him, but both Candi and Starfire remained unfazed. The feather was dropped above the steaming cauldron, fluttering slowly downward, caught in the breeze. It sunk beneath the surface of the water and, to the surprise of all, never resurfaced.

A wooden cooking ladle dipped into the water and began to move in a clockwise fashion, creating little gently sloshing waves in the liquid. The ladle then ceased its motion, arose from the water like a mystic sword, and was pressed to the perched, black lips of she who held it in her hoof. She sipped, loudly.

“The mixture is a success, not too cold, not too hot.

Please, unburden yourselves in the frothy pot.”

Candi looked at Starfire. Starfire looked at Candi. Zecora looked at them both. Derky smiled at his reflection in the water. And then Candi shrugged and said, “I should’a brought my rubber duck.” She gingerly placed the tip of her hoof inside and, upon judging the temperature, followed suit with the rest of her feminine body.

Starfire hesitated. He had the bizarre but distinct feeling that, by stepping into a cooking pot full of spices and herbs, that he was the aforementioned food for tonight’s proceedings.

But such thoughts were poppycock. Without another thought, he threw himself in.

“Mmm… delicious.”

“I am glad that you approve my cuisine.

Made with the sweetest herbs you’ve ever seen?

Or rather, tasted, for that matter…

There is more available on the platter.”

“No doubt,” Starfire stuffed his face hungrily, “Very poignant flavours.” He scooped up another spoonful, plopped the floral substance on his plate, and got to work eating. His stomach was thankful for the nourishment. The deep and guttural rumblings from the pit of his gut were but sighs of gratitude.

“So, uh… what IS all this stuff, exactly?” Candi remarked, cautiously levitating some wet, mauve seaweed-like plant that hung in leathery strips and drooped in the middle, sagging like a sloth. It didn’t look all that appetising and she’d yet to try a bite of anything on offer. “It looks like, uh… Huh. I had something funny to say there, but I lost it.”

“Seewier,” Came the herbalist, making sure to deliver a helping onto the grimacing unicorn’s plate.

“A plant I hold dear.”

“From your homeland, I take it?”

“It is indeed, Cananor.

I implore you that you eat some more.”

The lawyer begrudgingly obeyed, and made a mental note to write a last will and testament later, in case there was not a mutual understanding between the food she was to ingest and her stomach. Derky and Weatherstorm could fight over her comic book collection. The former would likely get hayburger sauce on them and the latter was just as likely to sell them at the drop of a hat, so she wasn’t filled with optimism. Blowing an errant strand of her hair from her eyes, she flashed a plastic smile and wrapped her teeth around the Seewier.

‘Huh. That ain’t bad. Ain’t bad at all.’

Starfire glanced up from his earthen-clay plate just in time to see Candi quickly stuff a hoof-full of dull Seewier into her awaiting mouth, which clamped shut, and the mare’s eyes shifted uncomfortably from left to right, her cheeks bulging with foodstuffs. She swallowed noisily, excused herself, then blew away an errant hair that drifted into her eye, the rest of her aqua mane hidden behind the pink towel she wore, tied intricately around the circumference of her head, with only her horn sticking out for the world to behold, then reached for another scoop. "Kinda tastes like peanuts, actually. Should'a called it Peawier."

Starfire’s own head told a similar story, mummified mane still running with silvery water, concealed under the dark, frayed towel. There was no need for a hole to be made to make way for his own horn as, sadly, it was still not there, just as Cananor was still not himself. They’d only bathed recently, and Zecora did say that the remedy may take some time to come into effect, after all, so he retained his hopeful nature. Which wasn’t hard with all this delicious food.

The spread on offer was quite remarkable. Their zebra host had obviously put a lot of effort into their dinner, and he did hope she hadn’t been put out preparing it all; the dull mahogany table, as deep and enigmatic as the mare that owned it, stretched the length of the room and made everything around it look so small by comparison, and it was lined with trays and bowls of hot, piping delicatessens, the steamy aromas, pungent as any flower, wafting around the heads of those who feasted there.

Bright and vibrant colours assaulted his senses, plants that he had never seen before, transported from a mystic land far, far away. Zecora was quick to tell him of all of them: Aartappels and Sandtrils and Vinbar leaves, Perdfood and Kalashi stews and the Weedrack that grew only in the Drooping Dreg Swamps which were the furthest from the sun and moon, the Zebrolian Pap oats that lined the fields of the native village of Sebra, and Catsby bread which sighed ever so softly should one listen close enough. All this she told him openly, and he listened with genuine intent, silently delighting the images she magically conjured up with the wild, sweeping movements of her forelegs.

There were the Black Desert sands, filtering into existence as she ran her hoof along the rim of her plate, Starfire’s eyes just as wide. And here, here were the Pragtige Forests, and the Alkar Wastelands that lay beyond the charted realms, where the wildlife was dangerous and fierce and the cracked stone blazing and inhospitable. Each dish she presented told a tale, a part of her culture, her heritage, but strangely, never her own history. It immersed Starfire greatly, and the more stories she told, the more he could taste the dense richness in the foods he consumed. Soon, even Candi, a pony who had never seen the world outside of her own window, was leaning forward in her rickety bamboo chair, eyes as bright as her smile, hanging on the zebra’s spoken word. Derky seemed excited when she came about the topic of the wildlife: of Parrots with golden wings that shone like blazing fire, and the dung beetles that could carry over 20 times their own body weight, the silent mamba snakes and the Goswonks that had long since disappeared off the face of the earth. Everything she said was accompanied by the incessant, inexorable rain that beat along the roof of their abode and the magic that resided in those raindrops, carried overseas, was prevalent to all.

The hut was far less bare than it had been but an hour earlier, the most of the cluttering boxes all but stored away for good, her home finally looking like a home. That much was accountable to Derky, who, whilst Zecora prepared their food and the sickly duo bathed, generously decided to repay their host’s kindness by silently unpacking her possessions and moving them neatly around them room. He stated, “If there’s one thing I’ve learned that I know I can do right, working for a moving company has taught me that I can unpack boxes pretty well.” He only accidently broke three items, and he smiled, and told them it was three less broken items than the last job he had taken. They were all so very pleased at his efforts. And now the house was a house, truly. It felt lived in and homely yet new and fresh.

Ceremonial masks, long of face with brightly coloured lips, smiled down at them from the walls with a sort of eerie, inanimately intelligent, painted-on simper. Zecora explained that they were not just for decoration but a huge part of her kind’s culture, and that they represented spirits that were good and kind and just, but Candi wouldn’t dare stare into those gaping black, empty eyes. It made her uncomfortable, they could all tell. Bottles and vials, wrapped in cloth strips, dangled from the ceiling from strings and when the draught hit them just so, they jangled and swayed and emitted a low whistle, and then a soothing ring, like stardust. Thick candles, globs of wax dripping along their fattened frames, sat amongst the potions and elixirs on the lower shelves, basked the confines of the hut in a warming, motherly glow that fused with the heat from the still-steaming cauldron atop the open fireplace, centrepiece to the room. Starfire was content. Starfire was safe.

There was a certain bitterness amongst the sweet tang of the Sambal sauce which pooled around the edge of his plate and along the strands of golden hay, but it was by no means unpleasant. But it warranted a drink, at the least. Reaching across the bowls of seasoned salad, lettuce as dark as the day, he reached for a pitcher of water at the centre when Zecora slapped him away.

“No,” she said, “Try this instead.”

She got up, like a rising snake, and slinked away to the workbench. There was a rattle of bottles and the shrill clank of vials, and when she returned to the table she was armed with a single jug. She poured drinks gruffly, like a male, but there was enough grace about her that made her decidedly feminine. The liquid that seeped into his chalice-like glass was wispy and light, a bright orange hue, with swirling patterns distorting the frothing bubbles.

“It’ll calm your nerves and clear your head.”

“What is it?” Asked an inquisitive Starfire. He could feel the heat of the liquid radiating through the sharp metallic cold of the cup and into his enclosed hoof. It sloshed as he twirled the cup slowly in small rings, tipping his wrist to the sound of the miniature tidal waves within.

“Draak-Sap” came her reply, “A very traditional drink.

Take a sip, tell me what you think.”

Raising the cup to his lips, Starfire felt a tingle of heat tickle his nose. It smelled like charcoal and cinnamon, a rich and hazy smell. All the while, Zecora watched him intently from her chair. She too was drinking from her own cup, but her eyes, sharp as her tongue, stared out from under the mug she had pressed to her face, and locked on him.

The student shrugged, flashed her a grin and drank.

The effect was immediate, and powerful. He felt the liquid burn down his throat in a trail of fiery vengeance, blazing long, hot trails along the walls of muscle. Steam arose, eyes watered. The taste was something he’d forget almost immediately, disguised under the immense burning heat, but there were vague hints of a coppery twang, and the brine of alcohol.

His head throbbed furiously, the scent of sulphur engraved in his nostrils, and he saw the walls of the room pave way and open into a place of fire and brimstone, the sun wrapped in black and chaos, and the sands beneath his hooves were scorched a bleached white. There was a never-ending darkness surrounding him, which contorted into figures, shadow puppets, winged beasts that spat chasms of grey smoke and their master rose above them all. He could tell that it was the great, shapeless monster that plagued his nightmares, but he hadn’t enough time to scream before fire was all around him, scorching his every fibre, and then…

Pleasantness. Serenity. A warm summer’s breeze, and the greenest grass he’d ever seen. Rolling hills, untouched. A forest. A tree. A house. The pain in his chest subsided, and left him with a gentle tenderness, a cozy, fuzzy feeling.

He blinked away stars. “What… just…”

“I told you it looked too strong,” Candi gloated to Zecora, a victorious smirk plastered across the unicorn’s face. “I think it nearly knocked him out. It made MY eyes water and I’m sitting over here.”

“I had… a... hallucination, or…” Starfire held his head tightly and leaned backwards in his chair. One thing that Zecora said was correct: it certainly cleared his head, and almost blew it off his shoulders altogether.

“Weird!” Derky exclaimed childishly, dropping a plate topped with food beside a still sleeping Weatherstorm, with an almighty clang. The journalist spurned some intangible imagination with a snoozed mumble, and then snored peacefully, quietly. “Can I have a sip? I bet my visions will be even weirder than yours!”

“No!” Zecora cried instantly, “I should not have been so hasty.

It’s too powerful for you all yet… but mighty tasty!”

She gave her trademark laugh and poured herself another drink.

Starfire felt like sprawling across the table and going to sleep right then and there. Whatever was put in that drink, it fatigued him instantaneously, and his eyes grew heavier than lead.

‘Purr,’ said his stomach, its lust for food finally over, having eaten its fill. ‘Purr.’ He smiled, patted his gut a few times, and yawned.

Everything was okay. Everything was just as it should have been, and all was okay.

It was Derky who vocalised the thought that brooded at the back of contented minds. “I wish Belove were here with us to enjoy this food,” he said, nonchalantly, and went straight back to eating, digging a salad tong into a bowl of crisp shredded carrots.

‘Belove. I almost forgot about Belove.’

But when Starfire opened his mouth to speak, it was as though Candi could read his mind. Her face was more solemn and sincere than he’d ever seen her, and her mouth and eyes formed a silent sentence. ‘Belove is fine. He’s strong, and capable. Proud, yes, and strong-headed, maybe, but he’s okay. He’s out there, and we will find him.’

“And who, pray tell, is this ‘Belove’?

A friend, a companion, and a pony you love?” Zecora asked the question without looking up from her plate, picked clean.

“Nopony,” Candi answered, “Nopony at all.”

Zecora was their host, and had shown them unparalleled kindness: they respected that. But she was still a stranger, and, well… she did not have to know everything about them, did she? Some things were better left unsaid.

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence.

‘I hope that he’s okay.'

Chapter 15

It had felt like years since he’d been in a soft, comfortable bed. The touch of velvet graced his foreleg, silky, and rolled through the fibres of his fur, skimming his skin. Smacking his lips and smiling to the early morning birdsong, he sighed contently and pullet the sweet smelling sheet up close to his nose.

“First… Charge… Moon…”

The voice, muffled in nature, floated over to him like a dove. “I can’t… mind the farm today, mam,” He said, “I can…” And then he let out another uproarious snore.

“…Deception…”

“Mmmmm… Not,” He waved the interruption away, still locked in bliss.” “Not no… mmmmm.”

“Yes, but… then…” This voice was different, and neither was it his mother’s.

“…Equestria… spread…” Another voice. Male. Gruff. And certainly not that of his mother’s.

“…All… Love…” A smooth voice. Somewhat charming, and tinted with heroics.

“…And… war…”

“…War…”

At first, he thought that the voices were in his head, a disjointed and disproportionate part of some utopian dream he was having. But, as the façade began to wear away and the feeling of security dwindled, he realised that the voices were very real and whoever they belonged to were very close.

“War.”

He awoke with a jolt, and the veil of deception, conceived by his own unconscious mind, was lifted. There was no gentle loving birdsong but the dull droll of chirping crickets. Gasping and groaning, the stallion’s eyes ripped open and were met with a sea of blackness. No early morning sun, peeping over the horizon and glaring curiously through his bedroom window. Just a stuffy and debilitating blackness, the longest night.

The world was all a blur, distorted trails of vapour and occasional streaks of dancing light that cut through his eyesight like a blade. This wasn’t his room, not at all. Coughing, he sat up, panicked and breathless, and fell straight back down.

The voices ceased to be in an instant, and an unnatural silence prevailed. Then whispering, low and secretive, hateful. He felt the ground come up to meet him, and it wasn’t the thick, velvety embrace of bedclothes and duvets that cushioned his fall into the madness and despair of the real world, but the solid soil. It was soft and murky, like sponge, and he felt little droplets of water factor through and run around his back, saturated as though it had recently rained. His wildly erratic hooves groped at the floor, tearing up clumps of dripping soil, and squeezing them tightly, the dirty brown fluids dribbling along his chest which housed his obscurely beating heart.

‘I don’t know where I am I don’t know what’s going on help me somepony help me.’

And then, “Ah, Lovely! You’re awake! So nice to see you well again!”

That voice… he knew who was behind that voice. He stopped his mad thrashing at once, his breath still young in his throat, and cleared his head, shaking away the remnants of his lengthy slumber. The back of his skull hurt like heck, as though some object of considerable weight had made contact with his head at quite a considerable force. But he hadn’t the mind to think on it now. “It’s not Lovely,” the stallion replied, raising to his haunches, “It’s BELOVE.”

Lines creased his vision, and from between those lines, the second half of this conversation stepped forward from the darkness, as though one with the shadows. But the figure was far too white. Far, far too white.

“Belove? But of course it is. Such a strong name. A SOLDIER’S name, aren’t I right?”

“Are you mocking me, Icarus?”

With a brisk shake of his head, his vision returned to him, and all become clear and crisp. There he stood, Captain Icarus of the Royal Bodyguards, with an air of superiority and a knowing smile stretched across his handsome white face. The cerulean feathers of his Corinthian headwear swayed flowingly in the night wind, and his mane swayed underneath. He looked pleased about something. “Not at all,” he replied, his face honest yet smarmy, “I think you’re a fine soldier.”

“Is this some kind of a joke, you poser?”

“You’re too suspicious of other ponies, you know that?” He flashed Belove one of those million-bit smiles he was so famous for, “And here my comrades and myself are, trying to show you a little hospitality.”

The others separated themselves from the shadows, the darkness retreating somewhat as his eyes adjusted to the night. There they were: the unicorn and the Pegasi, all identical in their official armour, with nary a speck of mud showing. Their faces were as their captain’s was: tainted with cheer. The unicorn, Pit, he believed his name was, sat on a log and tended to a small campfire, the flames battling furiously against the light wind, prodding it magically with a stick. The others gave Belove a most chilling stare.

Belove scoffed. “Hospitality? Is thi…!” He stopped suddenly, a sharp pain scorching across his temple and along the back of his head as his voice rose. Reeling in pain, the Earth Pony winced and forced his retching stomach to be still, the world tumbling around him once more, head throbbing, and slid his hoof down the back of his skull. A large bump, round and tender, was apparent. “Did you… did you attack me back there?”

Icarus forced a laugh. “You say ‘attack’, we say… ‘contained.’”

“You can’t just go around knocking ponies out! Battering whoever you want! It was unprovoked!”

“It was within my legal power to do so, as you, Belove, were a possible threat.”

“Oh, I’m a threat all right, Icarus,” Belove lashed out suddenly and violently at the captain, his outstretched hooves catching him off-guard and wrapping around his neck. The Pegasus certainly had not been expecting such a bold move, for the workings of a scream had barely began to register on his face before he was on the ground, unconscious, and Belove was victorious.

Or at least, that is how it seemed.

“Belove? Oh, Belove? Hello! BELOVE!”

The earth pony shook himself a few times to clear the ringing from his ears. “Wha-what?”

“I won’t mock your efforts to lash out at me like that because it takes grit, but also a little bit of stupidity, for if you have yet to notice, you are in a cage and, well… I’m on the other side, now, aren’t I?” Icarus gave him another of his smug shrugs and held his head condescendingly high. “An admirable effort, nonetheless.”

Belove growled, and threw himself against the bamboo bars which stood between himself and the good captain, thrusting half a foreleg through the slim gap. It stopped short, much to his dismay, and Icarus didn’t flinch an inch, much to even more of his dismay. His dismay reserves were going to be depleted soon, if he continued to be in such dismay consistently. “Ah, this is fine hospitality, all right. Punch me over the back of the head, shove me in a cage like a canary or… or some wild beast…”

“As I said, only for everypony’s safety. Including your own.” Captain Icarus sat down upon his haunches, lowering himself to Belove’s level, as spoke into his face, clearly and directly. “Belove, listen, if you would. I have a proposition for you.”

The earth pony scoffed in retaliation. “Huh. And what is it YOU could possibly offer me? Another punch, perhaps?”

“Nothing quite as brash. Belove, I wish for you to join me.”

This remark threw Belove quite the curveball, and he was sure he had misheard over the crackle of the nearby campfire and the melodic chirp of nocturnal insects. “Join me? I mean, you?”

“That is correct, yes.”

“And what do you mean by that, exactly? As a prisoner? A hostage? A bargaining chip?”

Icarus laughed. “Oh, Belove, you’re so paranoid. Of course not. As a COMPANION. A SQUADMATE. A fellow Elite Royal Bodyguard.”

And now Belove knew he’d been hit just a little too hard, and his concussion hadn’t receded after all. “Oh aye, now I know you’re pulling my leg. Whatever sick plan you’re setting up, just get on with it, will you.”

“I have no ulterior motive here, Belove. As my job as Princess Celestia’s personal bodyguard dictates, my only goal at this current moment is to retrieve her, safe and sound, from the clutches of her evil sister. I haven’t the time nor the incentive to worry about trying to best you on a regular basis, Belove. You’re a smart, capable stallion, with bravery and honour and strength the likes of which I’ve rarely ever seen in another pony. I believe you’re bodyguard material. And we’re getting nowhere fighting amongst each other like this: nowhere at all. Just think, Belove, with my skills and your skills combined, imagine how unstoppable we’d be then!” He threw his hooves to the night sky in pre-emptive victory. “Nightmare Moon wouldn’t stand a ghost of a chance!”

The Elite Royal Bodyguards… Belove’s dream position… “And what’s in this for me, exactly?” The small town guard coolly inquired.

“What isn’t in this deal for you, Belove? I can offer you your heart’s desires! Fame and fortune! Glory! Your face would be known across the corners of Equestria! Rich Canterlot mares would cry your name! And,” he winked, “You’d get to see so many new and wonderful, exotic locations. Think about it, Belove! Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted, deep down? To see new lands and new lifeforms? The sun beating down on your neck from a tropical paradise? Ponyville doesn’t deserve you, and those small town hicks can’t even recognise your talents. You know I’m right, Belove. Let’s just break off these foolish hostilities and let bygones be bygones. Join with me, and together, we’ll be an unstoppable, globetrotting team! Join with me and BE LOVED!”

And yet, the Earth Pony remained skeptical. “And what about him,” he pointed to Pit, who had since returned to his work with the campfire, no longer taking an interest in the unfolding drama. “Your right-hoof man. Captain Curlyhead.”

“Who, Pit?”

“Pit, aye.”

The unicorn turned from the fire at the mention of his name, inquisitive eyes flickering under his curled fringe. He shrugged, and asked, “You called?”

Icarus was quick to reply. “No Pit, it’s nothing. Nothing at all.”

Taking the bait, the second-in-command merely shrugged once more, unlistening and uncaring, and turned back to his fire. He was whittling away at a clump of dried wood with a curved knife, and humming softly.

Icarus lowered his voice to a husky whisper and shuffled closer to the caged prisoner-come-ally. “What of him?”

“Well,” explained the earthen one, “What’s his place in our newfound friendship? I can’t imagine he’d take to kindly too it at all, being kicked to the sidewalk in such a manner.”

The good captain stroked his chin, and then leaned closer, pressing his hoof to his lips. “Ah, Pit. A good soldier. But not GREAT. He’s certainly been of use thus far, I’ll give him that, but I’m beginning to feel as though his usefulness is coming to an end. He does not have the grit nor determination that you have to pull a mission through, and, well… its survival of the fittest in this world and he just doesn’t make the cut. Don’t worry, I have a fairly powerful influence, I’ll have you know. If you do not wish to work with him, I’ll have him demoted to a lowly castle guard in an instant.”

There was something about this last remark which made Belove ecstatic. “I knew it, so I did,” he beamed, eyes wide and telling, “I just knew it.”

Taking this as some sort of compliment, or an inside joke that would surely be shared, Icarus smiled. “You knew what, exactly?”

“I knew you’re still as big of a ol' jerk as you always were.”

“Oh.” It took quite a while for Mr Icarus to reply to Belove’s latest statement. His smile, however, dropped instantly, but neither did he frown. He simply stared, silently, emotionless, like an automation, before asking, “And what do you mean by that?”

“Not sure how many ways you can take that, Icarus. I just mean you’re a big lying jerk and you haven’t changed a bit since you were a foal.”

And there was that blank, if slightly confused, face.

Belove facehoofed. “Oh, by Celestia, don’t tell me you… You have! You’ve forgotten me!”

“Far from it, Lovely. I’m talking to you now.”

Belove was certainly being liberal with his facehoofs. “That’s not my name, and that’s not what I mean. See, this is what annoys me about you bully types: you forget all about the pain and misery you inflict on your victims, forget it as though it were nothing at all. All that torment, all that teasing, all those names that you called me. You made my young life a nightmare, Icarus. I suppose there isn’t even much point in calling you by that stupid false name, is there, Thunder Charger?”

And again, to the Earth Pony’s surprise, he was again met by a blank and unknowing face from his old elementary school foe.

“You see?” He cast a hoof in his direction, “Ah, sure, this is exactly what I mean! You have no idea how tough you made my life, you auld git, you. My school days were a nightmare, thanks to you, Thunder, and then you have the nerve to forget all about it as though it were nothing to you? Well, guess what: I didn’t forget. I could never forget.”

Icarus’ blank, unknowing face was beginning to agitate him somewhat. It was as though he genuinely didn’t know what Belove was speaking about, and that is what annoyed him most of all.

“But then, when I beat you at that school race all those years ago… oh boy, did that feel good. It was liberating, you know? That’s when I realised that I didn’t need to be afraid of you anymore. What happened after that, tell me? You moved away to Canterlot, aye?”

Icarus made a bold move by shrugging. “I guess I did.”

“’I guess I did.’ What sort of answer is that, by Celestia? Ah, you can give yourself a fresh lick of paint and a new name, and act the good guy, but the truth is that you’re a nasty wee mule with a sick sense of humour and a bad attitude. But here’s what I think is the worst…” He pushed himself up to the bamboo bars, and snarled, “Even though he was as unpleasant as you were, Barry Brick was pretty much your best friend back when we were wee kids. And you left him without so much as a goodbye. You used him as a pawn and then, when it suited you, you kicked him to the dirt and pursued your own career in Canterlot. That destroyed him, so it did. He was never the smartest pony but it really took its toll on his grades. You used him, and betrayed him. And since then, you haven’t changed a bit. You’re willing to sell out Pit on a moment’s notice. And you’d do the same to me, I’m sure.” He leaned past Icarus’s blank face, and loudly announced, “Oi, Pit! I don’t know you all that well, but you’re probably too good for this traitorous piece of rubbish! He’ll use you and forget you like that!” He snapped his hooves for effect.

Pit looked as bewildered as his superior. He merely shook his head.

“Well,” Icarus spoke after the longest time, arising, “That was certainly insightful. But that’s all in the past, Belove, and I’m sorry for it. You’d be a fool to refuse my generous offer.”

“I’d be a bigger fool to accept it.”

“This is your last chance, Belove. You’d be throwing away your chance at stardom and luxury. You’d be throwing away your heart’s desire.”

“It’s no desire of mine to see your ugly gurnin' mug every day. I saw it enough when I was a colt and I was glad to be rid of it.”

“So be it,” Icarus seethed, the old anger returning. His eyes grew dark, and his voice husky and chill. “I’ve tried everything with you, you know that? I’ve tried to be civil, and generous, and offer the olive branch of peace, but your arrogance and false pride have made it nigh impossible. All I hoped for was some sort of mutual understanding, maybe even a friendship, but of course, that would be wishful thinking when dealing with one of your intelligence.”

Throwing a tender hoof to his chest, Belove recoiled and sighed dreamily, soppily. “Oh Icarus, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, to be sure! Aye, come hider, my sweet colt cuddler! We’ll be married come spring!”

“Insolent dog! You dare mock me?” The good captain clicked his hoof and suddenly he was surrounded by three angry Pegasi and one stern-faced unicorn. They rolled their heads menacingly. “To think I could strike a deal with you.”

Belove spat. “Ten bits says that I could beat you in a fight, stallion to stallion.”

“And how,” Icarus returned amidst the laughter of his comrades, “Do you plan on that? In case you haven’t gotten this through your thick skull already, allow me to reiterate. You’re trapped in a cage. I am not trapped in a cage. I am free. You are not. Therefore, you are in no position to make empty threats.”

“We’ll see about that. My friends are out there, somewhere. And you’d best believe they’re looking for me. They’ll find me in no time.”

“Oh, how delightful!” Clapping his hooves together, Icarus gleefully chortled. “You actually think that those freaks are going to look for you? How tragic. You’re a hypocrite if you’re going to call me a traitorous fiend, Belove, for you haven’t been all that pleasant with your quote on quote ‘friends’ as of late, now have you?”

Folding his hooves, Belove seemed not the least bit surprised. “If you’re expecting me to be shocked, think again. I’m not at all brainy, but I’m not stupid, and I know that you took our stuff from that cave when we were sleeping.”

He was interrupted by the sound of Pit hoisting an embroidered saddlebag into Belove’s line of sight. Hastily unzipping it, metallic buckle gleaming like a star, he pulled a small vial of hoof sanitizer from the deep confines and noisily applied it to his hooves with a sticky sloshing squeak. “Don’t mind me,” quipped he. Belove knew Weatherstorm would not appreciate this brutish creature rummaging through his things. He would not appreciate it one bit.

“As I was saying,” Belove continued, irked, “It was fairly obvious that you took our supplies right from under our noses. I’ve never known a pack of Timberwolves show much enthusiasm to some canned oats and badly written love poetry, like. You did it to break us up, didn’t you? To scatter us and divide us so you could prey on us, one by one. Aye, it was you, and your little puppet Starfire, the backstabbing spy.”

“Excuse me? Star-who?”

“Don’t play dumb, Icarus, alright? Quit taking the mick. I’ve been onto you from the beginning. I’m talking about your man on the inside, Starfire.”

“Which one is that now…?”

Belove sighed, exasperatedly. “The unicorn. Blue. Blond hair. Funny accent. Can’t say water. That fella.”

Expectations are not always representative of a final product: in fact, for the most part, quite the opposite, depending on one’s situation, and the gravity of one’s situation. Prior preparations are to be made in advance should one’s expectations not be met, as a single, natural reaction can crush these imagined prospects. But what Icarus did next defied all of Belove’s expectations.

Captain Icarus laughed.

Captain Icarus laughed hard.

He laughed long and hard, and his henchmen laughed with him. And he seemed to be having a jolly good time indeed. At Belove’s expense, no less. As was to be expected, this made the Earth Pony rather steamed.

“And what,” cried Belove over the ruckus, “Do you find so funny?”

“I-it’s just… so precious!” Icarus stammered in between gleefully laboured breaths, wiping an errant tear from his cheek. “You think that he worked for me… as a spy!”

“I’m not getting the joke here, guys.”

Then their faces drooped, and the serious, professional masks were re-applied. Icarus smiled like a cobra, all teeth, all bite. “You’re the joke. You honestly think that I’d get that social-shut-in-nerd to spy on your little band of misfits for me? You actually think you’re that much of a hindrance to my grand scheme of things? Worth that much effort?”

“Well…” Belove was certainly hoping he was considered a blight, a literal thorn in the stallion’s otherwise pristine side. “Aye. I guess.”

“You ACTUALLY think I’d associate myself with that geek? I’m a celebrity, Belove. I’m an A-Lister. I wouldn’t be seen dead with such a lowly spec of dirt such as this ‘Starfire’ weakling. You’re really flattering yourself now, if you even think that I’d have somepony spy on you to begin with. You didn’t need anypony to sabotage your ill-fated entourage: you did that well enough yourself. And then we saw that Pegasus, the orange maned one with the dopey face…”

Belove’s wide eyes nearly popped out of his throbbing skull. “Derky? What did you do?”

“...We just saw how tired he looked, after you all retired to bed and left him on guard, alone. And he was up for a very long time, bless him. You could really tell he was trying his hardest to stay awake. So, I had an idea. I said, ‘Why don’t we all help him get to sleep?’ Well, the guys and I thought that was a great idea so, with a little persuasion,” he performed a swift, violent bludgeoning motion with his right hoof, “We relieved him of his duty and had him sleeping like a foal. When we saw all of your things sitting there, unguarded, your food and your water, your maps and your… comic books, we said to ourselves, ‘it would be a shame if somepony were to steal everything they need to survive whilst there’s nopony here awake to guard it.’ So we decided to hold onto it. For safekeeping.” The wink he gave his captive was like poison.

“Y-you mean Derky didn’t… and Starfire wasn’t… all along?”

Cruelty was Icarus’ middle name, and his salt reservoirs were fresh and undepleted, plenty of it to rub into open wounds. “Uh oh. Looks like certain hot-headed SOMEPONY was a little inconsiderate with his choice of words, now, wasn’t he? I needed to do nothing, Belove. You betrayed your friends all by yourself.” He closed the gap, and whispered, “You want to be remembered, don’t you? Take solace in the fact that they’ll always remember that.”

“You MONSTER!” Screaming incoherently, Belove did all he could, given his situation: he gnawed at the wooden bars of the makeshift cage like the world’s biggest, and most bad tempered, termite. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I can. You’re a dangerous criminal, you and those filth you associate yourself with. Those… LEFTOVERS.”

“Aye, I'll leftover, you, ya flippin' chancer! C'mere, and I'll make sure you…”

“Threatening a high-ranking member of the Equestrian Defence Forces, are we? My, my, you keep making this extensive list of felonies even longer.”

“WHAT FELONIES? I’VE DONE NOTHING WRONG!”

The unicorn handed his superior a pristine, white parchment. It was embroidered with a floral border and tied intricately with a blue ribbon, the official Equestrian seal for matters of dire importance. “Here you are, sir.”

“Thank you.” Icarus rhymed off each of Belove’s, and indeed the rest of our heroes, supposed crimes. “Where do I begin? Obstruction and interference of justice and jurisdiction, resisting arrest, attempted assault on an officer of the law, aiding other known felons, vigilantism, possession,” he pulled one of Cananor’s issues of Phoenix Flight, a laminated and obviously highly valuable tome based on the immaculate dust-cover encasing the comic, from the stallion’s rucksack, “Of Pheonix Flight, issue #132, part II…”

“You can’t charge me on possession of a comic book!”

“A comic book which is, and has been for several years, banned from sale in Equestria. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were going to sell it on the black market.” He flicked forward a few pages. “Naughty, naughty you.”

“Ponyville doesn’t even HAVE a black market!”

“What,” the Pegasus grunted, reaching further into one of the bags, “Would THIS be?” He pulled out several clear bags of freshly ground salt, and smiled, smugly. “Salt?”

“That-that, uh,” Belove blushed, His tongue fumbled. “That isn’t mine.”

“Sir,” one of the other Pegasi drew the attention of the others, hoisting a large, crystallised clump of pink salt-rock to the soft, dew ridden grass, a tangled and tattered brown rope looped through the hole in the middle. “I believe it’s a mineral lick.”

Icarus was enjoying seeing his victim suffer. The earth pony’s face turned as red as the incriminating evidence that lay before him. “For recreational use, Belove?”

“AH, IT'S NOT MINE, I SAID.”

“You’re a very naughty pony. Look at this, for example…” Icarus gave him a chillingly jovial simper, smoothed back his exquisite locks, and unsheathed his sidearm, a golden dagger, encrusted with some of the finest jewels Belove had ever laid eyes on. The steel blade flashed like lightning and cut a singing tune through the still air like true thunder as he lolled it over with small, elegant wrist movements. Then, with another smarmy, toothy grin that may well have lit up all of Equestria for even the briefest of moments, he allowed the knife to fall, silently, into Belove’s own saddlebag. Pulling it from the same bag not a second later, the Pegasus pretended to be shocked, his face twisted with false confusion. He was a very convincing actor. “You were carrying a concealed weapon with you all this time? That’s quite a hefty offense.”

“OH COME ON!” Belove threw his hooves to the mud, splashing the runny brown water around his cheeks and down his chest. He was long past caring. “I LITERALLY JUST SAW YOU PUT THAT IN MY BAG!”

“And who will THEY believe?” He didn’t make reference as to who exactly ‘they’ might be. “Captain Icarus, Equestria’s most renowned superstar, or some common, small town street trash? Don’t bother answering that. It’s rhetorical.”

“That means it’s a trick question that does not need an answer,” Pit chimed in.

“AYE, I KNOW WHAT IT MEANS, HORNHEAD. BUT YOU FORGET THAT I’M A PONYVILLE GUARD: THEREFORE, IT’S LEGAL FOR ME TO CARRY ARMS! STICK THAT IN YOUR SALT LICK AND LICK IT!”

“Dearest Belove, you were more or less a civilian the moment you left the confines of the town. Your laws have no worth, no real value out here in the wilderness. I make the rules here, not you,” he flicked Belove’s muzzle and the guard recoiled, “and you’d do well to remember that.”

“Fine. Do with me as you wish. But tell me WHY you’re doing what you’re doing, and give me the real reason this time. None of these lies, and these false pretences. What are you planning?”

Icarus hesitated for a moment, but his face did not falter, and at last he leaned close on his haunches, an air of malevolence wafting through his professionally groomed mane. His lips slurped as they peeled apart, and his breathing was heavy and excited. “I want you to imagine something. That’s it. Just use that small old brain in that big old head of yours to think up some lovely little pictures. Can you do that?”

“I’m imagining you being trampled by a herd of stampeding bovines.”

“Oh Belove, you’re a gem. Truly.” He licked at his lips again, and unsavoury sound, wet. “Listen very closely. I want you to imagine Equestria. All of Equestria, okay? Are you imagining it?”

“Aye.”

There was all of Equestria. Canterlot with its grand architecture and proud spires, the island of Manehatton with its bustling streets and towering skyscrapers, Cloudsdale with its weeping falls, the shining stars of Las Pegasus, the smog and smoke of Fillydelphia and Detrot, the sharp ringing of harbour bells resounding from Baltimare, the snow-lined sideways of Vanhoover, the rustic charm of Ponyville, the sandy glare of Dodge Junction and the silent solitude of Hollow Shades. There was Equestria in its fullest, every mountain, every rock, every blade of grass and spec of dirt, the serenity of it all under a baby blue sky.

“Imagine all of Equestria… that’s it… imagine it ravished by war.”

And the illusion was broken, the rotten core revealed. Fire. Brimstone. Sulphur and burning. Canterlot’s grand architecture was cragged and broken, the castle’s proud spires snapped from the towers and encased in the mountainside. Manehatton was barren and lifeless, the streets split and the skyscrapers gone, Cloudsdale had fallen and the clouds scorched a sour charcoal. The stars of Las Pegasus were extinguished, and all was silent now. Fillydelphia and Detrot were unrecognisable, as though they’d been wiped from the map, the very land broken away and crumbling to faded nostalgia. Flames shimmied across the wooden docklands of Baltimare, the boats in the harbour reduced to mere driftwood, the orange hue, like a beautiful sunrise, reflected in the dark waters. The lustrous snow in Vanhoover was no more, mute puddles, the grey molten ash taking permanent residence along the decaying alleyways. Ponyville was decimated, dust, and he could make out everything he knew, everything he had grown up knowing… gone. Like a child’s laugh caught in the wind. Gone, snap, gone. There was the schoolyard, and the town square, the main street, all craters, his mother’s farm…

The others all blended into one visceral image: the bleached white wastelands of Dodge Junction, the crumbled and ash-ridden tree house wreckages of Hollow Shades, it was all insignificant now. His mother’s farm, oh woe, his mam, his mam…

Flames, almost flickering green as they burned across the darkening black-blue seas and channels, formed fingers, and hands, and began to pelt down mercilessly on the other continents and countries. The whole world was ablaze, engulfed in war, engulfed in apocalypse.

Shaking himself from his internal battlefield, Belove retched, heaved, and wiped his mouth clear. He could still hear the incessant cackling of the unnatural flames, and his lungs were still full of the cyclamen-purple skyline, clouded by the dying smoke. “What did you do to me?”

“I did nothing,” came Icarus’ reply. His voice was smooth again, and charming, changing on a whim. “You really do have an over-active imagination.”

The images of widespread destruction stayed with Belove still, etched into his retinas like they were engraved with a branding iron. He choked, “Why would you do that? What good would so much destruction do for you?”

“You honestly expect me to explain my intentions to you?” Icarus rubbed him under the chin, patronisingly. His hoof, smooth and conditioned as it looked, was cold and cragged. “You have no idea of the way things really are. You can’t even begin to comprehend…”

“Is it revenge? I’ll bet its revenge.”

“Revenge? Whatever for?”

“Because I beat you in that school race that one time.”

“That would be laughable, were it not so sad.”

“Then why are you going to do… well, whatever it is you’re going to do?”

“For the greater good.”

“You call this diesnotopia…”

“Dystopia, Belove.”

“…of yours the ‘Greater Good?’ You’re MAD! You’re planning on destroying the lives of your Queen, your people, the very ponies you are bound to protect and serve!”

“I AM PROTECTING AND SERVING MY QUEEN AND PEOPLE!” His silky voice rose to a crescendo, “And if a few sacrifices are to be made, then so be it! All the worlds’ a stage, Belove, all the worlds’ ablaze!”

“What does that even mean?”

“All is fair in love and war! Love… and war!”

“What? Oh, I can act like a weirdo too, so I can! Soylent green is ponies! Beat that, eh?”

“Enough!” With that patented Icarus Magic™ he sprung, blurred, to his hooves and stood looming over the dark form of the broken, caged Earth Pony. “I grow tired of your inexhaustible babbling! You’ve burdened me for quite long enough: I offered you a way out, you rejected it, and now you’ll have to pay the piper.”

“Fine then, go ahead. Arrest me, 'oh great Equestrian saviour.' You won’t win this. My friend is a lawyer, he’ll sort this all out, and then I’ll expose YOU, and then you’ll have Captain Shining Armour to worry about…”

“Believe me when I say that Captain Shining Armour is not a concern of mine. It would be awful, truly awful, if he were to have a little accident, and if that were the case, well… as the rescuer of this nation’s dearest Princess, I suppose it’ll be up to me to fill in his place after his retirement, and should that come with complete control over the entire Equestrian armed forces, then… But enough of what is to come. For you won’t be around to enjoy it.” This warranted another round of hearty laughter, but the humour was dry, and dead. “The good news is that we shan’t be arresting you and carting you back to Canterlot, kicking and screaming. No, that requires more effort than you’re worth, and we both know you’ve got loose gums, that is, even if they were to take you seriously at all. No, I’m afraid you’ll be enjoying a similar retirement to the soon to be late-and great Mr Armour, my friend.” He motioned over to Pit. “The big reveal, if you would…?”

Unicorns were, typically, not as well built as the earth ponies of Equestria. However, when the second-in-command moved, slinked away, back past the illumination of the campfire, Belove saw how scrawny, scrawnier than any equine he had ever seen regardless of race, the curly-haired soldier was, with spindly legs like those of an arachnid’s, and stretched skin that seemed too big for his youthful bones. Over to a nearby tree at the other side of the small clearing he scuttled, head held to the ground least he trip over the snaking roots, and to the weathered oak tree at the far side. The trunk blended meticulously into the black staging that was the forest, and the rich emerald leaves looked like they were either levitating or held up by a series of intricate stage wires. In a pantomime-esque fashion, exaggerated and farcical, Pit placed his hooves on the invisible trunk, forelegs bending the blackness and crinkling it back, looked at his bewildered guest, and then dramatically yanked his hooves to one side, ripping away a portion of the trunk. The dark cloth (for that’s what it was) fell free in what could have been passed off as a magician’s act, and fluttered slowly to the soft dewy ground with a ghost-like quality.

“Ta-da!”

Underneath that heavy, hot blanket that had been whisked away, he’d conjured up a ferocious beast. A ferocious beast that was well acquainted with Belove. Well acquainted indeed.

He heard it before he saw it. That terrible, wheezing snore, guttural and grievous, earth-shattering. A lion’s roar. Even though it, too, was similarly trapped in bamboo a cage as he were, Belove could see every detail of the Manticore as clear as day.

‘Birds of a feather get locked up together…’

There was a quaint quality about the beast now, as it slept. The thing’s eyes, so wide and piercing, may have well been the eyes of a foal, for they were closed tightly, the fur of its cheeks gently crinkled along the edges. Its huge head rested, petite, in its tan paws, claws carefully sheathed, and its unkempt mane sprawled across its sleeping brow. The rippled red wings resting on its soft back would twitch sporadically, as though it were attempting to fly, in tune with the turning and lulling of its thick, armoured tail, crimson like roses. Its back arched in time with its breathing; soft, light, and sparse, almost laboured despite its heavy body mass. There was evident bruising on its muzzle, peachy blobish starbursts of faintly disjointed colour, and one of its fearsome front fangs which should have hung over its top lip was missing deriving it of form and installing a sort of asymmetrical ruggedness. It was clear that Icarus and the bruisin’ crew had been a tad rough with the Manticore on their last meeting, and the feral rogue had gotten off a little worse for the wear.

“Do you remember our mutual friend, Belove? You should: he is a most lively sort.”

“I think I do, but it’s hard to tell because you’ve done a number on his face. Give you some clay and you’d change it, beat it into something else, eh.”

“Why, thank you.”

“Shame you can’t change your own sorry face, though. So many ponies rant on about the charmingly good looks of Captain Icarus, but to me, you’re scarred with history. Frankly, I can’t see the appeal.”

Belove had always known Thunder Charger as a vain and fickle creature- he’d never changed one bit, and being widely known and loved as Captain Icarus, the face of the celebrity world, the metaphorical prince in literal shining armour, had only enflamed his ego to arsonistic levels. When one dared to challenge his admittedly handsome features, he naturally did not take it kindly at all. But this time, this time the Pegasus did ought but shrug. He pointed to his gleaming white face. “What, telling me that you don’t like what you see? I’ve certainly gotten used to it.”

Belove made another fake retching noise. “So, I’m desperate to know: why would you go and cage up a wild beast like that?”

“Why would I not?” Picking up a stick from the smouldering fire, the captain floated over to the makeshift cell, where the monster lay unconscious. “He’s a menace, like you. And I think he’ll make a good pet, as you could have. One door closes, another opens.”

He gave Pit a slight nudge and pushed him away from the holding pen. Firelight flickered around his armour, green and brilliant in the reflection. Flashing another thunderous grin, the vile Icarus ruffled his waxy wings and then lashed forward, holding the jagged stick at hoof’s length and thrusting the pointed end like the tip of a rapier sword through the gaps in the wooden cell logs. The instrument hit its intended mark, caught the Manticore on the left nostril, flaring. Giving an unnecessary twirl, he threw the stick in the air and caught it with his other hoof, jousting the poor slumbering creature on the left eyelid and peeling it upwards. “Wakey wakey, Mr Manticore!” He called out to the beast, “Wakey wakey!”

Wakey wakey, the Manticore did. Slowly, like a budding flower, it opened its left eye, then the other, revealing two bloodshot white spheres, two veiny moons, savage and wonderful. Yawning, it scratched behind its flapping ear, licked its paw contently, and stretched, rising upwards, upwards, like the scorpion it was.

It stopped when it saw the audience of faces staring down at it.

A series of white, mocking faces. Long, equine faces, filled with jeer and corruption.

Icarus didn’t seem at all surprised when the Manticore sprung to action and, like a blur of fur, swiped at his face with a powerful lunge. Of course, the attack never came close to meeting its mark, the captain made sure of that, and the big cat only succeeded in scraping its knuckles along the bamboo bars that confined it. Furious, the Manticore stared inquisitively down at his throbbing paws, then back up at Icarus, as though he were to blame all along. The Pegasus riled him up with another poke of the stick, and whilst clenched paws erupted through the air all around him, so close but so harmlessly far, he turned, somewhat pleased with himself, and stated, “Oh dear, Belove. I seem to have disturbed him greatly.”

“Aye, must be because you were poking him with that stick, there.”

Icarus cringed. “I-I know, Belove. I… never mind. But here’s something for you to chew on,” he aptly tilted his head as a paw swung past behind him, “Manty here is in a bit of a foul mood. Not really a morning creature, is he? But now that he’s up, I think he’ll be expecting some breakfast.”

Belove squirmed wildly in his small cage. “You can’t feed me to a Manticore!”

“I think I’ll do just that. It’ll be much easier to explain if you’re taken by a wild beast. Less ways to trace your disappearance back to me, at least for a while.” He blew on his hoof, and held his head high. “Now, we’ve cut his claws to prevent any sort of unwanted escape, but his teeth are still perilously sharp. Good for tearing,” he snapped his own teeth, “And biting, and ripping things apart. But let’s give him a little bit of time to tire himself out, shall we? He’ll eat better after some morning exercise.”

“I’ll exercise you.”

“Oh, Belove,” Icarus cantered over and threw the stick into the captive’s pen, “You always do know what to say. It’s funny, I haven’t known you for very long, but… I think I’ll miss you when you’re gone. Speaking of which, I’d best get going myself! Princesses to save, villains to smite, Kingdoms to rule and all that!” He signalled to the two Bodyguards nearest him. “You two shall wait here, and when the beast demands it, serve it its breakfast. You two, with me.”

The unicorn and the Pegasus followed their leader back into the thick of the forest. Icarus swivelled on the spot, and gave a formal salute. “Goodbye, my friend!”

Belove was quick to remind him that he was not his friend. Nor was he a sir.

“Always a pleasure!”

His laughter trailed off beyond the reaches of prying eyes. The two sentry guards, who remained behind at the encampment, gave each other unsure glances, their white noses wrinkled and creased.

“So, guys, you couldn’t…”

“Not a word,” the larger of the two gruffly responded, his voice deep and husky. They were clearly in no mood for Belove’s nonsense, and by golly did they show it. The duo circled around the camp once, twice, and then, convinced that the camp was secure, they lay back down by the fire, and began to talk, low and indecipherably.

Belove shrugged and circled his pen a few times, before lowering himself to the hard, cold ground, and tried his darndest to pretend he was back home, and the dewy grass would transmute to his mattress once again. His chin settled on a wet patch, but he lacked the energy to move. The Manticore was still putting up quite a ruckus, and one of the guards told it to be quiet, and a moment later this sparked a bestial yelp. Belove couldn’t help but feel sorry for the thing now. He could do little else but feel sorry for a lot of things.

A twig snapped behind him, and then came the rustle of leaves. He wasn’t presumptuous or foolish enough to think that it was his friends, coming to rescue him from his dire situation. As much as he hated to admit it, they’d likely forgotten about him, and he wouldn’t blame them for turning their backs on him. Only he knew of Icarus’ true plans, and, without any aid of escape, this vital knowledge would surely perish with him.

‘Stuff Icarus and stuff Equestria,’ thought the red stallion with a huff, ‘I’m not going to let myself be eaten by a Manticore.’

Of course, he had little to say on the matter.

He felt tears coming, but he forced them back until they dried up. No. He was too proud.

Belove sorely wished he had never woken up.

Chapter 16

His heart felt like it was going to burst.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The organ carried out its ghastly, visceral melody with rhythmic clockwork as the young stallion bolted upright. Eyes dark and glazed, his chest burned with a terrible acid that sizzled up from his stomach and to the back of his throat. He retched, kicking the hot, heavy blankets off his trembling form at once. The bedsheets, drenched with blotches of greying perspiration, tumbled to the floor as the stallion stumbled to his hooves.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

He was disorientated. Confused. The world was silent, but tilted and curved unnaturally. Water seeped out along his brow and dripped noisily onto the ground in time with the melancholy beat.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Then the fire subsided, and the pain quelled. The thumping shriveled away to a light tap. He allowed himself to fall backwards, and was cushioned by something soft, and warm. A mattress.

'Jeez, Starfire. You scared yourself.'

The student slowly let out a long, breathy sigh, and looked around. The faces on the walls. The glowing jars in the darkness. The dark violet flowers that hung in bunches from the rafters. Zecora’s hut. So strange and intimate yet so familiar and safe.

“Just a dream,” he mumbled aloud, pushing his wavering hoof to his erratically rising chest. “Just a dream.”

He knew it was just a dream. He’d known that they’d all been dreams. After all, how could they not? They were so outlandish and surreal, so obscure and cryptic. He knew they weren’t real. He knew.

But this dream… it was different than the others. This dream was real. Too real.

This dream was real.

No.

The small bedroom that he lay in suddenly felt very claustrophobic and compressed. His body was sticky and clammy, his throat dry and hoarse, his chest rattling with swollen embers. Regaining his balance, he stepped over Candi’s bundled form, sprawled sleepily along the floor and mummified with several bright and cheery cloths, and tiptoed over to the thin purple veil that hung over the open doorway, acting as a screen. It shivered slightly, carried along with the vibrant electric of magic and foreboding in the silent house.

The interior of the hut was as familiar to him now as his own skin, every creak and groan from every settling floorboard an extension of his own voice. All of the candles that hung from the sconces were already extinguished, and the room was black. Sleepily but daftly manoeuvring his way around the width of the cauldron, a solid, tangible portion of the darkness, he stumbled over to the kitchen area and leaned over the metallic sink, spitting once down the drain and wiping his mouth with the back of his hoof.

There was a sour taste in his mouth, and an acidic burning in his throat. Shaking, he put it down to the meal he had eaten earlier repeating on him; a simple bout of indigestion, nothing more. New foods always played havoc on his insides. He held his hoof under the still-running tap, savouring the pleasant chill that ran along his foreleg, and the icy numbness of the cold water. It was too warm tonight; humid, stuffy, the uncomfortable, clingy, sticky sort of heat, thin air. Or at least, those were the conditions inside the hut. Maybe it trapped the glowing heat, held it hostage.

Starfire cupped the liquid, shimmering with black, and splashed it across his face. Refreshed, muzzle dripping, he stared out into the forest through the closed window, and pondered. Belove was out there, somewhere. How was he coping, all by himself, alone?

Trapped it. Held it hostage.

He didn’t hear the front door open, but he heard the tell-tale creak as it shut.

“Starfire, Starfire, you scared me sour!

What are you doing up at so late an hour?”

The Zebra slipped in through the front door and into her residence, letting it swing shut, least she let more of the perpetual darkness slither inside. She was half camouflaged in the blackness of night, only her white half being of any small visibility at all, like a series of milky brush strokes on a solid black canvas. But it was enough to give away her presence.

Starfire turned, a little faster than he had expected, and spilled his cupped-hooved cargo over the kitchen floor. “Sorry if I startled you, Zecora. You certainly startled me. I didn’t know you were… awake.”

There was a pause, and then a sharp metallic clang. He felt the chill of air as she swept past him to the cupboards.

“Do not apologise, there is no need.

Were you feeling peckish? Did you come to feed?”

The stallion dried his dripping hooves on his chest and leaned backwards against the counter. “No, no, I wasn’t hungry. I wasn’t craving a late night snack or anything.”

“It’s quite okay if you were,

Remember, what’s mine is also yours.”

His face grew red and flustered at the mention of more food, but he appreciated the gesture and open hospitality. “No, but thanks all the same. Honestly, I just needed some cool water. It’s too hot tonight, and I couldn’t sleep. Whatever I ate gave me indigestion, I think. Or whatever I drank…”

The room exploded in light, so bright it hurt Starfire’s delicate eyes, the blue pupils diluting. Zecora stood by the kitchen cabinets, the wall sconces aflame, and the match in her hoof still smoking. She blew once, twice and then took the wax candle and set it In the center of her table. Her face was still and just.

“You ate your food far too fast,

More likely than not, it’s given you gas.”

The student raised an eyebrow. “You think that’s it?”

“Yes, yes, I am sure. Sit down, if you will,” the Zebra commanded,

“I’ll give you something to settle your stomach, make it still.”

With a fleeting glance of suspicion, Starfire did as he was told, scraping a chair up to the illuminated table as Zecora turned back to the sink and filled up a kettle with warm water. “What are you doing up, Zecora?”

She pointed to the metallic bucket she had been carrying, water residue still dripping from the sides.

“I went outside to quell the flames,

Before any more of the forest was laid claim.”

“Those dragons really sent up quite a blaze, then?”

She nodded.

“Thank you. For doing your best to put the fires out, I mean. It’s nice to see somepony care about nature like that. Especially somepony not… from here, you know?”

She nodded again, and tugged upon the kitchen cupboard closest to her. A packet, the white-cream dotted with strange tribal symbols, was pulled out and she ripped the top off the sachet and poured the contents inside of a small, round teacup.

Zecora sure was a strange one all right, and Starfire was still unsure of her motivations. But she’d shown them so much kindness that he couldn’t help but think of her as a rather shrouded, unorthodox sort of friend. He pawed at the tabletop, and then asked, “Thank you for taking care of Weatherstorm… and Derky, too. Where are they, might I ask?”

She pointed in the direction of the master bedroom.

“They’re both sleeping as soundly as newborn foals,

Not even a squeak, bless their souls.”

Starfire bit his lip. “In your bed? Where are you going to sleep?”

She dodged the question.

“The one you call Derky,

He has such a kind heart.

He has not left the blue one’s side,” she chuckled,

“I couldn’t keep the two apart.”

Zecora dipped a spoon into the ceramic teacup, and tapped the rim three times. She returned to the table with it resting on a saucer, a warm steam following it, and set it down in front of the stallion. She gave him a misty smile and tiled her head. “Here. Drink.”

The liquid inside was a pale grey. There was a strong, rich aroma. Starfire looked up and gazed into her eyes. “What’s this?”

“You’re too suspicious, Starfire,

It’s just some herbal tea.

Please take a sip, it’ll help you sleep.”

He put the teacup to his mouth, perched his lips and blew it.

The mare’s hoof shot out suddenly, grappling his leg, outstretched on the table, and pinning it there. Her face grew serious. “And tell me what you see.”

Perspiration shimmered on his forehead and his eyes grew wide. He set the cup down instantly, but he didn’t resist her firm grip. He swallowed, and then asked, softly, “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

She released her hold on him, just a little, but she kept her eyes trained and her face still.

“What do you see in your visions and unconscious mind?

Tell me, I implore you, it may be a sign.”

Starfire shifted uncomfortably, sighed, and took a sip of his drink. Then he lowered his head to the table. “They’re getting worse. The hallucinations. They’re becoming more frequent, more vivid.”

The zebra released his hoof. “You must tell me of these dreams,

These dark thoughts, these evil things.

Tell me what has kept you awake,

You must, for your friends, for Equestria’s sake.” She leaned in closer.

The stallion scratched the back of his hair. His hoof came away damp. “My…” he hesitated on the word ‘visions’ for it sounded foolish and illogical, “The bad dreams… they began the night before the Summer Sun Celebration. I remember, in my first dream, that I was looking up at the moon, just staring at it. I wasn’t thinking of anything in particular, just how big and full and round it looked, and how I’d never paid it much mind before. But as I stared from my window, I began to feel anxious and worried, and I didn’t know why. And then I saw it: just a fleck of green, light green, like bile. It was distant, very distant, but I saw a bright light as the streak connected with the moon. And in that second of blinding light, I saw a shadow, the Mare in the Moon, grinning down at me, and a black mass of worms engulfed the moon completely, and… I woke up.”

His voice croaked. “That wasn’t the last time. I’ve had many vivid nightmares since… to be honest…” Starfire took another sip, “It’s starting to scare me. Silly, I know.”

Zecora remained unfazed. She nodded, but said,

“And the vision you had just now,

It was different in some way, somehow?”

The zebra knew she was right when Starfire avoided her eye contact completely. He knew better than to argue against her theory. “I know it’s silly, and I certainly don’t believe in it, but… are you… are you psychic, Zecora?” He held his cup close to his chest, and the steam rose up under his chin.

“If I were psychic, tested and true,

I’d have no need of asking you.”

“Fair point.” The stallion shakily re-applied the cup to the table. Clearing his throat, he added, “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s not important.”

“I’d rather hear anyway,

It may prove to be of worth.

Give me an image of the day,

The day,” she motioned under the table to his outer thigh, “Of your destiny’s birth.”

Starfire cocked his head. “I don’t see how it’s of relevance, Zecora.” He began to get up. “And besides, I can barely remember any of the details…”

She pulled him back down, sharply. There was a passive-aggressive power coursing through her stocky body; it compelled him. She didn’t say anything: she had no need to. He immediately sat back down, and gave an unsure smile. “But I suppose a bedtime story would be mutually beneficial.”

He’d never been on a train before.

But he found it to be a pleasant experience.

His stomach still churned and moaned in protest, however, resisting any effort the colt made to settle his nerves. He hummed along with the rattle of the locomotive, a jolty mechanical sound that he found oddly soothing as the vibrations rose through the metallic floor and shivered up his spine. It did him no good: he could try to relax his body as he wanted, but he was too smart to fool his own mind. Today was a big day: today was the beginning of the rest of his life. And he couldn’t afford to mess it up. He just couldn’t.

Peering over the translucent green headrest of his aged and wooden seat, which groaned in protest nearly as much as the heavy, suited stallion beside him, he looked out of the large, rounded window to his left. It was slightly ajar, rattling in its pane, and the breeze of the roaring wind sifting through the fibres of his golden locks was refreshing. Trees, hundreds of them in a single line, all spaced out at equal measure, blended into one green streak as the train continued to ascend the base of the mountain at a great speed. Behind them, rolling hills and miles of bountiful fields, all freshly ploughed. He poked his nose through the gap in the window, and sniffed. The smell of hay was overpowering, and the almost tangible taste of wheat settled on his tongue. Away in the distance, he thought he saw the urban sprawl of his hometown. Or maybe it was Baltimare. The tracks had merged, after all. Whatever the case, he was glad to be out of the city, even if it were only for a while. Despite the sweet tastes and aromatic smells, there was a bitter acidic stench at the back of his throat, and a clogging of phlegm. Coughing, he exhaled deeply, and closed his eyes. It would all be over soon, he thought. Sure, he was worried now, but he had no reason to be. He knew he was talented. There was nothing they could throw at him that he couldn’t handle. He was gifted, he told himself, again and again. He was gifted.

The train approached a tunnel, cut into the side of the mountain face, like a gaping mouth ready to swallow the locomotive whole. The colt pulled his head back inside, and closed the window. He felt his stomach tightening, in ghastly knots. He had no reason to worry. He was being silly.

Suddenly, the entire cherry-blossom carriage was plunged into perpetual darkness, if only for a moment.

He was gifted.

Every sound was intensified during this brief window of blackness. The clang of the wheels hurtling along the tracks became deafening, the shill wail of compressed air, the open and close of one of the carriage doors and the stiff squeaky wheel of a service trolley.

He saw it for the first time when they came through the other side of the tunnel; it was, after all, very hard to miss. Towering over the highest peaks of the tallest mountaintops was the capital city of Canterlot, the life and soul of the Equestrian nation, etched into the craggy mountainside itself. Illustrious golden-tipped spires, slender and ivory in appearance, shot upwards and speared the atmosphere, as though yearning for the bright and full sun. The water was very clear, the colt noticed: rivers of the shimmering liquid poured over the lilac-granite cliffsides and gushed noisily down the side of the tallest mountain, filtering through the nooks and cracks as it continued its ever-flowing descent, down, down, feeding into a stream that ran off into the distance to what looked like a small, low lying town. As the grand city drew nearer and nearer, the little unicorn grew bolder and bolder.

Yes. He was gifted. That deep, tightening feeling in the pit of his stomach? That wasn’t fear. That was determination.

The conductor’s voice came crackling through the train’s intercom with a bout of overlaying static. “This train will be arriving at Canterlot Central shortly,” came the low, masculine droll, followed by a muffled “Thank you for choosing Equestria Express.”

“How do you feel, champ?” The question came from a lean, brandeis-blue stallion in the gangway. He twiddled at his dirty fair moustache, one eyebrow raised. The colt hadn’t heard him approach, but little could be heard over the metallic clanking of metal on metal.

“Good,” the little one replied, “Fine. Good-fine. I’m fine.” He gave a troubled smile, and sighed. “I mean, I feel a little nervous.”

“Starfire, if you weren’t a little worried, we’d be worried.” The elder brushed his son’s cheek, and leaned in close, right in to Starfire’s ear. “But your mother and I, we’re… we’re proud as punch. And we’re rooting for you. Not that you need two little old fuddy-duddies like us willing you on, cramping your style, or whatever you young’ens say these days.”

This sparked a smile. His father always thought he was older than he really was. As did Starfire. “Yeah… I’m gifted.” The message was more a reassurance than a reply, but the stallion standing by his chair dropped his warm smile for all of a moment.

“Hey now, let’s not get cocky.” But then the smile was back. “I know you’re a big magic ma-hoff, but let’s try to keep that head of yours small enough to fit through the door.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just… be yourself, champ. Remember that. Be yourself.”

“I’ll try my best not to become somepony else, dad, but I’m not making promises.”

“Always with the smart mouth, aren’t you? My little magician.”

The colt rolled his eyes sarcastically. “Dad, nobody calls them magicians anymore.”

Throwing up his hooves in defence, the moustached stallion chuckled. “I’m ol’ fashioned. Sue me.”

“You’ll need a good lawyer.”

The train’s brakes were applied and the momentum slowly dwindled, the chugging and clanking of the locomotive fading like a dying cough and all at once the train was still. The doors opened, afternoon sunlight streaming into the gangway, and every creature on board began their mad rush to the exits. “Canterlot Central Station,” the conductor’s voice repeated. “End of the line. Than-“ His voice was drowned out by the hustle and bustle and scraping of hooves on metallic sheet flooring. Nobody had time to listen here in the big city. They were much too busy.

They likely had much to accomplish.

Mother, father and child stepped out onto the crowded platform, almost carried away by the living current of motion in the sea of faces. The first thing that Starfire became aware of was the noise; so loud and droning that all the little sounds merged into one unanimous hum that was strangely so prevalent that it challenged the natural dual lordship of silence and nothingness. Noise was silence here, of that he was certain. The air itself was lightly scented here; it smelt vaguely of flowers, but which species, he did not know, and freshly baked hot-cross buns, carried on the wind from some disembodied bakery. His father smacked his lips instinctively… owning a coffee shop and baking the steaming treats every day for as long as he had been married had not dulled his tastes for the pleasantries. Starfire allowed himself another hearty sniff: it was decided that the air here was nicer than that of Fillydelphia, and his lungs felt fresh with discovery.

A station clock, prominently large, silently chimed the hour, on the hour, as the train behind them pulled eagerly away from the platform, circling back from whence it come, shaking the panes of glass of the station building.

“Starfire,” began the colt’s mother, “Your exam isn’t for another hour.” She was a stern faced mare, Starfire’s mother, a pink-coated unicorn with short brown hair, tied into a neat bun. It brought out the emphasis in her eyes, which had a studious but warm quality, akin to a log fire, neatly tidied behind her opaque circular spectacles. She tried to hide the hesitation in her voice and was very apt at it. “What say we go get some ice cream?”

The triple-choc vanilla scoop sundae surprise that followed was heavenly and timeless, thick and creamy and just right. Clanging spoon against bowl, the young Starfire smiled sweetly to his own disproportioned reflection in the metal, and inserted the instrument into his eager mouth once more. His mother knew the best ice cream shops in Canterlot; she lived here, once upon a time, before she met her husband and had to give up her teaching career to help out around the family café in smoggy Fillydelphia, and to raise a foal to the best of her ability. In truth, she was content.

But that didn’t mean that she was content with Starfire’s fantasies.

They were trying to be as discreet as possible, but he still heard them. He always did. His parents had begun to argue a lot more often than they had been before, before he had told them of his dearest wish to enroll in Celestia’s school for Gifted Unicorns, and he hadn’t the faintest clue why. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t see the correlation between the two events.

“You’ve filled his head with nonsense,” came his mother’s hushed voice from somewhere behind him. She still retained her thick Canterlot accent even after being apart from her hometown for so long.

“Nonsense?” His father’s native Fillydelphian voice combated hers, “Sugar, I’ve given th’boy a dream!”

“Don’t call me that, Hot Cross. And you know as well as I do that it’s a silly pipe dream.” She glanced back over at her son to make sure his head was not swivelled and ears pricked, listening intently. His head remained un-swivelled, facing forwards and down, into his bowl of ice cream. “You already know how I feel on the matter.”

“And if it were up to you…” He paused. “Oh, err, strawberry crunch, please. Two scoo- no, make it three scoops, please. Well, of course I want jimmies on top. Anything for you, ma’dear?” She declined, and he waited until the clerk walked into the back room. He continued. “The kid’s good at magic, probably takes it after me,” the earth pony stallion jested, probing at his barren forehead. “If I were a unicorn and had his talents, well... I’d go for it. Dream big an’ all.”

The stallion’s loving wife pulled one of her trademark frowns, and wrinkled her nose. He always found that attractively cute when they first met, and he still couldn’t help but exhale deeply when she did it now. “Dreaming big is fine, but this is preposterous,” she hissed as quietly as she managed, “You’ve seen how low the statistics are, how low the pass rate into this academy is. Starfire’s a great magic user for his age, but the math just doesn’t add up in his favour. Now, if he were to look at training to become a teach…”

Starfire’s father would hear no more of it. “To heck with your statistics and to heck with your teaching. Pah!” Feigning a half-spit, he furrowed his brow and shook his head as though his life depended on it. “I want our son to be a stallion who they write about in the history books o’tomorrow, not some third-rate foalsitter. We both know he’s better than that, and more to the point, he knows he’s better than that. I believe in him. I believe he can do this, my dear Magic.”

She tried to be angry with him, to slap him, but her hoof fell around his shoulder instead and she followed into a hug. “I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

“He won’t. He’s gifted.”

Starfire savoured every mouthful of his ice-cream.

He wished it would last forever and ever.

“You can’t wait around forever,” Starfire’s father tore him from his blissful trance, “It’s time.”

The colt wearily glanced up at the ornate reception room clock; both regal hands were at 12 noon. He felt the knot in his stomach twist into unimaginable proportions. His head felt light and airy, his hooves heavy and hard. Exhaling with more false gusto than he could muster, he set down the comic book he had been reading on the plain white reception room table and rose to his hooves, the lemon yellow couch creaking as he did so. “Yes. I guess I’d better go then.”

“We can go with you, you know.”

“Naw,” he casually shrugged as though the sentiment meant nothing to him, “I’m fine. I’m a big colt. I can do this on my own.”

Dad leaned back against the creamy décor. He twitched his facial hair and puffed out his chest. “You young’ins grow up so darned fast these days. Best of luck. Do me proud.”

Starfire nodded. He didn’t know whether that was his dad’s way of wishing him luck, or demanding that he succeed. He hoped it was the first, and hoped he’d accomplish the latter.

The double doors leading into the exam hall were stately and imposing, a sinister shade of pale blue, so polished he could see his reflection in them. There were other faces amongst his; the faces of the other potential students in the waiting room, all five turned in his direction, watching his exit, and his entrance. A sixth face floated in between them.

Her magic caressed his chin and squeezed his cheeks. She turned his head to face her. “You still have ice cream around your mouth,” his mother cooed, wiping away the evidence with a silken handkerchief, “There. All better.” She looked him up and down once, twice, and then embraced him in a hug. Starfire’s mouth fell agape. Her breath felt warm on his face, her accented voice soft in his alert ear. “I… good luck.”

At that moment, he could have taken on a dragon.

The little colt strode into the auditorium as tall as a king. His eyes watered, but he no longer felt afraid. All other eyes were on him as the doors creaked shut and clicked tight. His body shook. Determination. Glory. Destiny.

“Name?” The question came from one of the professors from the back of the room, a black haired stallion, his horn parting the middle of his mane and his face stern and disinterested. Starfire gave his name.

The four orange seats the lecturers sat upon squeaked in union, and the shuffling of papers and documents commenced. “Ah, yes. One moment, please.” A yellow mare looked down at the boy from behind rounded spectacles, and gave her best impression of a smile. Starfire knew she wasn’t well versed in the art of cheer. He nodded in understanding, and turned towards the back wall.

A blackboard rested between two full length purple windows on the celadon green wall, its surface scratched with arcane symbols and dusty algorithms. He understood the basics of the top row of calculations. The diagrams drawn further down were lost to him. They would come to him in time, surely. He was a quick learner.

“Remind us,” the fair-haired examiner began, his voice lacking any unique definable characteristics, as straight as the beige tie around his neck. “How old you are?”

Starfire answered their query. They thanked him, and mumbled amongst themselves. They were trying to be as discreet as possible, but he still heard them. He could always hear them. “He’s tall. For his age, that is,” the mare with the fringe murmured.

“He’s still a little older than the other applicants we’ve examined today,” replied the bespectacled one, “Besides, you cannot scope magical talent on height and age.”

High-collar flipped a page over and narrowed his eyes at the script. “Well,” he nudged Centre-Parting, “I think he looks the part. He’s got the mannerisms about him. Look at his face. He’s almost as solemn as you.”

Centre-parting’s face remained as anticipated. “I would really rather like to see him in action before I spend another word on the matter. Is everything in place?”

“So I believe.”

“Very well,” the scholar clapped his gravel-coated hooves together, and the sound buzzed around the hall in a frenzy, “Wheel it in.”

Starfire couldn’t see the entity who opened the doors at the far side of the auditorium, but he heard his grunt muffled under the metallic ringing squeak of the loose trolley wheels. The cart itself was bronze and dimly shone in the artificial light, but there was a rustiness to the edges, as though it had seen plenty of prior service. Atop it sat a rigid blue cloth, veiling and concealing whatever lay underneath. Starfire gave the trolley a steely glare. This was it.

His destiny had just arrived.

And all it took was the grand unveiling.

A rather short, stout, cider-bellied earth pony took an exaggerated stride out from behind the cart, and gave a quick, half-sarcastic bow. His janitor’s cap slid over his old, heavy eyes, and cast a shadow on his scruffy, greying moustache. His voice was unimpressive, and strangely accent-less. “Good luck, young wizard.” With a gesture only half as grand as himself, he whipped the cloth free and let it sink gently to the ground. Then, with a semi-serious bow, he left, whistling a non-tune.

“Master Starfire, we’d simply like you to do the following…”

A standard common-or-garden light bulb, the glass a milky-white transparency, sat upright on a smoothed wooden block, perched like a mother bird guarding her eggs. The student regarded the object for a moment, his head cocked and eyes trained.

“…the lightbulb on the cart before you is an ordinary, standardized Equestrian incandescent light. Solid glass bulb. Carbon filament. 30 swatz with a 13.5lthe. Standard fare. Mr Starfire, all we require to further your education within this establishment is for you to cause the bulb in question to illuminate by means of electric heat combustion via the carbon filament, using your own magical ability, without any additional aid…”

The barely feminine, robotic voice droned away in Starfire’s inattentive ears. He never broke eye contact with the solitary bulb, so cold and dark and... small. Inside, he was screaming with joy. This was his entry exam? An illumination spell? Pah, he’d been casting more complex spells in his sleep for years! The unicorn’s top lip quivered, just slightly, with anticipation, and he had to strangle back an ecstatic smile. Oh, he was going to ace this exam with flying colours.

“…representative of your final mark. Do you understand, Mr Starfire?”

Starfire’s eyes flashed as he gave the higher-ups a single nod. “For sure.”

The examiners exchanged cautious sideward glances. For the first time, they all felt a smidge of unanimous unease. “Quite. You may begin in your own time, Starfire.”

The colt could see his own reflection in the bulb as he stared it down, stretched and plump and strangely distorted, but still his reflection. His future. His destiny. He saw scholarships and scrolls, great tomes and steaks of magic, mana pools and laughing fools and the blue sky alight with black mortarboards, his name in books for eons. Starfire. Starfire. His spells and designs would be woven into the Equestrian psyche for all of time afterwards. He could make a difference. His destiny would shine so bright.

As bright as a light, as bright as a star.

All he had to do was use his magic to lig- no.

No.

This couldn’t be it, surely.

This couldn’t be the exam. The real exam.

This was far too easy.

He scrunched his lips narrowed his eyes. The visage faded.

“In your own time, Mr Starfire,” the voice repeated. The scratch of quill on paper.

What were they planning? Was this a test in itself?

“Mr Starfire, is everyth-“

“Yeah, yeah,” the blue unicorn snapped back, waving a nonchalant hoof in the general direction of his tutors. “I’ll do it in a minute. Piece of cake.”

He heard more quills being dragged along parchment. He heard their barely audible grunts, and their breathless mutterings.

What did they want from him?

He knew they didn’t want him to merely light a bulb. That was foal’s play. No, they wanted him to do something else, something spectacular, but what?

What, what, what?

He exhaled, slowly. He had to search for answers, for the light.

The light masked by the façade.

Yes.

That was it, his North Star.

He reapplied his lost smirk. He was so very smart.

The young unicorn lowered his head, closed his eyes, and concentrated. His felt his magic channel through his entire body, starting with a tingling sensation in his hooves, like the tickle of a feather. This electric tingle rose up his legs and into his stomach, along the length of his spine and ending at his unicorn horn. It was there that his magic gathered and compiled itself, forming a ball of gas that gave off little slithers of flame. All this happened in less than a second. Licks of fire enwrapped his horn, and he shivered pleasurably. His eyes sparkled. Oh, how very good casting magic felt… how very good he was at casting magic, for that matter.

Smiling all the while, growing wilder by the second, he felt the inferno spiral from his horn and envelop the bulb. It disintegrated in a second, glass melting away into smoke under the intense heat and pooling in molten gloops over the sides of the trolly. Steam rose like the wispy vapour of Tatrarus itself.

Twisting his head to the side, his sunset-illuminated blond mane brushing over his eyes, he strained for his voice to be heard above the sizzling and popping and roaring of inextinguishable heat, “See? I get it! Improving on design! Heat and light, multiplied, tenfold, practicality and efficiency!” He laughed, high and shrill, maniacal, a forebodingly pleased chortle.

The examiners stood up. Their faces told it all: they were in awe, waving their hooves to and fro, cheering. Even whilst keeping his ever-flowing beam steady, he allowed himself the liberty of a cocky, contented sigh. He was so in.

“Stop! Stop!”

“Cease at on-“

“Stop!”

“-Ou must stop immed-“

The orders took him aback. His peers were not cheering; they were yelling. Their faces were etched not with awe, but urgency. They did not clap, or wave in persuasion, but to grab his attention, to cease his efforts.

They wanted him to stop.

And yet he didn’t, he… couldn’t.

“Cease at once, Mr Starfire!” The professor with the fair hair barked over the continuous intolerable sound of belting flames. He cupped his mouth, and bellowed once more. “Cease your actions!”

“The examination,” glasses mare screeched, her voice all but drowned in the echo of fire, “Is over!” She held up her notepad, a bold red F scrawled over three-quarters of the page. She pointed to it with haste. “You failed, I’m afraid to say! Cease your magic, and,” her voice shook, “Please leave… the auditorium via the doors you came in! Thank you for your participation, and goo-“

“No!” The colt’s scream cracked, at that moment sounding no older than the youngest of foals. His magical stream dipped, his concentration broken. It wasn’t disappointment that oozed from his upturned mouth and wobbling chin, it was his genuine confusion. His saucer-like eyes, leaking with disorientation, were glued to the single scarlet letter that dominated the score sheet, the dizzyingly blurry red clawing into his mind. He couldn’t believe it.

He refused to believe it.

“No!” He shouted again, this time with more meaning, his youthful voice now deep and commanding. His eyes hurt. His brain felt too tight, all of a sudden. “No! You…” his chest heaved, his breath quickened, his teeth clenched. “You listen to me! I’ve worked too long, and too hard…”

“Your assessment is over, Mr Starfire. We’re afraid,” the examiner gulped, her words dry, “That your application was unsuccessful and…”

“You are NOT failing me!” Starfire screeched, spittle and impropriety angrily spat from his quivering muzzle. “You hear me?” His head twitched erratically, his pupils dilated, and his horn fizzled and popped. The board of examiners sank into their seats. In any other circumstance, they would have removed the troublesome non-student by force, but something was holding them back. The colt’s eyes… they spoke volumes of fury, and rage, and fire. “You can’t just… just destroy my entire future like this! What sort of respectable academy is this, that when a pupil with obvious superior talent… who thinks outside of the box… it’s not fair!” Tears streamed freely as golden electrical impulses sparked from his horn. The academics’ anxiety reached its peak.

“Sir, we’re sorry, but would you ple…”

“SHUT UP!” Starfire’s outburst was sharp, and violent. Hyperventilating, the unicorn clutched at his temples and repeated the stark command again and again, rising in an urgent and panicked, infernal crescendo. His entire world was falling apart.

“SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!”

His head was in a vice, getting tighter and tighter and tighter. He felt nothing from the neck down. Weightless. His horn clenched. He screamed. Whether it was in anger, or in pain, or both, he did not quite himself know.

Starfire knew not what happened after that particular moment. His entire body tingled, his stomach churning volcanically. The light made his eyes gush. He squeezed them closer together, tighter. Heat surrounded him. His horn felt like it was being ripped from his skull, violently. A sharp ringing in his ears deafened him. The ground collapsed from under him. He fell, and lay still.

An eternity passed in silence. It was beautifully calming, serine, almost.

Almost.

Starfire, choking down nausea, struggled to his feathery hooves, his head pounding to a phantastical inner drumbeat, and peeled open his sticky eyes.

The auditorium had been hit by some force of a vengeful god. Shattered rafters hung languidly from the cracked periwinkle ceiling, some laced with flame. At the back of the room, where the models and displays lay dismembered, the once colourful astrology chart was burning to embers; the stars were on fire. A gaping hole in the wall spooled sunlight into the otherwise dim and dingy scene, birdsong and distant laughter dancing along the beaming rays. Past the rows of toppled chairs, savagely ripped from their grounded metal supports and strewn messily about the slopped floor by some divine wrath, and through the thick, creamy smoke, pungent and slate and soupy, three disoriented academics stirred, coughing and hacking in a most unprofessional manner as ash invaded their lungs.

The forth, however, made not a sound. She lay slumped over the singed back rest of her seat, her body twisted into an unnatural shape, wisps of vapour gently wafting from her slightly blackened stomach as she occasionally twitched and spasmed. Her eyes stretched as wide as her mouth. She still clutched the results sheet in her trembling hoof. A perfectly circular hole, burnt around the smooth edges, had eradicated any trace of the colt’s final mark. Her head jittered, fell back, and lay still. Her glasses dropped to the floor, and the crack echoed throughout the examination hall.

And then the screaming began.

The chorus of howling wails pierced Starfire’s ears, but they did not flinch. He neither smiled, nor frowned. Whatever mask he adorned, he wore its inequine shapes naturally, comfortably. He teetered like a swaying statue. This wasn’t real, surely. Surely not so.

The two unicorn guards seemingly popped into existence from nowhere, for he heard no door open and no door close, conjured from but his crimes, and he felt their firm hooves cup him under the forearms, one at each side of his perfectly still body. Tugging with a numbing, electrical force, they hoisted the still staring Starfire skyward, and then onto his hind legs. His paralyzed head falling back, the student saw the faces of his captors, grey faces firm and unflinching, yet somewhat uneasy and glimmering with the faintest hint of fear. The guards tried to mirror his robotic gaze. “That’s it,” the silver haired campus security stallion muttered, half in disbelief, as they dragged him backwards, towards the heavy double doors from whence he had entered. “With us. Come on.”

His comrade bit his lip, his face a little hazy, and murmured something incomprehensible. The other nodded. The screaming prevailed. The ringing was unending. That horrible, incessant ringing that seemed to expand from Starfire’s skull, like the universe itself. The feathers of a Corinthian helmet tickled his snout. He felt sleepy.

Feeling less like a pony and more like a ragdoll, the colt was dragged back into the monotone waiting room, showing no signs of a struggle, the remaining sounds of distress fading as the doors swung shut. Thin cracks, like divides in the earth, ran along the top of the creamy walls now, and the decorative clock hung at an awkward angle, both hands frozen in time. Pressed against the far wall sat the five other potential candidates, a sea of staring eyes and gaping mouths, looking on at the colt’s forced removal from the exam room with all the morbidly excited curiosity that only an innocent child can muster, drawing their attention from the horn of the limp detainee, to his flank, and then, with even wider, more morbidly excited eyes, back to his horn. There was a unified eagerness, invigoration, arousal about them and their semi-smiles. Not in fear, or in malice, but in… something… they looked on at him, and before he was whisked from the old academy building altogether, two more inverted forms hovered into his upside-down view, struggling to match the speed of their son in transit.

His father’s face was aflutter was a thousand emotions, mouth hanging open under his mousey moustache, and the jovial creases on his forehead were visible etches of defeat. Oh, how Starfire expected him to look disappointed, angry even… but there was no wind or fire in the earth pony's squinted eyes, but something else, like uneasiness, no… terror. He was scared. The adults were scared. He was calling Starfire’s name, again and again and again, with rapid urgency. Tears.

But his mother’s face swooped in to the foreground of his vision. She said something, but the words were lost on him. Her nonchalance was nothing new. Unlike her emotionally distressed husband, the unicorn’s expression was slate, the pink fur under her chin seemingly darker than usual from the colt’s present angle. She chewed her lip a little, and flicked her tight fringe. She made no effort to intervene on the guards, opting instead to shake her head, take her betrothed by the shoulder and sigh, as clear as day, so robotically with only the faintest ember of sadness, “I told you so. I did tell you so.”

Mother always knew best, after all.

He winced as he felt asphalt scrape his sensitive back. The unicorn rolled dazedly over to the campus grass, silky and prickly, coughing, as the doors closed for good. One parent rushed to his aid. The other strolled.

He was so woozy. He felt so weak. He felt stronger than he ever had in his entire life.

Silly boy. Foolish boy.

Starfire knew his faults now. He was so oblivious before. His eyes had been opened. All it took was the end of his future. All it took was failure.

He was headstrong. He was delusional.

He was confident. He was insecure.

He was brave. He was timid.

He was charming. He was deceitful.

He could be better. He would be better.

He began to bawl.

Never again. Never, ever.

He’d take all those traits, all that he was, those leftovers, and lock them away in the back of his mind. Let them burden him no more.

He’d take them, and separate them.

He’d lock them all away.

Chapter 17

The ceramic cup was growing cold in his hoof.

The stallion continued to look down forlornly at the swirling grey herbal tea with a line of faint distress creasing his forehead, rotating a silver spoon and watching the vision dance until it faded away. Starfire sighed, cast his gaze to some distant place, and drank the remainder of the cool liquid in one brisk gulp. The mug clinked at its base reconnected with the smooth tabletop. He took his time before speaking, “I guess my exam could've gone a little bit better.” There was a waver in his voice, tears on his tongue.

Zecora said nothing. She merely looked at him with her hypnotic eyes which never faltered, and allowed him to continue. “Of course, I had nopony to blame but myself. I mean, it was my own, stupid,” he chuckled a little bit, “Idiotic fault. But I remember how I felt… like… it was everypony else’s problem, not mine. And, Celestia… how I was so angry, and…” He clenched his foreleg and put it to his cheek, rattling the teacup with his free hoof, “You should have seen me walking into that exam room, Zecora. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so determined and excited and good in my entire life. I don’t think I’ll ever feel as good as that ever again. When I saw those academy doors swing shut in my unresponsive face I knew then, I just knew that my life, my perfect, wonderful, fabricated life was over, and I felt so empty.”

He scoffed as he wiped his eyes with the back of his leg. “And look at me now.” He laughed again, such a humourless laugh. “Zecora, do you know what I am to do for a living, for the rest of my life? I’m a classroom assistant. I make sure foals hand their homework in on time and read them picture books. And to think what I could have been, who I could have been, if I hadn’t been such a prideful little twerp and just followed a simple task, how…” He stopped short, snapped his attention back to his host, and smiled. “Thank you for the tea. Really.” He pushed the cup to her side of the table. “It was lovely. Just what I needed, honestly.”

The Zebra smiled back at him, a gesture which looked most odd indeed, and took the mug to the sink.

“This memory,” she said, her back to him, “This misfortune, is it often on your mind?

Or do you think of it sparingly, have you tried to leave it behind?”

Starfire was silent for a moment, before answering, “I’ve tried to repress it Zecora. I have. Thinking about it used to be all I would do, thinking, thinking, thinking, all the time. How I would do this differently, how I would change that… how I would like nothing more than the chance to say sorry. To have just one more chance to make things right. But I haven’t dreamed of it in many moons. Not in such vivid detail. Never like that nightmare I just experienced.”

Zecora dried her hooves on her exotic coat, and leaned sleekly along her counter as she reached up to close a cupboard door shut.

“You dream of it more often than you’d know,

Your subconscious will not let it go.

If you continue to cling to the past,

Expect such nightmares to forever last.”

The stallion exhaled heavily in annoyance. “I doubt you’ve ever experienced anything like that. Do you know how hard it is to let something like that go? Something that could have been so simply avoided? Something that would never have transpired if you didn’t just think, think, think, overthink the smallest things, all the time? Do you think you could just let it go so simply?”

Zecora didn’t respond, but he saw her muscular shoulders slouch, just a little, and all of but for a second, but he knew what it meant. If he didn’t know any better, and he didn’t know any better, he’d hazard a guess that the soothsayer was running from her own problems and regrets just as much as he was running from his.

He sighed, lifted himself from his seat, and made his way to her side. She kept her back to him. “Sorry. I still get a little bit angry sometimes, I still… I just…”

She didn’t turn.

“Do not linger at the door,

You really needn’t hide.

If you’d like some tea, or perhaps just a talk,

Then feel free to come inside.”

“Thank you, Madame.” Starfire heard the thickly-accented voice hover over his head. He swivelled on the spot, and watched an equine shaped figure emerge from the shadows of Zecora’s blackened bedroom. It stumbled in, a little disoriented, and spoke again in a somewhat gravelly voice, “Hello, dear Starfire.”

The student teacher blushed. “Weatherstorm, were you eavesdropping on my conversation?”

“I can neither deny,” The Pegasus wavered and, fearing a fall, slumped lazily along the narrow doorframe, “Nor confirm that. I wasn’t aware that there are things not meant for my ears in this hut, terrible and dark secrets that, for the sake of all that is good and just, I am better off not knowing.” He chuckled. “You are not a quiet speaker, Starfire. I heard you in my… rather, Zecora’s room. Your little bedtime talk woke me right up, and darn you for it, for I was having a most pleasant dream.”

Starfire ignored his japes. “That’s the second time you’ve snuck up on me, Weatherstorm. Don’t do it a third time. Announce yourself before entering a room.”

“Oh,” the journalist shifted his weight back onto his hooves, and took a few more uneasy steps into the room. “Well, excuse me for having a keen ear for gossip. I assure you that it is an impulse that cannot be ignored, a thirst that cannot be quenched, an itch that cannot be scratched until I am in the know.” Starfire didn’t crack a smile. “Relax, Mr Mystery, I only came in to fetch myself a nice, tall glass of water, if our gracious host shall allow it.”

She allowed it.

“Dankeschön.” Weatherstorm straddled his way over to the sink, picked up a tall, transparent beaker, and spent a moment inspecting it. Satisfied, he poured himself a full glass of water, fresh from the tap, and gulped the sloshing contents down in one swift movement. He sighed and smacked his lips, once, twice, and brought his hoof to his throat. “Ah, that’s cold, and sweetly soothing,” he croaked in a raspy voice, “My throat, I am ashamed to say, is rather torn up as of this current moment. I fear I may have overdone it a tad last night… well, last… yesterday, I suppose… with the cider. Or perhaps with the talking. Likely both. I do tend to rattle on, on occasion. Point in case, my throat is sore, my head is throbbing, and I feel like I’ve drank a bucket of lava. I hardly feel on top form, but I suppose this is a self-destruction of my own design." He set the cup back where he found it, before adding, “At the very least, I enjoyed your story. Wiping out an academy official during your examination? My, my, that sounds horrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.”

Huffing, Starfire’s face grew redder. “Listen, I’d remind you not to make light of the information I just shared,” he gestured, “With Zecora, and Zecora alone. I haven’t got your knack for exaggerating my words. I just say things like they are, and I told that story exactly how I remembered it. Nothing more, nothing less. Maybe it sounded worse to you than it actually was. The examiner who I…” He calmed a little. “…Took my temper out on… She was fine. Honestly. Sure, she spent the next few months eating her meals through a straw, and last I heard it was another few months before she’d open her mouth to talk to anypony, but she was back to work within the year. There wasn’t any permanent damage. I should know. My father was charged the hospital bill. That isn’t what bothered me. That’s not the part I dwell on. This is what I think of, night and day.” Starfire leaned over, stretched out his hind leg, smoothed the matted blue fur, sweat cooling in the gentle draught, and tapped his haunch. His hoof scraped along his special talent. “That incident is what earned me my cutie mark. Three blazing white stars, etched right into my flank. What sort of joke was that?” Starfire’s factual voice cracked, more than a little. His chin wobbled. “I was happier before I walked into that cursed room. I walked out with my destiny decided and broken. What does that say about me?”

“Starfire, maybe…”

“My entire destiny was established by one mistake.” Stringy strands of blond mane hung over his defeated eyes, and stooped head. “One stupid, immature mistake, and that was that. You know, I can’t even make sense of it. That’s the worst part of all. After spending so long studying the ins and outs, the magic of cutie marks, the biology and the chemistry and the magical technicalities, I still can’t grasp it. I thought that a foal earned their cutie mark when they discover their special talent for themselves for the very first time. What did I discover? That I was good at hurting other ponies? Is that what I’m destined to be? A pony who hurts others? Who looses their temper at the slightest provocation? Am I to be branded some kind of psychopath?” He wiped his nose with the back of his leg. “I don’t want it any more. I’d rather have no special talent, than have it be something like that.”

“Don’t be sad. You’re just thinking about it the wrong way. You’ll see.” The Pegasus interrupted any further self-sorrow. Only, the Pegasus who spoke this time was not Weatherstorm. His unbuttoned, mud-speckled white shirt trailed behind him in two uneven, singed halves as he cautiously poked his head out from the unlit room, and then, in all at once, he was in the kitchen, and leading Weatherstorm away by the hoof. “Weatherstorm,” Derky said, with a caring coo, so soft and gentle that it was barely audible over a whisper, “I told you that you could get a drink, but only if you came straight back to bed afterwards. Didn’t I say that?"

Weatherstorm chortled, but his cheeks grew rosy and pink in embarrassment, and he chewed on his lower lip. “You’re not my mother, Derky. You can’t…”

“Ah, ah,” He clasped his hoof over his mouth, and like an obedient dog, Weatherstorm fell silent. “The kitchen is no place for a sick pony. You’ve had your water. Leave Starfire and Zecora alone and go right back to sleep. You need rest to heal your wing, you silly goose.”

The journalist began to protest, but one surprisingly steely glare from Derky stopped him in his tracks. “Yessir,” he mumbled quietly and, tail tucked between his hooves, his wobbled past his makeshift carer. With a final look of disdain, he slumped back into the blackness of the bedroom from whence he had come.

Derky cocked his head, sweetly, and sang, “I’ll be with you in a minute! Oh, Weatherstorm… and he thinks that he’s looking after me… Uh... sorry if he upset you, Starfire. He’s not feeling at all himself. I know he doesn’t want to show it, but us Pegasi? We get very irritable when our wings are out of order. And it seems as though he gets more irritable than most, I guess. It’s only natural.”

Starfire cared not about Weatherstorm’s wing at that moment. He gave Derky an inquisitive stare through reddened eyes. “What do you mean, ‘I’m thinking about it the wrong way?’ Thinking about what the wrong way?”

Giving a speedy snort in an oh-so-obvious manner, Derky swooped over and put his hoof over the back of the blue one’s neck, brushing the tail end of his slightly damp, slightly tangled golden mane. His touch was soft, and pleasant. “Your, eh… cutie mark kerfuffle. You’re just thinking about the whole thing wrong.”

“Well, then, how should I take it? I got my cutie mark by being an arrogant, over-confident little twerp with a temper problem. I not only almost caused another pony serious injury, but destroyed any chance of future happiness all in one go.” Starfire eyed his flank with burning blue-grey eyes and a trembling frown. “Darned stars.”

Derky twisted his head sideways once more, toffee ears flicking gently like those of a canine’s, and hunkered over his comrade’s back end, pressing his curious nose firmly against the tattooed fur and scanning it with his mellowed green eyes, stroking his own chin with his feathery caramel wing and all the while humming in meditative understanding. Starfire staggered backwards at once, caught by surprise at the bizarre, over-familiar intimacy of the gesture, and tried to voice his stupefaction, but Derky cut him off. “I mean, it looks and sounds that way, for sure, and I’d agree with you and stuff, but, uh… cutie marks, they’re, like, deeper than that. You have to look past the surface of them to find meaning. It’s kinda a bit of a stretch that somepony whose special talent is as bad as you think yours is would have stars for a flank stamp. I mean, stars are nice things. They’re pretty.”

Starfire felt a little tingle of happiness at that. “What’s your take? I’ve spent years in the dark.”

“Well,” Derky arose to eye level and dusted off his hooves, “Naturally, I’m no expert, but to me, a cutie mark is what you make of it. I don't think they decide your destiny, but you decide your cutie mark, you get me? You know, deep down, what your special talent is. I mean, in order to truly discover something, I guess you’ve got to come to a sort of understanding with it. And you have. But you just overthink stuff, I guess. You think too hard when the answer is far more simple than that. Instead of taking it as a bad thing, why not think a little bit more positive?”

“How can I think of an experience like that in a positive manner?”

Derky shrugged. “I dunno. I can’t do the thinking for you.” He tapped the top of his head, ears parting instinctively. “I’m not very good at it. But to me, stars are inspiring. They’re so bright, and beautiful… When I look up at stars, I feel like I can do anything. Those foals you mentioned, in the story? Maybe your magic truly fascinated them, or… something. Maybe you left an impression on them. Inspired them to improve their own magic. Maybe you even inspired the examiners. Ponies learn from mistakes, and improve on them. I guess that, maybe, that's what you do?” He disguised the statement as a question. “You inspire others? You know, like a star. You’re explosive, sure,” he added, laughing, “And I won’t try to understand how you work. But you’re also bright. You shine, really. You can lead others. You teach, and learn, and inspire. I guess what I am saying is, uh…” He trailed off, scratching at the back of his head with a lopsided grin, “Gee, I’m not good at explaining these kinds of things… I guess you shouldn’t think so little of yourself. You can goof up, sure, but you should come back, and keep shining brighter. Nobody has ever felt inspired by a dark star. Because that’s not a star. That’s just the night.” A semi-troubled look came across the Pegasus’ brow, as though he’d confused himself with his last analogy. “You get the gist of what I’m saying, don’t you?”

Starfire did, indeed, get the gist of what Derky was saying, and that fact alone came as a pleasant surprise to him. “I’ve never thought about it like that before,” he replied, relaxing, dabbing under both eyes with a strip of snowy kitchen roll. “But that makes some kind of sense.” And the more he thought, the more sense it made. “Do you really think that my special talent is inspiring others?”

The orange-haired stallion just shrugged again. “That’s up to you. As I said, I’m hardly the pony to listen to when it comes to cutie marks. Only take my advice if you want it. It would certainly explain why you’re training to be a teacher. You said, uh... your mom pushed you into it, but you carried it through, didn’t you? You made the choice to continue with it. Why become a teacher, if you don't want to inspire? Why continue to study magic, even after what you’ve been through, if not to amaze others? If you ask me, I think…”

Derky’s deepest disclosure to date was discontinued by a dire debacle from Zecora’s room, which housed only one occupant, and only one suspect. After the sound of smashing had ceased, came a frail and tired voice from the obscured and blackened room, calling, “Derky, old chap… I appear to have entangled my bandages around a… well, what was once a vase of sorts, a very ornate one at that, and I am now rather pained to state that said vase is much less ornate than it was but moments ago. Could you assist?”

Zecora cringed. Derky cringed along with her. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

A second passed, then, “Derky?” Another second, and this time, “Deeeerrrrkkkkyy? I could use some assistance, for now the aforementioned situation has escalated somewhat, and I would appear to have another vase stuck on my right hoof, an incident of which the origins are as mysterious to I as they to you. Derky?” He sounded as though in a state of urgency.

Derky chortled. “I’ve gotta go help him. But, um… I hope I helped. In some little way.” Starfire nodded, slowly, more at his own expanding understanding. How had he done it, that strange little stallion? How had he managed to bring some small morsel of sense to a matter which had haunted Starfire for so long, with such nonchalant ease? His words had been rudimentary and his meaning base, and yet those few seconds of explanation from a perceived simpleton somehow managed to speak more truth to him than years of his own self-reflection.

‘Inspiration.’ Starfire thought, his mind opening doors he had either darned not to open, or simply overlooked. How odd it was that his special talent should be inspiring others, of all things! But try as he might, he could not scoff and roll his eyes at such a theory! The mere act of hearing it voiced aloud had triggered some irreversible reaction, and all at once, he felt monumentally better for it. It was as close to peaceful closure as he had reached since the cutie mark’s appearance. Derky was right, somehow: now it felt as though Starfire was in possession of this knowledge all along, it fit, like some missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle, only just out of reach, and if that was so, then he was only, consciously, half as smart as he had always thought he was.

He’d take this fresh feeling and run with it, even if only in passing. Maybe, in doing so, he’d inspire himself.

The other patted him on the back, with gentle care, and an audible whisper of content rushed over him. Then Derky simply cantered away to Zecora’s bedroom, away to help another who sought his need.

Starfire stopped him as he approached the doorway. “Derky, wait.” Derky halted, and turned his head, but not his full body. “Do you remember, back in the cave? When, well…” Starfire scratched his cheek. “About the stars? Do I… Derky, do I inspire you?” It was a silly question, a foolish question, daresay even an upfront vain question, but Derky said nothing. He simply cocked his head and flapped his ears, flashing Starfire his trademarked, silly little disproportioned smile, and that said more than his words ever could.

The Pegasus drew his shirt close to his body, ruffled his wings, and walked out of the kitchen. The white fabric on his back crept to one side as he took his soft steps, exposing his lack of a cutie mark, but at that moment, it was like one had been with him all along, just under the surface.

At that moment, his unique blankness shone with the sort of excellence that no cutie mark could ever, or would ever, replicate. His excellence shone bright for the world to see.

Like a star.

A white speckled owl sat perched on a thick, twisted tree limb, orange talons glinting with moonlight and latched around the hard, dark wood. It shook its grand wings above its wise old head, and sighed in content. It was enjoying the long, endless nights, the cool, gentle blackness nights in which it could stretch its feathers and take flight for hours on end. But it was tired now, and its head drooped, eyes slanting. As invigorating as this night air was, it needed sleep.

A screech cut through the forest, equine. The bird jumped at the suddenness.

Jolted, the owl took a moment to compose itself, heart clenching a little faster than the docile beast would have liked, and shook itself. What in blazes was that? With a smidge of trepidation, it edged its way closer to a faint, flickering light, glowing from within the tree’s scratchy outer coating.

By blazes, there was another screech, coming from within the very tree itself! How befuddling!

There was an ecstatic air of energized hubbub about Zecora’s cosy residence in the small hours of what would, once upon a time, have been the early hours of the morning. Quite a sizable amount of yelling and whooping was taking place within. Of course, to the simple wood-dwelling owl, an idea as bizarre as a literal tree house was very bizarre indeed, and unknowing curiosity had taken grip.

The owl, intrigued by said hubbub, drew closer to the frosted window, throwing all caution to the wind. It pecked once, twice, and then scratched at its scalp with confusion.

“Hoot?”

And then the window blew open, swinging outwards and knocking our feathered friend from its perch altogether.

One beige, horned, wide-mouthed and clearly overjoyed stallion thrust half his slick body through the hole and, still in motion, swiped an energetic hoof at the awestruck owl. “Ah yeah!” He cried, head swivelling back and his well-groomed greenish-blue hair rocking to his rhythm. “Gimmie another ‘hoot, hoot,’ baby! Raise those hooves to the roof! Cananor is BACK, and he’s here to stay!”

Flustered, and trailing loose feathers, the bird clambered back onto the branch and squinted one eye. “Hoo?”

The pony slung his arm over the windowsill and fisted the air with the other. “Cananor, guy!” He hollered at the top of his lungs, emitting some strange gurgling war cry that made his voice crack. He coughed.

What a strange horse. The owl asked again, “Hoo?”

“Cananor! As in, not Candi.” He drove a hoof to his chest and puffed out his lips. “No mare here, no sir, no how! I’m back on top form, my winged pal!” He held out an excitedly wobbling foreleg for a hoof-on-wing bump, and then instantly retracted it, running it through the ends of his mane. “Remember: Not Candi. CANANOR. Really can’t stress it enough.”

“…Hoo?”

“Yeah, I don’t mean any offense, but that joke? It’s getting old, fast. You should consider developing some new material, and, listen…” He drew close, cheek to cheek, “Don’t make my mistake. You’re a pretty young bird. Lots of life ahead of you. You shouldn’t just settle for something if your heart isn’t in it. I know you’ve got this whole ‘hunting for food in a forest thing’ down right now, but if you want to be a comedian, I say ‘go for it’ because nothing can stand in your way but…”

“Hoo.”

He laughed. “See? That’s funny. Even the old stuff can hold up with some comedic timing…”

He was interrupted as another pony stretched his head through the window, squirming to allow himself just enough space to twist his snout out, orange hair falling about his oddly wide eyes. “Cananor, are you sharing routine advice with this owl?”

The unicorn shrugged. “I get so chatty when I’m excited, Derky. And I’m just so gosh-darned excited right now! I’ve got my old body back!” He danced away from the window and into the room. The other remained.

The one referred to as Derky apologized, meekly. “Sorry about Cananor. He’s just happy not to be a girl at the moment. It happens.”

The owl was rearing to hoot, but took heed of the obliviously-dancing-equine’s advice, and said nothing. The copper one sensed his confusion.

“Yeah, Cananor. It is a strange name.” His eyes bore past the bird, to a nearby branch. “Is that your friend?” He pointed in the direction. “He seems nice.”

Taken aback, the owl wrung its neck a full 180 degrees and squinted its aged eyes. At first, it saw nothing, and felt nothing, just a still, unshivering blackness of the night that sat calm and motionless, a devoid void. But then…

…there! Like terrible, piercing spotlights, pools of swampish lagoon cast out upon its soul! The bird squeaked in surprise, and threw a wing in front of its beak in dismay. Horrible, unnatural, rugged movement, wings unfurling like ragged cloth, the figure on the opposite branch melded into visibility, feathers a dark navy, the hue of a deep regret. It was an another owl, uncomfortably large, with a stern, narrow face and wide, glaring eyes as large as saucers, flickering yellowish green burning suns blazing with raw unforgettable age, grey talons wispily etched into the wood of its perch. The bird made not a sound, not a whisper. It gave off no presence, no aura, or indication of life, neither benevolent nor malevolent… not a trace. It was as though it were a dead thing.

The first owl flew into a frenzy instantly. With a howl of a hoot, the screeching avian recoiled, trembling frantically, and leapt from the windowsill with a gasp. Its errant wing, bent back and ready to carry it far from the accursed place, slapped the still-talking horse in the mouth, and it heard a muffled “mmpfh!” punctuate the pony’s one-sided conversation.

The owl didn’t turn, even when it heard the equine coughing and gagging. It carried itself away in a flight of pure terror, the cold winds cutting into its skin like frosty daggers, uncaring, indifferent claws wrapping around its wings and legs and raking through its hair. It didn’t dare look back, for fear of spotting those bulbous, staring moons slicing over its being, unravelling it. And yet it forced itself to. It had to.

Grimacing with eyes half closed, it snapped its head around mid flight, only to find… nothing. The branch of the skeletal tree sat as hauntingly barren as it had always been. The night was unstirring, and there was not another creature in sight, save for the pony by the window, pulling at his tongue with one hoof and waving with the other. The owl did not care for his zany antics. Its eyes searched the empty darkness, searching for the tell-tale piercing glaze of the dull, glinting orbs, or the scratchy roughness of swaying, swirling feathers, but let out a silent breath of thankfulness when the other owl did not return. It carried about its night, shaken, but safe. For now.

‘What was that thing?’ The owl pondered, steamy breath hitting the night, ‘It was certainly not one of my own kind. It could not be. What was it?’

It allowed its tense muscles to relax somewhat, but remained ever vigilant.

‘And why did it not EXIST?’

“Pfft-eh-peh!”

Derky gagged, throwing his head forward in a coughing fit, and spat great hacking globs of saliva from his upturned mouth, spluttering across the opened window and squeeging down the single pane in ugly little chunklets. His tongue cartoonishly lolled out, unrolling like a less than lavish red carpet, and upon it sat several white, speckled feathers which he wasted no time in raking from his waggling mouth-muscle. Suppressing the urge to heave as the brushly strands stroked his buds, he tossed them outside where they fluttered off as though with a mind of their own, following in the wingbeats of the creature they came from.

The stallion, tears wetting his eyes from his bout of wheezing, having being caught off guard mid conversation, threw his other hoof up in a wave of goodbye to the now long-gone owl, and, picking one last sogging feather from his mouth, shut the window and latched it.

The movements of the stallion-once-more in the centre of the bedroom, meanwhile, were not without misstep, but he was still giving off a good audience-less performance nonetheless, and he clearly possessed some sort of natural rhythm. His hair, slicked as it should be, swished about his masculine muzzle as he jived noisily, only half clumsily, without a care in the world and his chest positively weightless. Twirling with joy and clomping his hooves, Cananor flicked his tail as he sang, eyes closed and head up to the heavens, perfectly in tune, a song of his own design, “I’m back to normal and proud, yeah yeah… because I’m back and I’m loud, oh oh… let’s all do the Cananor canter, now, one two one two…”

Weatherstorm lazily stumbled into the bedroom, battling with the violet throw that hung over the doorframe with sleepy swings of his hooves, and stopped, staring on at the scene in the cramped bedroom with red, tired eyes, narrowed in frustration. He ran his foreleg across them. “Derky,” he commanded in his waking slumber, “Did you find another blanket? I did so want another blanket.” Cananor’s stray, wildly shuffling legs missed his face by inches, and he flinched at the unicorn’s incessant singing and cheering. “And,” continued the journalist, “Might I ask what all the racket is about? Between your ghastly hacking and gagging and coughing, and Cananor’s shrill, hyperactive caterwauling…” he ducked again, “I’d have thought that it would be much less noisy so far from civilization, but no such flipping luck.”

Derky dropped from the windowsill. “Well, see, Cananor isn’t a mare anymore, so he’s pumped about that,” he motioned, “hence the dancing and stuff, and I got slapped in the face by an owl. I had feathers in my mouth and everything!” He smiled.

“Lovely.” Weatherstorm managed to muster enough energy to roll his squinted eyes. The lighting in the room was giving the newly awoken stallion a headache. “I’m not even going to ask why you attempted to cannibalize a bird, Derky. And you,” he grabbed the wildly flailing lawyer from his apparent seizure. “You’re making an awful lot of noise. Please, attempt to control yourself. Be civil. You’re a guest. Behave as such.”

“Why, whattia think? I’m going to wake the neighbours or something?” Cananor replied, mid song. “Lighten up! Zecora’s hocus-pocus worked, I’m back to my usual, happy go lucky self, and I’m feeling on top of the world right now!”

The journalist rolled his eyes and softened his features as Derky heaved up another feather. “I’m happy for you, chum. I truly am. But, if my wing is going to recover fully, I’ll need as much sleep as I can get. And this level of commotion is simply atrocious, ludicrous. And so, whilst I have no desire to rain on your parade, I must respectfully ask you to tone it down a ta…”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The piercing, bellowing screech came from the kitchen area.

“…tarnation.”

And in galloped a red and blustered Starfire, spindly legs scuttering around and falling out from under him in great, loud claps. Weatherstorm cringed, ears popping, and his wing shivered of its own accord. The blonde haired stallion came rushing in through the doorway so hurriedly that he tore the thin purple veil from the nails it hung from completely, and it fell across his face and settled there. Frantically pushing through the two ponies in the middle of the room, he nudged and nearly toppled Derky as he flashed past, hyperventilating under the sheet that clothed his head, and came to a staggering stop at the foot of an ornate wooden swivel mirror that sat pressed against the back wall.

As much as all present wanted to let loose a jape at his expense regarding his blinded state, or secondarily query him as to his erratic and panicked entrance, all stood with mouths hanging loosely when the cloth draped over the stallion’s eyes burst into blue flame, dissipating into smoking ash in an instant. Back to the onlookers, his hoof shot up and over the folds of his fringe, and then to his cheek. He turned to face them, a beaming smile as wide as a canyon under pinprick eyes, and in his bundle of hair poked his horn, like a little crown, as sure as it ever was. Words obviously eluding him in his moment of ecstasy, he simply pointed, smiling all the while, and muttered, “Heh… horn.”

Weatherstorm wafted away the settling cinders. Derky choked at the cerulean charcoal. Cananor sprung forward with an energetic jolt and landed on the other unicorn’s back, his forearms wrapped in a close embrace of mitigation, horns locked. “I can’t believe it!” They cried in unison, “I can’t believe it worked!” Cananor’s cheeks were a warm red, and he pressed them against his friend contently. Starfire's smile did not leave him. “Hey,” he said, slipping out from under the lawyer, “I’m happy, Cananor. For both of us. That things are finally back to normal.” He twirled his hair around his horn, and the appendage sparkled happily. “I never want to part with it again.”

“Same here,” The other agreed, “Being a mare was great fun and all, but did you see that mane?” He trailed his hooves down his much-loved hairdo, “Like, ugh, talk about uncool. I’d rather,” he smirked, slyly, “Curl up and dye than keep my mane like that.” There were a lot of pained groans at the severity of his awful delivery. “Granted,” he continued, “It could have looked much worse. I would have lost it if my hair became matted, because I,” he waited for a moment to allow the others to see his smug face, “Dread loc…”

Weatherstorm silenced him before he could finish, stifling him with a wing in the mouth, much to the appreciation and relief of the others. They had no desire to listen to Cananor’s entire repertoire of hair-related jokes, which was vast indeed. “Ah yes, it would appear that Cananor is making terrible puns once more. I do see that everything is, thankfully, back to as they were.”

“And we have Zecora to thank,” replied Cananor, promising not to crack another groan-inducing joke. “I guess we kinda owe her a lot, huh? Where is she, anyway?”

“I accept your thanks, my pony pals,

And am glad to see you well,

Weatherstorm and Starfire,

Cananor and Derky Bells.”

The zebra came trundling in, through the now empty doorframe. How humble she was, how soft. Derky gave her a nod of appreciation as she entered.

“Well, Zecora,” Starfire shook her hoof, “Your herbal remedies are unlike anything I’ve ever seen before in Equestrian medicine and frankly, it baffles me, but you certainly know what you’re doing. Thank you for your help. It means so much to us.”

“Hear, hear,” Weatherstorm agreed, “Jolly good show.” He timidly flexed his wing, and then, realizing that the fracture pain had died away slowly, extended it fully, rolling it around in the socket. He seemed pleased. “Your kindness knows no bounds, ma’am. You risked your skin rescuing us, took us into your domicile, gave us a place to sleep, and cured that which ailed us. A grand repayment of the highest magnitude is in order, I should imagine.”

“He’s right, Zecora. Just say the word.”

She chuckled.

“You owe me nought, my equine friends,

But to bring eternal night to an end.”

Derky spoke up, with infection optimism, delivered in his own, drolly way. “We’ll try our best. We will.”

“Right,” Starfire clapped his hooves and rubbed them, wearing his game face with dedication. “We still have a job to do.”

“We, uh,” Cananor nervously bared his teeth, “We haven’t exactly made much progress on that front, huh? We’ve spent too long getting back to how we were before we even set off.” His words rang true: they’d accomplished little thus far towards their wider goal, and wasted too much time fighting various woodland creatures, getting involved with psychopath soldiers, fighting amongst each other, getting lost, catching flower-related illnesses and getting squiffy on cider.

“Well, the time for foolishness is over. We need to get organized, double time. And the first order of business…”

“…Is to find Belove.” Derky finished his sentence in a whisper. “I really, really hope he is okay out there, all by himself.”

The unicorn lawyer tore himself away from his reflection, admiring his original smooth hair and glad to be free from his mane-ic nightmare. “Dude, we’ve known Belove for most of our lives, and you know and I know that he doesn’t back down, and he doesn’t give up. I’m positive that he’s fine.”

“Ixnay on the Elovebay,” Weatherstorm said from the corner of his mouth with a cough, motioning to their host. Had they forgotten their vow to keep their relationship with Zecora on a strictly need-to-know basis?

Cananor covered his snout at once, bug eyed, but Starfire placed a hoof on both his and Weatherstorm’s shoulders. “It’s okay. I think that Zecora has proven herself as somepony we can trust.”

Cananor chuckled under his breath. “Yeah, I’m sure she’s not a…”

“…Spy!” The four ponies cheered together, collectively chortling at some inside joke.

“Alas, I suppose that you speak in truth,” Weatherstorm sighed, “We owe her honesty, at the very least. And I do so like to keep ponies informed, as I am wont to do.”

“Why don’t you tell her who he is, Weatherstorm?” Chirped the other Pegasus. The others nodded briskly.

“Why, Derky, friends, you’re too kind to me. Now, Madame Zecora, we did not, as we have led you to believe, originally undertake this little adventure of ours as our party currently stands before you, rather, our numbers totaled five, and not four. As you have presumably come to realize, the fifth addition to our team is a stallion that goes by the name of Belove. It could be said, in fact, that he is the founder of our expedition. And, through one incident leading to another, the last we saw of him was his brooding figure departing, in quite a mood, no less, to find his own path to victory. That must have been… oh, well, several nights ago. We still have not the foggiest of ideas as to where he is.”

The zebra thought on the information she had just been fed, as though digesting it, hoof to her chin.

“Humour me, my sweet ponies,

And describe him to me, if you please.”

“Where do we begin?” Cananor retorted. “He’s quite a guy.”

Starfire seemed hopeful. “The very fact that you are asking, Zecora, tells me that you may know something that we do not.” She remained fixated on him, silently, intensely, and he widened hopeful eyes. “Red fur,” he began, “Brown eyes. He’s tall. Not as tall as me, mind, but he’s tall. Kind of muscly. Well built.”

Cananor interrupted. “C’mon, he’s not THAT well built. Not as much as he thinks he is, anyhow. He’s got a big, square jaw on him. Firm set of jowls, like a big ol’ brick. And a mane like yours, Zecora. He can’t pull it off as well as you can. Oh! He has huge hooves. Like, HUGE.” He spread his own apart to emphasize. “They’re like cakes or something on the end of his legs. Ponies at school called him Rollin’ Stollen when he ran.”

“He’s very loud,” spoke Derky. “And he likes to, um… shout, sometimes. But it’s okay.”

Weatherstorm chose not to mince words. “You would likely hear him before you'd see him. If I am to be frank, ma’am, he’s a delusional, pathological liar, spends the vast majority of his time showing off, and his abilities are limited to the pure power of his unabashed bossiness…”

“He’s pretty much the definition of a one trick pony,” Cananor added. He added his own rimshot.

“…but darn it, call us mad as hatters and half as fashionable, because we actually rather like the chap. He’s one of our own, a good friend, really, despite his flaws. Blast me to Tartarus, but we want to get the big lug back.”

Everypony agreed, naturally.

Zecora appreciated their bond with their friend. Maybe she had figured them wrong for quite some time.

“If this stallion you wish to find,

Then I have seen him, this earthen kind,

As I was out tonight, and saving trees,

Did I glimpse him, and his abductees.”

“Abductees?” Derky’s face turned white. “They covered him in duct tape? That’s horrible! How could he breathe?”

Weatherstorm reaffirmed the Pegasus, “He was ABDUCTED, not DUCT TAPED.” The caramel coated one did not settle, however, eyes bouncing in fright.

“Well, I mean, let’s not rule that out, ‘Stormy. One often leads into the other. If I were gonna foalnap Belove, you can be sure that I’d stick something over his mouth, because he’d probably rattle on about how he’d kick my flank using his teeth alone or something. He’s like a gigantic mouth with legs attached. A box-footed mouth-pony.”

“A fair point, Cananor. A fair point.”

“Guys,” Starfire had to keep everypony focused, on track. The only thing his troupe had accomplished so far was derailing their own conversations. “We’re not talking about kidnapping Belove. We're talking about saving him.”

“I was going somewhere with that, though. Something about looking a gift horse in the mouth, I think.” The lawyer shrugged.

Starfire quizzed Zecora on the matter. “Zecora, why didn’t you tell me this before now? WERE you even planning on telling us?”

“I had my doubts, I had my fears,

That my words would have fallen on deaf ears.

I had to know your friendship was true,

Before I’d think of further helping you.”

She moved past them before anypony could respond, out into the main room, and the party followed. The zebra presented each one of them with a pouch, little brown burlap sacks no bigger than a coinpurse. She hung them around each of their necks, and then took a step back.

“One for each of you, to aid your fight,”

Derky’s inquisitive hoof instinctively reached inside. “What is it, Zecora?” She slapped his curious hoof aside.

“Only to be opened when the time is right.”

“How will we know when to open them, then?” Cananor raised an eyebrow. “Is there some time of ‘Cryptic message countdown clock’ or something? Did I miss the memo?”

“I cannot say, I cannot know,

You’ll feel it when the time comes, though.”

“Well, more gifts, then? Would it be acceptable to drop the ‘gift horse in the mouth’ pun NOW, or…?”

“I would refrain from doing so, if you can help it.”

“Your loss, dude. You’re missing one heck of a joke.”

“We’ll only open them when we need to,” Starfire reaffirmed the soothsayer, tucking the strap around the back of his mane. “Thank you for the parting gifts. I wish we could stay longer, but if Belove is out there, being held hostage, we need to help him, right now.”

The witch doctor showed them to the front door.

“Then you have no time to waste,

Rescue your friend, bring back the sun, and...

...for the sake of world...

...make haste."

Chapter 18

They moved swiftly and silently.

There was a strong air of solid, unbreakable determination about the four little ponies as they hurried through the claustrophobic dark of the undergrowth. All mouths were closed, faces straight, eyes unblinking and focused. Grim visages, the stallions were not, not quite, rather, a steady optimism surrounded them like a steadfast shield, hanging on an unspoken word of hope and true grit.

For too long had they faffed and frolicked about the forest in their own inane, superficial bubbles, half-hearted realities that concerned only their base hopes and fears and goals. For too long had they been petty and awkward, so much so that they had failed to see just how destructive their paths were becoming, not only to themselves, but to the millions of ponies counting on them. And for far too long had they idiotically bickered and stumbled and blathered through what was one of the most devastating events to rock the Equestrian world, and they needed to start treating the situation with a modicum of decorum and seriousness, and start looking at the bigger picture.

It was time for these four stallions to wake up and come to terms with the real task at hoof.

And so, that it what they took a silent swear, an unsaid oath, to do. The recent capture of their comrade Belove had finally put the everything-or-nothing aspect of their quest into perspective, settled the wavering spotlight into the correct position and the once dark stage was brighter than ever. Their silliness and fickleness, all to blame, had caused one of their own to suffer, and they could let their actions (or lack thereof) stand idly by for no longer. You don’t mess with one of our friends, they would say. By Celestia, we won’t let that stand. Game faces were applied. It was time to stop Nightmare Moon, once and for all.

And so they shut up, decided to let the foolishness take a backseat, and go about saving the world.

That was assuming, naturally, that they could easily read Zecora’s hastily scrawled map. And, from the fact that they’d been slumping through the indistinct bushes and shrubbery for over 20 minutes since they’d left the safety of her hut, they could not, which didn’t hesitate to put a slight dampener on their newly forged, getting-it-done identities, and one might suppose that old habits die hard.

Cananor was the first to voice his discontent, and just like that, the illusion of competence was broken beyond repair.

“So, uh… heya, Starfire, I know we’re supposed to be on our A game from here on out and all that,” The lawyer swore he saw that same bush shaped like Sherclop Bassneigh again, and a sense of familiar dread returned to him, “But you DO actually know where you’re going this time, right?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, thank goodness, man. Really?”

“No.”

This caused a collective uproar. “Deja-Vu, I believe is the correct term… unfortunately.”

“What a buncha schmucks we are. We’ve only been back on the track for twenty minutes and already we’re getting lost."

Weatherstorm ducked under a hanging log, supported at an odd, slouching angle by a canvas of jungle creepers, and caught up to their leader. “How in the world could we have found ourselves to be lost again? Are you absolutely positive that you cannot understand even an inkling of the map, dear Starfire?”

Grunting in annoyance, Starfire came to a sudden stop, and like little, vagabond sheep, his rambling, lost troupe did likewise. “Give me a moment. If we all take a look together, we can surely make SOMETHING out.” With that, he laid the map out on a boulder, using his magic to roll the pristine white page out flat across the rock’s surface. The four stallions huddled close and stared intently at the hoof-drawn map.

“Yeah… I’m not making any of this out. It’s just a jumble of squiggles and lines. Looks more like a big ball of tumbleweed made outta spaghetti or something.”

“Hey Cananor, do you think, uh… maybe… there actually are wild spaghetti balls in Zecora’s homeland?”

“Maybe, but they sure as heck don’t have them here. Believe me, Derky. I had an experience in Appaloosa that I’d sooner forget.”

“Focus, stallions,” Starfire swatted at a falling leaf and scratched at his scalp. “We need to stop getting distracted. Weatherstorm, can you understand any part of this map?”

The Pegasus nudged his way closer to the parchment, squinted his sharp, narrow eyes, and stroked his chin. “Ah, yes, indeed,” he crooned, “Indeed, indeed, indeed. Yes, ah yes, quite.” He turned back to the onlookers. “Well, no. Not at all. I cannot see anything without my glasses. What I DID manage to discover, however, is that it would appear as though Zecora has horrible hoof-writing. I cannot for the life of me decipher a single element of this infernal doodle. And what,” he continued, “Pray tell, does this say? It’s certainly no word that I have ever happened across, and I must remind you all that I happen across many, many words.”

“Eh…” Derky snatched up the map, and held it upside down, “I think it says, ‘Bee Cave,’ uh… something about there being a ‘Hat stain,’ oh… there’s a little drawing of a stick pony, there, see…”

“I think it’s meant to say something about 'Belove' and a 'captain', Derky. But I can’t even begin to imagine what that is a picture of.” Cananor tugged at his collar. “I mean, think about it; I think our fates are in the hooves of a semi-literate zebra who can’t write in Equestrian and has just moved to the area recently. As for as cartography goes, this doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence. It's like taking culinary advice from a dish-washer. She's all cryptic symbols and signs. I just wanna know what we're doing, darn it.”

“Why oh why,” groaned the journalist, “Did we not follow the grassy pathway outside of Zecora’s residence? Why must we always traipse through bushes and weeds and horrible, scratchy undergrowth? I cannot help but suppose that we should have followed the pathway instead of throwing ourselves once more onto the beaten track. Time and time again, we have proven that that is not a good idea. I like paths. They’re built for specific reasons, such as leading to places.”

“Because the place that the path leads to is back to Ponyville,” Starfire explained, reclaiming the map with a gentle tug, “If we follow that path, we’ll be back to where we started.”

“Well, at least we’ll be somewhere.”

“Perhaps there's some clues on the back…?” The unicorn flipped the sheet over, only to be met with Zecora’s inventory list. Waste not, want not. He shrugged. “We’re lost, then. Good.”

Naturally, with this latest blow landing squarely on their thinly-worn patiences, the gang’s cool facades fell through and they went about squabbling.

“I simply CANNOT believe you could get us lost once more…”

"I might have an ide-"

“Eh, this ain’t happening, all right? I’m not gonna let myself get dragged along for another one of these wild rides that goes on for, like, 10 chapters.”

"Guys, I might hav-"

“Were I in understanding as to what Cananor is referencing, I would wholeheartedly agree, Starfire. Did you not think it paramount to converse with Zecora, and make crystal clear your knowledge of the map and your ability to read it before setting off, us in tow, for another aimless gallivant…”

Even through the casual verbal jabs cast in his direction, Starfire did not participate. Weatherstorm had a point, there: with his newfound energy, his second wind towards doing the right thing, and his heated departure from their zebra host, he might have been slightly hasty leaving her abode...

“...Then you have no time to waste,

Rescue your friend,

Bring back the sun, and

For the sake of world make haste."

The Zebra shaman opened the front door, which creaked with a gentle purr, and held her hoof out, as though presenting the forest outside to them in a showcase of splendour.

The night’s darkness slunk around the edges of her small garden, obscuring the vast yard of brown trunks beyond, but shied away from the perimeters of her property, kept at bay by the flickering orange lights that punctuated the walls of her hut.

Nodding, Cananor gave her his joyful grin, and flapped his ears. “Right on. We’ll make sure to do just that. Now, by ‘haste’, do you mean…?”

“Yes, Cananor,” Weatherstorm answered quickly before the witch doctor could, “I should imagine that Zecora implies that we ought to leave right now. As in, well, immediately, dare I say.”

“Already? I mean, I thought we were gonna at least have some early breakfast before setting off… most important meal of the day, you know…” He turned to Zecora, optimistically.

“Ought I to count off Zecora’s kindnesses on my hoof, perhaps? We’ve lodged, for free, mind, in her home for quite a number of hours now, and those were several hours too many. No breakfast shall we eat, regardless of how beneficial such a meal may be. Unless our gracious host insists…?”

Zecora said nothing, her hoof still outstretched, her face still full of raw, sombre, iron will.

“Certainly worth a shot, nonetheless.”

Cananor sighed. “No long in prolonging the inevitable, then. We need the sun back, pronto: I’m starting to lose my sweet tan.” The beige unicorn admired his reflection once more in the window of her door. “I know, I know; I can’t boast half as well as Belove. That’s why we need him back, huh?” He slipped through the front door, wiggling sideways past Zecora’s hoof, and then stopped in her garden, turned, and slid a small laminated card into her hoof.

Eyes widening a little more than they ought to have, she silently read over the bold, black letters printed on the ice blue piece of plastic-y cardboard. ‘Cananor Acapella,’ read the card, ‘Attorney At Law. Be it legal representation or just plain fun, Acapella is the one.’ Underneath, as though scrawled in sharpie, was his home address.

“Zecora, you feel free to contact me if you ever find yourself a little south of the law,” The lawyer beamed, “I mean, you’re living out in a secluded hut in the middle of the forest. I won’t judge. Cananor here will make sure you have a winning case. And if I don’t, well heck… paint me pink and ship me to Saddle Arabia! Which would be a benefit, because I’m in a LOT of debt! Oh, turn it over, turn it over!” He flipped the card, and the hoof attached to it, over, and tapped the back of the business card with pride. “Double sided cards. Good to cut costs in this economy. As you can see, I also do parties, so, you know… keep me in mind, yeah?”

The zebra gave him a startling odd, sidewards glance, once up and down, and robotically stuck the contact card in a table drawer.

“If a party I am to host,

And in need to entertain,

Or a court date due I must attend,

I’ll contact you again.”

“That’s all I ask, lady,” He squeezed his eyes together and threw a hoof of appreciation her way, “If you drop me a message, the only court you’ll find yourself in will be the tennis court, because I also do lessons on how to perfect your swing.”

Weatherstorm pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please walk out of the door, if you will, Cananor.”

“Just keeping the smart mare aware of my various services is all.”

“Please walk out of the door, Cananor.”

He did, with one last silent motion of ‘call me,’ and then left. Weatherstorm gave Zecora a serious, impassively formal half bow, pressed his little pouch to his heart, and threw the other hoof illustriously in the air behind him. “It was a pleasure meeting you, ma’am, and I do so hope to see you again in the near future.” He pondered for a moment, before adding, “But of course I shall, for you showered my friends and I with generosity and kindness, and I intend to repay you back tenfold for your efforts.”

Had Zecora been able to speak over the pompous, curtsying stallion, it would have been to remind him that she was not exactly aiding their adventure from the fullest benevolence of her own hospitable heart, rather, she had the wellbeing of a world guiding her gracious actions, but Weatherstorm did so rattle on, and the only individual with the power over words in his presence was he alone.

“Alas, I have little to offer you in regards to material possessions or monetary gain, for our bags and supplies were unjustly taken from us some nights back, but let it be known that when my property is returned, as I do hope, or when I am next at my house in Ponyville, that I shall find an item of value or substantial use or somesuch and gift it to you.” In the meantime, however,” He rummaged in some unknown place, and brought forth a handkerchief before his host, a soft and silken drape of material spotted with a dark substance, likely cider, and embroidered with the letter ‘Z’. It looked all too familiar to Zecora. “I shall, until such a time that I can repay you, leave you with this token of my appreciation.”

“Isn’t that, um… Zecora’s handkerchief anyway, Weatherstorm?” Derky cheeped tenderly, “I mean, we did find it here and all…”

“Well, yes, quite. I am merely returning her property to her, as it were. But it is the thought that counts, yes? A sign of friendship and respect, no?” He also gifted her his patented sensible grin, the sort that you’d really rather keep the receipt of, “That is, as stated, until I can find something suitable of my own with which to settle the debt.”

“I’ve told you once, I’ll tell you twice,

I need no benefaction, just cease the night.”

“I think, maybe, you should just agree with him,” Whispered Derkington into Zecora’s ear, “Because he doesn’t like it very much when he can’t repay ponies for things. It gives him migrates, uh... headaches, I mean. I think it might be some sorta medical problem. ” There must have been some truth to that statement, for the journalist stood half in and half out of the front door, nodding his head to and fro subconsciously and rubbing his hooves together with twitching trepidation.

Shrugging, the zebra agreed, and set her handkerchief in the drawer beside Cananor’s business card.

“Ah, wunderbar, wunderbar!” He took her hoof of his own accord and shook it once, softly and delicately, “Es ist vereinbart! Tausend dank, Madame! Truly, truly, I eagerly await our next encounter, when I can properly reimburse you, and you have my word as a gentlecolt on that.” He backed out of the door with a quick, heart salute, “Until then, my good friend!”

Derky laughed, the gentle sound like a fleeting whisper. “He’s super happy now. I know he’ll spend the next few days planning some big scheme on how he’s going to pay you back. He won’t be able to sleep. I know him very well.” The Pegasus stared at his zebra friend for a good few moments, with still green emerald eyes of rolling plains, and then delicately lay both his hooves around her and embraced her genuinely. “Thanks, Zecora,” he patted her back and swished his tail, “It was nice to see your house. I really like your cauldron. It’s spooky. Please come to Ponyville sometime… if you want. The ponies are really nice. There’s a pony called Daisy and she sells weird things, so you won’t have to find them in the forest any more.” He released Zecora from his grip, and adjusted his shirt. It was caked in dried mud. From the top pocket he pulled out a forest flower and placed it in her hoof. It drooped unattractively, and several petals were missing, but there was a rustic charm about it, beaten and imperfect yet strangely gentle to look at.

“Sorry it doesn’t look good. I got kinda hungry and ate a few petals, but I want you to keep it. Um… I’m not very good with goodbyes, really. I don’t know the words to say.” His adorable eyes sparkled. The zebra smiled at him, that strong smile that was all that was good of the old, foreign world, and placed it along with the other items on the drawer, but in such a way that it took precedence, as beautifully ugly as it was. She wished him luck on his journey and promised to teach him more about the weird and the wonderful, should he call around next time he was in the neighbourhood. This seemed to make him happier than anything. “Bye bye.”

Starfire was the last to leave. He shuffled on his feet and blew a strand from his eyes, before announcing a hard, flat, “Thanks,” to Zecora. “Sorry if I’m curt. But you’re right. We need to go. Now.” He made effort to leave.

“It would be wise, I think you’d agree,

If you were to take a moment and consult Belove’s position with me.”

The student reddened a little. “Ah, yeah. That would help.” His next question was bold. “Come with us, Zecora. Help us. Your expertise is invaluable.”

She sighed. For all her lustre, she had an exhaustible agedness about her that surfaced, however briefly, should one look closely enough.
“I have great faith in your selfless quest,
But you must go alone, and I must rest.”

Disappointed but not visibly so, Starfre shrugged. Zecora was a useful means to an end, but he was far from cruel, and understood at once her fatigue. Amidst the hypnotising, tribal swirls in her eyes were wispy ghosts of sleep deprivation. He had known the feeling well these past few nights, but he had, at least, managed to catch a few hours of down time over the last few hours. Zecora had not. She was running on fumes. He had no desire to ask any more of her, not in this state. “I get it. I can only assume that Belove is being kept not far from here?”

She quickly took a sheet and quill and scrawled on it with a series of markings and lines, deftly and deliberately, then rolled it along the counter as though kneading bread. She passed him the newly forged map.

“Although I cannot help set him free, that much is true,

I give this map of his whereabouts, from me to you.”

From one wannabe scientist to another, a murmuring of appreciation was shared. But Zecora directly stopped him before he left, with a robust hoof squarely on the shoulder, and when he turned to face her, she gave him a deep, inquisitive stare, but most unlike her usual glares. There was not just tiredness but hesitation in her features, an unsureness or uneasiness that she herself must have been all too aware of, but made no attempt to mask.

“There is one more matter that I want to discuss…”

Starfire sucked on his lower lip. For every second he continued to take up residence in his host’s hut, the chances of safely finding Belove unharmed narrowed, and, more importantly to the grand scheme, Nightmare Moon would likely grow in power, and the ponies back in civilization more unstable. But he was not some fiery-headed doer, but a scholar and a thinker, and so he heard her out, howsoever urgent they may be. “Go on.”

“…about your recent premonition business.”

With an audible ‘pshaw’ and a twitch of the nose, the unicorn bit his cheek. “You’re intelligent, Zecora. You know so much about the natural world that ponies do not and I, too, hope to one day be your equal. But you believe in things that a scientist should not. Aspects of your culture can be appreciated but not taken as fact. I have had no premonitions. There is no such thing. I have had bad dreams. That is fact.”

The zebra smiled at his matter-of-factly outburst. A knowing smile. She was so very glad that he did not apologise for it.

“What is fact and what is not,

You cannot even begin to know.

To dismiss the unknown as folly IS folly

But do not take my say-so.”

He kept his tongue this time. Zecora hailed from a culture most unlike theirs; to argue would be to disrespect, and to disrespect such a valuable ally would be uncivil madness. Let her impart her own views, then, as distant and unfounded as they may be. He’d listen, he respected her that much. Old pony’s tales were coming true left and right: could the cryptic mumbo-jumbo of a soothsayer really be so outside of the realm of possibility anymore?

“I see you chose to listen close,

And thank you for the open mind.

Your slumbering premonitions are not haunting you alone,

But the rest of your gentle kind.”

“What are you saying? That I’m not the only pony who has had these dreams? These apparent premonitions?”

How wonderfully coy the zebra could look sometimes, regardless of her wobbling fatigue.

“Bad dreams have plagued your friends,

They appeared to slumber restlessly last night.

But their visions were mild and to simpler ends,

They seem to lack your second sight.”

From the corner of his eye, Starfire glanced at his companions, energetically bustling about Zecora’s porch. They waved him on, all grins and grit. So, they too, according to this makeshift doctor, had been sharing in his nightmares? Why had they not said so? How could they appear, to all intents and purposes, so well rested? “My friends too? They’ve had the same dreams?” It wasn’t all that unlikely. With the peril they had been living in the shadow of these past few days, it was only natural that one or two should replay the recent events, brimming with fear and unknowing, within their unconscious thought. “Of shadows and burning green? You are sure?”

“Derkington told me of his dreams,

Dark and obscure, such black veiled things.

The others, too, have surely seen

Your shadows and cities of burning green.”

“I would have thought they’d have said something to me.”

“Yes, yes, just as, then,

You explained your dreams to them?”

She let the unicorn think on that for a moment, before adding,

“His vision, he said, was hazy,

Uninformative, distant, bleak.

Not at all as vivid as your phantasm…”

His inquisitiveness returned. “Then why? Why could I alone see every creeping shadow? Smell the smoke? There are ponies in that garden that are twice as fanciful as me. I’m not one for silliness and conspiracy. How should I,” He probed his chest, “Suffer the worst nightmares? The most vivid, detailed dreams?”

“…Starfire, you suffer most because you’re weak.”

And Starfire was taken aback. The laced insult came from some faraway place, so close, always on the tip of her tongue. The zebra didn’t look at all sorry for it. She didn’t relish it. It simply was. The unicorn had fairly sharp hearing; he rarely had to ask others to repeat themselves. But instincts, or some long forgotten, half huddled pride caught took control.

“What?” He didn’t need her to repeat herself, of course. He pressed his ears flat. “I’m having bad dreams because I’m WEAK? Zecora, I KNOW there are ponies stronger than myself. Far stronger. I am not strong. But I do not have a child’s mind. I thought you could see that. I guess that I was wrong.”

And yet, she reaffirmed her opinion, as though it were universal fact.

“Do not mistake my words for sneer,

I’ll explain, should you be willing to hear.

Your premonitions are not under your control,

Neither conscious nor unconscious mind has conjured vision.

There are other forces at work, I fear,

A dark and powerful foe arisen.”

And yet, try as he might to understand and dissect possibilities, her pseudo-scientific approach, coupled with the unapologetic, unwarranted and yet-to-be-explained insult had hit a nerve, and he wished to listen no further. She took him for some sort of fool. Let her mock his body, so be it, but not his mind.

“And yet you continue to think this superstition.”

"Mmmm."

"Some great terrible beast, some evil eager being,

Is behind, I'm sure, your recent gift of seeing.

I suspect it perceives you as a threat to some goal,

And keeps you tired with haunting memories,

From when you were a foal."

"Yeah. Okay."

"Your guilty mind makes you less immune,

To whatever dark magic reigns.

A clever plan, I should assume,

To pacify your smarts and brains."

"Sure, sure."

Zecora watched him begin to jiggle one of her loose drawer handles. She knew her words were falling on over-educated, deceptively proud ears, but better that than her say nothing at all. What a sour foal he could be when his intelligence was questioned. He was perfect.

"Think whatever you so wish, then,

I do not concern myself with narrow-mindedness.

I had thought you a pony of learning and possibility,

I now see that was too great a kindness."

"Oh, no, Zecora," The stallion protested, his native, serious tone raising an octave, "It's an interesting theory. Nightmare Moon was once the princess of the night. The princess of sleep. So they say. It makes sense. She sees us guys as a threat to whatever plan she is hatching. Doesn't want us catching up with her. So she gives us bad dreams. Keep us tired. Keep us easy. That makes sense, Zecora. I get it. It's a good, conclusive arguement. It has evidence to back it up." He took a breath, and jiggled the loose knob harder. "Know what doesn't? All this silliness about destiny, and visions, and premonitions. Are you telling me that you'd take a gamble on a dream? You'd make a decision on something you'd seen in your sleep? That'd you'd think it REAL?" He tugged the drawer handle so hard, that it came off in his hoof, and fell to the floor with a clatter. "You want me to stake the wellbeing of a nation on a dream? You? A scientist? Fine, I thought. Nonsense has been coming true left and right these last few days. But then you insult me? ME? Call me weak-minded? Imply I'm stupid for not blindly following your unfounded word? Pshaw!"

The zebra seemed elated at his anger. Holding back a smile, her eyes drew to the broken handle, then back to the tall, silent form, all gold and sky and fire.

"If no further wisdom you wish to receive,

Then you're free to go. You may leave."

He did just that. She heard a distant thanks, and there was heart in it, but heat, too. Starfire gathered up the rest of the ponies in the garden, and they were off. Gentle Derky turned once more to give a wave, but the darkness that hung over them obscured his efforts, and then they were gone. She stood at the door, and saw a flicker of light carry off into the distance, a bubble of blue, like a star in the sky, and it reassured her of both the best and worst of that particular unicorn.

Starfire could do something great in this world, if he wanted, she thought. If he tried. If he realized. Such raw anger, such emotional rage, untapped, hidden under the cool, calm exterior of a simple, plain old student... he could be one of the greatest heroes this land had ever seen, or one of it's most vile adversaries. It all remained to be seen. But he had to let go. He had to learn control.

She had confidence that he'd learn to accept and use his greatest strengths, some day. Some day soon. Her short time spent teaching him had come to an end, and she would do no more. Ponies have to learn such things for themselves. Some day he'd listen. Some day he'd be what he was, is, always will be. But for now, he had an obstacle to overcome, and a world to save. Not bad training, all in all.

Zecora smiled. She'd have to keep her eye on this one.

He was, after all, gifted.

The door closed shut, and only the flicker of light remained.

"...then perhaps we might not be in this ridiculous, worn-out predicament."

"Finished, Weatherstorm?" Starfire grumbled, crumpling up the useless map in his hoof and tossing it at the nearest tree. His expression was one of irritability.

"Oh, not even close, chummy, because I just KNOW how this is going to pan out. You see..."

Derky tried to interject, "Guys, seriously, I think I kn-"

"...We're going to spend some considerable time squabbling about whose-fault-was-what until, alas, we all decide to go our separate ways in a bout of madness..."

"For real, you guys, honestly, just let me try s-"

"One moment, Derky, let me vent my frustration. As I was saying, we'll all saunter off in all sorts of different directions, and the next thing you know..."

"...we'll be spending another 10 chapters walking around and going nowhere, we get it. You don't need to go on."

"What does that MEAN, Cananor? WHAT chapters? This is real life, not one of your comic books, don't you know..."

"You and Cananor took too long leaving. If you hadn't, I would have had more time to ask Zecora about directions."

"Whoa, hey, don't go blaming me, dude. We all heard you arguing with her, ya'know. If somepony talked to me like that in my own house, I'd 'a drawn a shoddy map, too."

"Guyyyyyyyyysssssssss..." Upon seeing that his friends were not abandoning their plan of continued squabbling, the caramel Pegasus groaned softly, scratched his chin, finally shrugged, and then collapsed to the ground.

This caught their attention, if nothing else. At once, the three rising voices ceased, and the ponies turned and stared at the immobile stallion at their hooves. "Hey, eh, Derky," Cananor asked, reeling his head back. "You all right there, buddy?"

Derky said nothing. He simply lay on amongst the leaf litter and fallen tree bark, flank poised, head to the ground and twisted to the side, his strained shirt splayed under him like a blanket.

"Yo, Derky," Cananor repeated, to no response. "Is this a thing we're doing now?"

"He looks like a fur rug," Weatherstorm quipped, with a flick of his hair, "Or some manner of lumpy, discoloured throw."

Eyeing him with a lopsided squint, Cananor began to lower himself down beside his friend. "Hold on...I wanna see if he's onto something here."

Starfire pouted and pulled him back to his hooves. "Jungle madness," he stated, confidently, pointing to the silent Derky, "That's what it is. He's lost morale. I'm telling you, I've read about this." He reached toward him to do the same, but was slapped away.

"I'm not crazy," The Pegasus disaffirmed the conclusion, much to the mumbled disagreement of his friends. He pressed his head further towards the ground, leaving a soft imprint in the muck below, and pushed his rump a little higher, up to Weatherstorm's eye level, who turned in disgust. "I'm gonna try real good to see if I can hear Belove."

"If you can hear Belove right now, then I advise you to see a psychiatrist, dear friend."

"Yeah, don't listen to the Belove voices in your head, Derky! Don't listen to their lies! Imagine what a curse that would be. What, uh... makes you think he's under the ground, anyway?"

He scootched up onto his hocks and knees, and unfurled his wings with a yawn. Goodness gracious, his friends could be clueless at times. "He's not underground, silly. If you put, erm, your ear to the ground, like this, you can sometimes hear really far away things... really up close. Not far away."

"Eloquently put."

"No. He may be on to something." Starfire pawed the ground with his hoof, and drew away the smattering of loves, clearing a small circle of solid, stiff dirt. "The topsoil is dry and hard. I'm not a physicist. But any scientist worth their weight in salt knows that sound and vibrations travel better through something solid than through air particles. It could help us listen out for any movement, give us a general direction."

Cananor clapped. "Well, hey, Derks, seems like you're on something, here, and I don't just mean your stomach! Where'd you learn how to do this?"

"Belove," he replied, with a mouth full of leaf litter, "He says it's an old earth pony trick, like how to know where animals and stuff are, and, uh... grass and stuff like that."

"It helps you find grass," Weatherstorm rolled his eyes as he drolly summarized. Cananor laughed at some unsaid joke, and muttered, 'Grass. Of course Belove would know something like this.' Weatherstorm continued, "Did you hear that, chaps? Sticking our ears in the ground apparently helps us locate grass. Am I the only one who finds this to be insane?"

"No. Like, uh... plants and stuff. Belove said that every living thing, even plants, has some sorta..." He struggled to find a suitable word from his humble dictionary. "...I don't know. But you can hear them if you listen real well and good. He showed me way back when I wanted to hunt down a wild vampirest... er, vampiric jackalope as a pet."

"I should imagine that the question on everypony's lips is, did this technique work? Did you, pray tell, find one?" The journalist sounded optimistic, hopeful.

"Well, no." Derky blushed. He readjusted his position, tapped the earth once, twice, and then scraped his ear along the ground. "I don't think Belove showed me how to do it properly. He kept saying that if his head fully touched the dirt, ants and bugs would crawl into his ear. All I found was half a packet of gummy worms and an old boot. Or maybe I didn't listen to his teachings good."

Cananor spoke up. "Hey Starfire, it sounds sorta like that tracing spell you performed. But, you know, tracing nature, instead of tracing magic." The budding biologist agreed, but made sure to humbly stress that what he himself had performed was complex and attuned to higher scientific learning, not some survivalist trait. Yet it sparked an interest within him, knowing how things truly work. Earth pony 'magic' was so theoretical and wild and undocumented and foreign still to unicorns. He mentally made sure to ask Belove what other tricks the soldier knew of upon their reunition.

"I... I can hear hoofbeats. Thumping. Yeah, I can hear 'em, real well."

The others huddled on him and offered their compliments. "Where are they coming from? Do you think you could follow them?"

"Uh... I don't know. They seem to be coming from, er... right beside me. Thump. Thump. Thump."

"Okay. That'll be your heartbeat that you're hearing, Derky."

"Drat." The grounded Derky grunted meekly, and arose, dusting himself off, a process that only managed to smear more dried muck and errant leaves down his already filthy chest. He flapped his ear, as though trying to dislodge some obscured irritant, and with a flick, out came a small, chipped piece of wood bark. "I can't do it, guys. I tried. I really did."

"Let me try, then." The blue unicorn began. He held back his mane as he himself drew to the woodland floor. "Cananor is right. I see no reason why this should be in any way more complicated than the spell I performed. I understand the principle. Stand aside."

And so he, brimming with his unique way of uninitiated learnedness that only a college graduate can muster, straightened out his ear and lay it upon the ground in a similar manner to that which Derky had been performing. And listened.

What he didn't expect, however, was for his head to be rather suddenly violently pushed, nay, rammed at quite a considerable force from behind. Taken by surprise, the horned horse opened his mouth in shock, crumbling dirt exploding into his vulnerable, gaping O of a piehole. He shakily lifted himself and, face dripping with crumbling soil, turned to a chorus of laughter.

"Ayyyyyyy, savage!" The lawyer wiped away tears, bringing his own foreleg back down. He straightened his tie under a wobbling chin.

"Heiliger Strohsack! Well, I do say, Cananor, that was indeed savage! You planted his face so firmly into the ground that he was more akin to an ostrich than an equine!"

Even well-meaning Derky couldn't hold back his laughter. "That was a really silly joke, Cananor... but it was pretty savage. The good kinda savage, I mean."

“Disgusting!” The trainee teacher didn’t at all look pleased. He raked his tongue. “Why? Why do that?”

“Pranked you good, didn’t I!” Was the given response, amidst another whooping chorus confirming, indeed, how apparently ‘savage’ Cananor’s comical move was. “Now that’s what ya get for getting us lost again, there, Starfire.”

The physical jape didn’t sit well with the victim. The blue unicorn’s cheeks blushed, then reddened, quickly darkening, under flickering and beady eyes, and a twisting scowl. “You think that is FUNNY? Doing something like that? Am I the only one taking ANY of this seriously? Don’t you know the STAKES?”

And the other unicorn defaulted to defence mode. “Whoa, whoa, hey now, it was just a joke. Sizzle down, Starry.”

The journalist chirped in. “You can’t say that you didn’t deserve it, not even a smidgen, old chap. I cannot deny that asking you, smirking all the while, to ‘take it on the chin’ would be wildly appropriate right now.”

Their mocking cut a little deeper than he would have liked. How dearly he wished to exude a level of capability that was so high of qualification in a leader, a role they all direly needed, and if Belove was no longer there to provide such a role, by heavens, then it fell on him. But they questioned his knowledge, his smarts, taunted them even when he tried to put them to use, reduced him to base silliness, and he didn’t appreciate it one bit.

It was like flicking a switch. Simple as. There was no fuss or unnecessary drama. With a stern brow and angry eyes, Starfire put one definite hoof forward, then clutched at his head, stumbled backwards, and found himself suddenly sprawled along the forest floor for a second time, this time on his back, slumped along the tree log, his ever serious face replaced with one a tad more comically unknowing. The others, too, teetered, blinded for a moment, their fur blown back.

“Ooooh… we should help him up… there we go… onto all fours, nicely…” Derky dusted the unicorn’s now equally dirty back with a sweep of his wing. “Are you alrighty?”

Starfire coughingly responded, calmer than he just was, and rubbed at his horn. The pure, intense white light that had, for one blinding moment, replaced his usual soothing blue, coughed along with him, gleamed along the tip and then popped. He involuntarily shivered.

“Dang’n, jeez…” His voice slipped into something more native, before recovering. “That was a shock.” The grass around him was blackened ever so slightly, as though licked by flame.

Cananor eyed the starry Star’s eyes, starry-eyed. “Your horn glowed white for a second when you fell, Starfire… and there was a bright light... what was that all about? I mean, it was almost like when…”

“…I performed the magic-tracing spell. Yes. I thought so too. Which only lasts, as far as I can remember, a few hours, tops. Something like that, anyway.” He placed both hooves on the growth on his head, which was rapidly cooling, having been burning hot but a moment earlier. “It was the hardest spell I’ve ever attempted. There are special conditions. Took almost a day of preparation.” Cananor nodded to that. Any more time spent meditating in silence might have killed him stone dead. “Even then it almost went horribly wrong. I wouldn’t dare attempt that spell again. Especially not whilst fatigued. This doesn’t make sense. I couldn’t have just performed that spell again. Not without trying to. I couldn't have.”

"Well, did you pick up on any traces of magic? Did you find out where Nightmare Moon is? It would be a good start."

"No, no. All I felt was a blip. A quick surge. Nothing else. Too brief."

Weatherstorm cozied close. “Can’t you unicorns retain magic in your horn, my friend? Was what you just experienced, perhaps, but some manner of stored, magical residue? A leftover imprint, like the drip of a tap, or the flicker of a candle extinguished?”

The amateur wizard crumpled his features. He gave a stark, “What? That’s not how magic works at all. Imagine if you, or any other pegasus, could just magically resume mid-flight half an hour after landing. Just as you would need to take off again, I would have needed to recast the spell. We can’t keep magic charged up for use for extended periods of time. Nopony could for that long. Doing so would require intense unparalleled concentration that just isn’t possible. I didn’t think about casting anything. Besides, my horn was absent until an hour ago. I’m telling you, there’s no feasible way that I could have replicated that spell for a second without fully intending to. If I tried that spell without using my fullest concentration, I’d fry to a fizzle.”

“And yet you replicated it, but a moment ago, in front of us all, unfizzled. Quite fascinating.” Weatherstorm curiously made an attempt to touch his friend’s now unlit, pale appendage. The student shied away at once. “It would appear as though you must possess a queer ability, Mr Starfire, one most unlike any other unicorn, one undocumented in any tome of learning.”

“Heh, oh-la-la! Buy him dinner, and a movie first, ‘Stormy.”

“Oh, come off of it, Cananor. Honestly. Dear Starfire,” The journalist gave him his interested, ‘This will make for an interesting story’ sort of smiles, the sort of smiles that did, indeed, sell stories, “That story from your childhood, the one you were telling Zecora… from all those years ago… you performed a powerful spell by some accidental chance then, too, am I correct? A complex spell you didn’t even know you could cast? Powerful and terrible and, most importantly, unpremeditated? Extemporaneous?” The student did not respond.

“So… what, you’re saying Starfire has some sort of power or something? I mean, the guy is good at what he does, don’t get me wrong, but you think he’s different? Like, he has some kind of unique gift?”

Cananor’s emerging smile was not undetected by the journalist. “Absolutely, and if you try to shoehorn your ‘Gift horse in the mouth’ pun into one more sentence, I’ll shoe your horn, make no mistake about it, my chum.”

“More like horse-shoehorned, am I right?” He mumbled a reply, seemingly pleased with himself. "Starfire, see if you can do that spell again. You know, accidently. On purpose."

"I can't do stuff accidently on purpose. I didn't have any control over it."

"Then think about doing the spell again."

"If I thought about casting the spell, it wouldn't be accidental. That would just be performing the spell. Which, as you know, requires my every ounce of concentration. I know I won't be able to pull it off twice. You, Cananor, know that I nearly cooked myself last time I even attempted."

"Yeah, you all but cooked yourself from the inside out. And you smelled like burnt toast, for two whole hours. I didn't want to say anything, but, like, I started to gag a little."

"So," Weatherstorm chirpily clapped his hooves. How he loved getting to be bottom of things. "We have established that this has, indeed, happened before, then. If you are certain that you cannot just let loose tricky spells of convenience on a whim, absent of mind, then there must be some manner of requirement to spark your gift. You must need to find yourself in a particular state of mind. I suppose it lies on us to figure out which precise state of mind that may be. Any pointers, Mr Starfire, would be darling."

The student unicorn earnestly shrugged, took a deep breath, and quickly exhaled. "I'm not sure. It all happens so fast. But... I feel shame in saying..." He bit his lip, "I'm fairly certain..."

"Joy!" Cananor interjected. "That has to be it! Starfire can only do these wicked-cool spells without even meaning to when he's happy!"

"How, do tell us all, did you reach that conclusion, Cananor?"

He pushed his way in-between Weatherstorm and Starfire, and planted both his hooves firmly on the tops of their skulls. "Think about it, guys. How do pranks and jokes and all that make you feel?"

"Depending on the quality of the prank or joke at hoof... humoured, I should suppose," Weatherstorm answered.

"Annoyed," Came the response of Starfire.

Cananor gave a laugh of dismissal. "Heh, good one, Starfire! Always a kidder! See, here's what I think. I pulled a prank on Starfire, yeah? And, I mean, we all found it funny. So, when Starfire here gets really, really happy, or laughs too hard or something, then he must start blasting off these spells unconsciously."

Starfire sighed impatiently, and said nothing. Weatherstorm stared blankly at the grinning wannabe comedian for several seconds, before dryly responding, "By George, Mr Acapella, I do believe you to be some sort of genius. Quick, for the sake of us all, goof off! Make him chortle again, huzzah!"

Cananor was all too happy to oblige. With a hoot and a salute, he sprang into action, pulling from his repertoire the first japes and bouts of silliness that came to mind, forcing an unnatural unspecified accent into his speech. “Horsing around is what I do best. So, Starfire, what do you call a cart with no…”

“Stop it,” He replied, flatly. How he wanted to be rid of this foolishness. “Don’t even start. We have no time for jokes. It’s anger, obviously. That’s the trigger. I get it. I always have.”

“…uh, way to interrupt the comedy flow. Thanks.” The sad clown sat back down and pouted.

Weatherstorm brushed his mane back. “No no, dear Cananor, please, continue with your routine. We must, after all, put Starfire into an uproarious fit of laughter before he can subconsciously perform to his maximum potential.”

Derky rasped a silent interjection. “I don’t know, guys… maybe Starfire is right? I think that, maybe, he only does these spells when he’s really cross about something, and then it just sort of happens, and…” He trailed off.

“Oh, blast it, Derkington. But of course the true trigger emotion that sparks such unbeknown power within our comrade is, as we all suspect, anger.”

“Heh, eh, yeah,” Cananor rubbed the back of his head. “’Course. I knew that. It wasn’t, you know, my comedy that, er, inspired him or anything…” His voice wavered.

“But what finer way to grate on academic Mr. Starfire’s nerves than to act ignorant of the startlingly obvious fact, and then lay him vulnerable to an assault of Cananor’s,” He paused, and looked at the sad lump of a lawyer beside him, “Wondrously knee slapping jokes performed at an ill opportune time? A perfect plan to grind our friend’s gears, unfulfilled, alas.” He continued. “Not that Starfire picked up on our little scheme, anyhow. For one so learned, one so bright, he can be quite dim. At times.” That infernal smile, so changeable, like an angel and a demon all at once.

“I know what you’re doing, Weatherstorm, but it won’t work. I can’t allow myself to fly off the handle again. Who knows what could happen? Stop trying to provoke me.”

“But your angriness-ness might be our only hope, Starfire. Can you make yourself get mad?” Derky asked Starfire, innocently. “Think of something really annoying?”

“I can’t make myself get angry. Not like that anyway. Nor,” He tried to move the party on, but they remained, steadfast. “Do I want to.” He felt a sweat coming on. “I always feel it coming, from deep down. I don’t know how to describe it. But you can’t work me up, even if it could help lead us to Nightmare Moon. I don’t know what I’m doing when I get like that. I have no control. None. I’ll attempt to recast the tracing spell if we have no other choice. It will take time, and untold effort. More than we, I, can afford. But taking a shortcut this reckless, not only to you, but my mental wellbeing, is out of the question. So please, if you w…”

Fump.

"Ayyyyyyy, I'm on a savage-roll!"

"Erbarme dich unser, Cananor, your prank-savagery knows no bounds! Twice in a row, how refreshing! Look! How he writhes like a worm! Mayhaps we could plant him now and see what grows?"

"Ooh, Cananor, you're going to make him super mad... but you sure know how to be savage."

Laughter. Chortling. Fun. No, no, no.

Starfire didn't even attempt to get up from the ground this time, his face having once again been pushed into the leaf litter by a crying Cananor. He should have seen it coming. He did not. He should have laughed it off this time. He did not.

Headache and light and fire, the whole works. The others were a little more prepared, and they clapped when the sprawled unicorn, lying in a small circular radious of tiny, flickering flame, had unwittingly played out his part.

And their clapping trailed off as the unicorn didn’t move. They stood around his body, his muzzle pressed against the cold, hard ground, small fires jumping from his vibrating white horn and onto the orange blades of bending grass, and moved not even to twitch.

Their expressions twisted into something not unlike mild concern.

“I guess I pushed him a little harder than I thought.”

“Well, I think pushed himself a little harder than any of us would have thought.”

All around him, the world was bright and uncomfortable.

Starfire felt bright and uncomfortable, too, so maybe he didn’t feel so out of place in this world.

Groaning in some hybridity of pain and annoyance, he rolled onto his back and saw… himself. The student gasped and scrambled away. Not a reflection, not some mirror counterpart. Himself, in the flesh and the blood, so similarly odd and half forgotten, never forgotten. His young self. Just a child.

So full of youth and spunk. So full of confidence, and zeal, mettle and… self-righteousness?

Starfire, the real Starfire, couldn’t tear his eyes away from the image. The blue unicorn colt seemed unaware of his presence. He didn’t seem aware of anything. The foal’s form was wrapped in orange flame, searing, more intense than anything Starfire had ever seen before. But he had seen it before.

That day, that day, that day. When it all went wrong.

His head pounded as he watched the static clone shutter and flicker, like a jumpy reel in a movie. He clutched at his temples and wiped again and again at his stinging eyes, as fire, twirling like a typhoon, spiralling, spiralling, exploded out of the unmoving colt’s horn. The young clone’s muzzle was twisted into an expression that Starfire had never seen a pony perform before, least of all himself.

Somehow, seeing the event from a fresh perspective only made it worse. Everything worse.

“I don’t want to see this again and again! Stop it!”

Everything around him was white. It was the blackest white he had ever seen.

“Stop torturing me already!” He swiped at the ghastly vision before him as the bright orange battled with the hellish white in a vast void of nothingness.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he knew it was all a dream. Of course it was. Each and every one of these so called ‘premonitions’ were but nightmares. Thoughts planted into his unwaking mind by an evil princess. He said so himself. They felt so real, but they were but nightmares. Logical. They could not faze him. Not mind-pictures.

And yet, he felt as though he couldn’t control his emotions. Like he wasn’t really in control at all. Every time he swiped at the vision with his hooves, it bore closer towards him, a terrible ghost of his past. He could hear, somewhere outside of this muffling white, his young, frantic cries, the screams of the examiners, and the crackling tearing of the auditorium.

With one panicked utterance of, “I’m not scared of you, Nightmare Moon!” Starfire tore himself free of his younger self’s apparent grasp and began to run. His legs felt airy and light, detached, but with steely determination, he powered through the shifting orange and white and all the while bit his cheek and tongue so hard that it felt as though he were chewing metal. “Wake up, you fool,” He cried under his breath, “I need see no more of these bad dreams! Wake up!”

He quickly realized that he made no ground in this endless whitesphere, as though he were running on the spot, which, it struck him, he very may well have been doing. The reverb rattled his skull, and his ears popped as every sound melded into one. Out of the white, the orange came into fruition, like a burning skyline. The familiarly haunting skeletons of collapsed buildings and crumbling monuments shifted through the fog, blurring into a graveyard of awful, decaying ruin.

His horn clenched. He felt the acidic tang on the tip of his tongue. The closing vice. He stopped, staggered, but kept his balance, before twirling on the spot and yelling into the apocalyptic scene, “Do you hear me, Nightmare Moon? You…” He stumbled over a suitable insult, “…Gaping hag-bag? I’m not scared of you! Or these dreams! Your one power over us is slipping!”

The orange was all consuming now, flames dancing like sprites along a wavering horizon of burning buildings. He could make out the brickwork, the streets, that tormented little coffee shop he spent so many years tending; his neighbourhood, in cinders. But he remained steadfast. “Nothing you can do here will scare me! Nothing! I don’t fear you! You’re nothing!”

“So? I’m nothing, then?” The voice came from behind him, stern, knowingly, righteous, cutting through the screech of magic and the wail of fire, and the screaming, such awful screaming. The young doppleganger Starfire, still held in place and pulsating with power unknown to him, a trapped and photographed soul bound to his one mistake, slid along the ground unnaturally without moving so much as a muscle, as though levitating. It made not a sound, and stopped just short of Starfire’s own muzzle. He stared the doppleganger up and down, and never broke contact with the eyes, solid fiery discs that couldn’t possibly have once been his. Like alien pools of a most primal, heightened excellence…

The doppleganger colt's mouth fell open, corpse-like, and the orange that spurted from its horn quickly turned sickly black. The nightmarish magical aura spun into the sky and all the light dispersed at once, and the black form hung high in the sky, towering above the unicorns both.

The black form was it. That indescribable wrath from before. Starfire felt his heart clench as the wisps and the sparks molded into black shadows and ghastly tendrils, and great awful whipping testicles that broke and reformed in one wriggling mass. From it, a face manifested, that of Nightmare Moon, fazing in and out amongst the smoke, disembodied from the world, or lack thereof. "You truly don't find yourself trembling in fear when you see my visage, subject?"

"Not anymore. I'm through."

"Do you respect me, then, mortal? Could you see me as the ruler I am, and bow?"

"I never bow. Not to the likes of you. You've done nothing to impress me. To garner respect."

She laughed. "Don't you know I could crush you in an instant, unicorn? Like a bug?"

The unicorn stood defiant. "Not from what I have seen. You can't even face us yourself. You just implant these notions in our heads." Blackness was creeping in on his vision. His horn ached. He tried to keep his voice steady. "Destroy us, then. Do it. What is keeping you? I'm in your domain now. If you're the ruler you think you are, strike me down." She scowled, but nothing happened. "Thought so. Even in the dream world, you can't hurt me. You're nothing but empty threats. And hot air. No, you don't scare me any more."

"I see." With a sigh, her face drifted back, back into the disgusting mass from which she came. She began to contort and change, features spreading and twisting as the midnight darkness poured into her mouth and enveloped her face, and the ever-present tentacles of the black thing stuffed and gorged and pulled her apart until a new face re-emerged, like beaten clay, fresh and free. Its voice changed, no longer feminine and powerful, but charming, and silky, commanding, much befitting the monster's new guise. "Tell me, then, do you fear me?"

Those deep blue eyes, and movie-star jawline. Rows of perfect white teeth. The sparkle of gold on gold.

Starfire hesitated. "Icarus?"

The captain's head, so high above him, gave a wink. "As if you couldn't tell. I'll ask again. Do you fear me?"

The student below glanced around at the auburn destruction that surrounded him. The white, like thread, weaved through the broken skyscrapers that teetered on the edge of his fading vision. "What is this, Nightmare Moon? A trick? Why Icarus? Why are you showing this to me?"

The face reverted, back to the fallen princess. "I'm not showing you a thing, young fool. I cannot decide your dreams for you, nor can I change their outcome by myself. I simply watch, and listen. I'm implanting no notion in your mind that is not already there. This dream, young mortal, is all on you."

"Answer my question."

"Only when you answer mine." The mare in the moon laughed, and rubbed a tendril along her chin. "Do you fear him, if not me?"

Starfire pointed to the carnage that encircled them both. "What is his part in this? Tell me!"

She eyed him quizzically, almost sadly, and replied, "This? This destruction? None at all."

The unicorn's knees gave out. He grit his teeth. His horn sent agonizing shockwaves all along the length of his body, but he mustered the strength to groan out a final question, "Then how do I prevent it, villain?"

The words caught in her throat, and for the first time, she looked around and saw the world as it was, and something close to worry came about her, but then it was gone as quickly as it came.

"I... I don't think you can."

With that, there was a flash, and the black aura lifted at once. Nightmare Moon's image sizzled and popped, and so too did Icarus', flickering back and forth in an electrical storm. The nightshade dispersed, shrinking back into the horn of the doppleganger colt, but the orange and the white remained.

Starfire felt the heat of flames lash out at him. A burning in his chest, restricting. He coughed to clear it, and yet, it remained. He grasped at his younger self for support, but it moved from him, and he fell at its hooves, sharply. Without warning, the doppleganger's eyes rolled forward, still orange and yellow and gleaming, and the colt came to life.

Falling out of his stasis, fire and rage danced along his glowing horn as he stumbled, just slightly, and then lifted his head. He coughed, smiled his young, toothy smile, and spoke.

“That's right, I don’t think we can.”

And the fires raged.

“Ah man, ah jeez, Starfire, wake up. Come on, Starfire. I’m sorry. It wasn’t funny. I won’t do it again. Wake up.”

“I personally thought it was very funny, if I am to be honest with you, Cananor.”

“Well, yeah, I thought it was funny too, but I didn’t know it was going to actually hurt him.”

A pause. “I still found it to be humorous, irrespectively. But we really ought to see if he is quite alright. I do hope he is still breathing.”

The groggy Starfire felt something sharp poke into the soft of his side, and give him a little prick.

“He’s breathing… I think. I didn’t even push him that hard!” Another jab. “Come on, Starfire, don’t make a habit of this, friend. Please. Say something.”

“Maybe you should poke him harder? Aren’t sticks meant to, uh, heal stuff, like help when you hurt your leg or something?”

“Are you… are you perchance referring to a splint, Derky?”

“Probably, yeah. Splinter him, then?”

“You’re thinking about vampires again, Derky. You stab vampires with sticks, not unconscious ponies. My heart is thumping like a rabbit, here. I just want to know if he is okay.” A final prod. “Wait… yeah, I can see him stirring! Look! He’s okay! Starfire is okay! Darn, I'm sure glad to see I haven't perfected the killing joke just yet!"

"You could have fooled me, dearest Cananor. They often leave me feeling rather dead inside."

"Eh, you love 'em really."

Starfire grumbled a response, still coming in and out of that magical lucid limbo of unconsciousness when the soul cries, bare, and the voice is absent. The events he had just witnessed in his mind were only half there, stolen by the pain. He rasped, and instantly clutched at his head, and then his stomach. “Ow. OW. Ugh. Did you...?" Yes. Yes they did. Despite his fazedness, he mustered up quite a stern tone. Sterner tone. "I told you NOT to make me do that again." He hoisted himself up using a tree log, swayed, and then collapsed. His eyes flittered under the burning bright light of his magical white aura. His horn had a black hue to it, as though scorched, and his hair sizzled. The smell of rising smoke was heavy in the air. He mumbled his words, as though he wasn't quite in control of them. "Oh, my chest. That smarts. Ugh. I coulda... set myself alight. I hope you... know that. You would have been... And look at what else you made me do. Fire. I've started a fire."

"Oh, shoot. That's pretty weird. But it's only a little one," Cananor assured him with a sniff. His own mane glowed with fiery embers, and he quickly patted them out before they could singe his perfect hair. "It's fine."

"Big fires start small." Starfire tried again to stand up, this time with Derky under one arm and Weatherstorm under the other, but he struggled to stay on his hooves correctly. "Don't want... forest to burn. Zecora saved it. Irresponsible. Didn't think... how you doing stuff, might..."

The lawyer struggled to find meaning in the half sentences. "Ah, I'm sorry, Starfire. Cross my heart, I won't prank you any more. I feel pretty bad about it. Didn't know it would hurt you that much, or be that dangerous."

"But of course, deepest apologies, my friend. We shall refrain from replicating such insensitivity from here on out."

"Oh, uh... sorry, Starfire. We didn't mean to give you an angry tummy ache."

"But," Cananor continued, optimistically, "Everything worked out the way it should have, right? A little bit unorthodox, sure, but that funky light on your horn burning itself into my retinas must mean that you're picking up some of that out of place magic."

His words were fading in and out of Starfire's mind, just as the swaying beige unicorn was fading in and out of focus. "I... t-think so. Ah, jeez Louise, that's sore. I'm..." Almost slipping through the support of his Pegasi comrades, they fought to keep him upright. "What is this? Huh?"

Derky passed around a worried glance. "Guys, I think he might still be asleep. 'Cos he's mumbling like a crazy pony."

Cananor concurred, "It happens. My bubbe, that is my mom's mom, she talks all the time, even in her sleep. Sometimes she even bores HERSELF unconscious. Always something about bird-cats coming to peck out our eyes."

"What, like, eh... griffons?"

"Nah, I doubt it. She'd keep yelling, 'Keep those filthy, feline vermin-birds away from me! They'll take anything they can get! They're going to steal the eyes out of my head!' Swatting at the air and all that. You know, typical, senile old lady stuff."

"..."

"Cananor, I'm so sorry to say that I do believe that your grandmother may be a racist."

Starfire interjected before Cananor could further defend her outdated ways. "I'm... not asleep. But I feel m-more... fatigue... that I ever have in my..." He sharply inhaled and grunted, his head bobbing to one side. "I can't keep this spell up. It's... takin... everything, ah whew..."

"Starfire," Derky shook his friend. "Stay, uh... stay with us, like, so you can sniff the magic and tell us where Belove is and stuff. Or is it Nightmare Moon we're looking for now?" He giggled. "I can't remember."

"Nightmare Moon, I think," Cananor replied. "Belove is many things, but he ain't magic. He just surrounds himself with smoke and mirrors."

"I thought Nightmare Moon was keeping Belove hostage, chaps."

"Oh yeah. That sucks."

Starfire looked like he was about to say something else, but his head fell back and he let out a small gasp. Weatherstorm gasped along with him, the suddenness taking him by surprise, and he very nearly let him fall. "I've never... felt this magic. It's w-weird." His voice lowered to a whimper. "Over... this way. I feel it."

"Jolly good! Now we're in business!" Weatherstorm perked up and nearly clapped his hooves, and, for the second time, was reminded by all present that such an action whilst carrying Starfire would be a rather poor one. "Belove, Nightmare Moon, whomever we shall meet, let us do so, for we now know the way, at long last! Lead on, Mr Starfire! You CAN walk, can't you?"

The unicorn shook his head weakly. Seemed like a negative. Every word he spoke felt like a dagger to the chest, every thought like a hammer to the skull. His horn still burned, but it was beginning to numb, and the light was already fading. They had to be quick about their rescue mission, whilst he could maintain the spell.

Weatherstorm humphed. "I should suppose you'll want us to carry you, then."

Even though he was fading in and out of reality at a startling rate, and uttering a single breath made his rib-cage feel like it was collapsing, he couldn't help an offhoof, "Helped you... carry a piano."

"Quite true. I feel as though I repaid my debt amply for that deed, but... well, we can always work the nitty-gritty when we have a tad more leisure time." Both he and Derky made sure the unicorn was secured firmly in their care, and were glad that the sleek, slender pony was not half as heavy as that infernal piano. "So, where to, skipper?"

What the student mumbled next was anyone's guess, but he gave a trembling gesture towards along the road, and so they obliged, he in their arms all the while, like a very drunk monarch at a very ill-attended parade.

"Three cheers for Dues Ex Machina. These unthought spells of convenience surely are a blessing. Who knows what other spells you can achieve, if you put you mind to it, or, rather, don't?"

"It's, er... funny to think that we could have, like... not had to have done... did this to make us know where we were going. If we could read maps right."

"Indeed, Derky. Unfortunate that we had to reduce Starfire to such a state, but we all learned something today, and I'm sure our Cananor can appreciate the humour in the situation. Any sort of pun or obscure joke to add, old chap?"

Canano Acapella snapped to attention at the sounding of his name. "Huh? Oh, yeah, sure. Um... it's not surprising that we can't find Nightmare Moon, because we don't seem to have much latitude when it comes to following legends."

"Boo."

"Yeah, yeah, don't spring joke demands on me and expect me to come up with top shelf material." The so called 'comedian' allowed the trio, two hovering and one heaving, to start off on the journey. Derky seemed to be doing most of the actual navigating, Weatherstorm simply following the blurry brown shape ahead to the best of his blind ability. Starfire looked like a crumpled blue bedsheet, carried between them. These were the ponies who were to save the world.

Cananor looked back down at the piece of paper he had been gifted, and mouthed the words again to himself:

'If your lucks seems to have run out,

Your path locked without a key,

You really needn't fear, or self doubt,

Please try your comedy.

Never shy away or hide

From spreading joy and cheer.

Keep practicing, get better, reach your stride,

Until you make me laugh sincere.

I hope you take my words to heart,

And I wish you all the best.

Stay safe.

Stay funny.

Stay smart.

Stay Cananor.

A gag above the rest.

- Zecora'

A drop of water hit the page, and turned the white a blotchy grey, yet it wasn't raining. He couldn't help but laugh, and he wasn't sure why. Folding the page in half, and half again, he gently placed the note back into the bag around his neck, tightened the cords, and gave it a single pat, so it pressed against his heart.

And then he joined the others.

Chapter 19

"Rage-Mage."

"Uniscorn."

"Rage-Mage."

"Uniscorn."

"Sore-cerrerr?"

"I'm telling you, Rage-Mage."

"And I shall reiterate that my rebuttal is Uniscorn."

Had Starfire been fully like himself, he would likely have interjected the ongoing babbling, but he did not have to bear witness to it, at the very least, since the beating in his battered skull was much louder than they. Taking a moment to tell them to pipe down, even for a second, would interrupt his concentration and, this far into the tracking spell process, with this level of fatigue, it wasn't a chance he was willing to take. Not that he was in any healthy position to be making any chances at all. Letting himself get carried in his almost vegetative state towards the closer-growing goal was foal's bliss, however so irritating the current argument of the season may have been.

'Just maintain the spell for a little longer, Starfire,' he thought, battling against the cloudiness, 'That's it. You can feel it. We're so close. J-just... keep it together.'

"If we're not going for rage, then we're choosing mad-gician. No iffs or buts."

"Guh."

"See? Starfire's with me. He said he agrees."

"Utter stuff and nonsense, dearest Cananor. He groaned. He griped. He sighed in pained, unconscious indifference. He 'guh'ed, as it were."

"Yeah, he aguhreed with me."

The conversation, now quickly becoming rather heated, had come about by an offhoof comment of, "Tried, tested and true, like real scientists. At least now we know that this isn't just some one off occurrence, Mr Starfire; you really DO have some sort of strange, magical anger gift." That established, they were all agiddy at having such a peculiar friend, and even more excited to having been the ones to help him discover it. The problem, however, arose when Weatherstorm had followed his assessment with, "Abilities exemplified by heated emotion. I wonder if they have a term for such a specific mage?" A quick, "I dunno. A rage-mage, maybe? Starfire the Rage-Mage?" from Cananor was combated by Weatherstorm's own assertion of "Uniscorn" and Derky's unheard, linguistically-challenged but no less passionate suggestion of "Sore-cerer" and now all three scrambled to cement their own coined terms, for only one, it seemed, could make it to the history books, riding on the coattails of another.

"Could we please call him sore-cerr...er... sore-cerrer? I think ponies would like that name. Schoolfoals would learn about sore-cerrers, and have to write about sore-cerrers in their exams, and they'd have to learn that Derkington Bellray was the one who first made that name up. Yep, sore-cerre... oh, bother..." The Pegasus was adamant that his suggestion, explained away as 'Because he's, like, sore about stuff, you know, and he's also a sorcerer,' should be declared the decided winner, but whilst Weatherstorm and Cananor were at arms over their own efforts, they could both agree that they would pay no mind to a term that was having difficulty coming from the mouth of its creator.

"C'mon, Derks. If you're gonna try and create a word, it helps if you, yourself, can actually say it without stumbling all over it like a newborn foal on an ice rink. Bit hypocritical, don't you think? Like, bigging yourself up as a royal guard yet never really doing anything in times of crisis kind of thing."

"Or working as a lawyer yet possessing a tenuous-at-best grasp of matters pertaining to law."

"Hey, I understand law, alright? Sometimes I just choose to go with my heart. To help out the little guy. Do what's right."

"Suppose it's up to Starfire, really. He's the magic pony. Shouldn't we let him choose?" Derky shrugged. "I wouldn't feel right otherwise."

"What, let Starfire choose the name his own unique school of arcane ability? Himself? Not that he doesn't deserve the right to lay claim to his own talent, but I believe that he'll wind up settling upon a name most dull and, dare I say, overtly sensible in nature."

"No silly, let him choose which one of our terms wins."

"Ah, thank goodness for that."

Cananor dove under the two Pegasi and up to their bundled equine package, and gave Starfire a tender tap on the forehead, just to make sure the student teacher was fully aware of this most pressing business. "So, whaddia say? You've got some pretty decent choices, I think, but let's be honest: Rage-Mage just kinda rolls off of the tongue, doesn't it? It doesn't even take any thought, it's just expressing how you feel. You're not sore or in scorn, you're just angry for crying out loud! So why don't you, level headed as you are, pick a real word instead of those made up goobledegooks?"

"Oh, toff," Weatherstorm huffed, "CANANOR isn't even a real word. But if you wish to listen to the ramblings of a stallion with a blatant non-name then I'll do naught to stop you."

The blue unicorn blinked a few times. He looked a little pale. Starfire had little energy left, so very little. He felt not unlike a raisin or a prune, as though all the juice that once resided in him had been bled from his body. What a long five minutes and seventeen seconds it had been since he had subconsciously let loose his tracking spell without proper procedure. What a long four minutes and fifty-nine seconds it had been since he had subconsciously lost the trail, his short-term irritation subsiding. In a way, he was glad of his companions' seemingly continuous belt-fed ammunition for continuing arguments. Every time their voices rose on the matter of a name THEY'D assign his so called gift, unsure if even that was an apt term, he found it grated with him in some small way; not enough to make him angry, for he was far too tired even for that, but their back and forth banter gave him the slightest of sparks. And that was all it took to give him an inkling, an indication.

But this irritation was waning, giving way to something more complacent. Where he had felt a surge of energy not seven minutes ago, he felt just an overwhelming crash now. He would put this last sliver of stamina to good use before blacking out again.

Starfire signaled for his bearers to stop, and they obliged, before reaching out a meek hoof to Cananor, and mouthing for him to lean in close.

"He's gonna choose, guys," Cananor shushed the others, and whispered to their guide, "Please don't go with something boring. Resist the urge! So, what's the result?"

The magician coughed. "You guys... you're all very stupid." With that, he gave a definite point to their immediate right, and stuttered, firmly, "In there."

The other three stood silent for a moment, before Cananor said, "Guess Weatherstorm's right. That's scorn if ever I saw it."

Still carrying Starfire, and more than a little irked themselves by his seemingly genuine chastisement, they traveled in the direction that he had sent them in. It didn't take long for them to realize that he had not led them astray this time. In the space of seconds, a voice reached their ears.

It sounded muffled by the bushes and leaves at first, and Derky mistook it for a bird's chirruping, but he was reminded that most birds that chirrup in a pony-like manner are not nocturnal and that perhaps he ought to take a night class on matters pertaining to the night.

But no, it was no bird. Nightmare Moon, perhaps? They pushed through branches and the voice became coherent. Clearer, and clearer, and clearer. Louder. It spoke in Equestrian, and sounded deep and male. Cananor couldn't help but laugh.

"I knew that Nightmare Moon was willing to bring about some serious changes, but I wasn't expecting anything THIS drastic or progressive."

"It, uh... sounds like she let herself go."

"Yeah, sounds like she's been puffing more smoke than a dragon."

Then a second voice chimed in.

"Belove?"

Weatherstorm pressed his hoof to his ear, and stoked his peculiar skills. "No no, not Belove, it seems. Were it he, we'd hear his accented, charming little flair clear as day from here."

"And a lot more loud cussing, yeah."

The group, enticed, moved as stealthily as they could carrying a grown unicorn stallion between them through their surroundings. They came, at last, to a a hedge wall, and whilst this forest was no stranger to hedges in general, they all knew at once where they were. They'd all spent time falling through this particular shrubbery, chased by rabid trees. It was quite strange being on the other side.

Cananor scoffed. "Seems like we can't get away from this place, can we?" The others awaited some cringe-inducing joke or offbeat pun, but were thankful to receive no such misery.

"I'm ever so glad you stopped short of making another patented pun, friend."

"Don't you mean that you're glade?"

Weatherstorm and Derky lay Starfire down as carefully as they could, but careful was a thinly stretched adjective between the both of them.

"No, sorry, what I meant to say was that I'm going to flick your nose and bend your ear, like so." The playful journalist did. Another few words came from over the hedge, mumbled from the disembodied mouth, but they were unclear and hard to pin down. But it was certain now; the voices belonged to neither Nightmare Moon, nor Belove.

Derky crept forward, keeping low with squinted eyes along the ground like the world's least talented bloodhound, and peeled the leaves of the hedge apart with nervously shaking hooves, slowly, deliberately, like a surgeon or an antiquarian. Flashing the party his silly little disproportionate smile, a smile that somehow managed to appear both disinterested and highly jubilant at once, he pushed his head through the suspended gap in the greenery, gasped instantly, and recoiled, falling backwards and scrambling along the ground, kicking at leaves and litter.

"Dear goodness!" Weatherstorm rushed to his aid, trampling over the prone and unmoving Starfire, and slid his hooves under his fellow Pegasus' head. "Derky! My good friend! Are you alright?" The gentle stallion merely shifted in response.

Cananor turned pale. "Holy crab-apples, man! What did ya see?"

"Yes, quick, Derkington, you must tell us at once! What unspeakable horror did you witness? Have we been made, poor soul?"

Calming down, the lashing white-shirted pony took his hooves away from his face, and pressed his lips together. Squinting, he leaned up, and said, "Uh... it's fine. I just poked myself in the eye with a twig. Guess I'm the silly goose." Wiping away the tears from under the eye in question, which he kept shut tightly, he zipped back over to the hedge, pried the leaves apart, stuck his head through, and fell back for a second time, clutching his other eye. "Ow! The same twig!" He cried.

"Derky," Weatherstorm cooed sympathetically, brushing him aside and taking matters into his own hooves, "Your misfortune never ceases to amaze and dishearten." He gently brushed Derky away and decided to himself peep through the hole in the hedge. "My my," he grumbled. The voice from beyond said something, as though answering him, and he held his tongue in bated breath, but the second voice answered, and he released his anxiety. Weatherstorm squinted, hard, and turned to his friends. "I think I can make some shapes out. White, and orange, and... oh, red. And there he is. Well, on the upside, we appear to have found our missing comrade."

Cananor scratched at his head. "There's no way you can ever say something like that without adding a 'but,'" he slapped his flank, "So hurry up and tell us how hard we're going to get kicked in ours."

Weatherstorm was silent for several seconds. "It's not exactly gumdrops and sparkles and big, happy reunions, as I'm sure you deduced."

Wiping away the last of his mistake from under his eyes, Derky asked, "How many baddies are there? I sure hope there aren't too many. I think three baddies is my limit." He rubbed at his eyelids. "Even if, it could be worse 'cos there's six of you and I have three hooves."

"And that," The journalist rubbed his ginger mane like a pet, "Is what getting poked in the eye twice will do in regards to your vision. Cananor, you might not believe me if I tell you what lies beyond that leafy shroud, so I suggest you ought to look through for yourself."

The stallion shot an anxious simper, for if Weatherstorm found himself lacking in words, then his beautiful visage of gumdrops and sparkles and big, happy reunions were likely to be dashed, whether he wanted them to or not. Shrugging, he said, "You can't see very well without your glasses, can you? If it's just Belove's big dumb head staring back at me I'm going to have a stroke," and put his eye up to the natural gap in the hedge.

The clearing yonder was illuminated well enough, but Cananor expected nothing less from their favoured gladiatorial battle arena. The shafts of light seemed to evade the two occupants beyond, and they danced in shadow. His eyes widened, but he failed to find himself particularly surprised. Two white pegasus ponies stood around a campfire, by far and large the most prominent feature of the scene, the orange deflecting off the startling gold of the ponies' armour. Cananor knew not which two of the Elites he was looking upon; the two factions weren't exactly on first name terms quite yet, and even if he had names to attribute to the bodyguards other than Icarus, he wouldn't know how to distribute them correctly. The absent captain and the other one, the unicorn, (was it Pam? Prim? Pronk? Something along those lines) would hardly pass as twins, but the other Pegasi cronies who latched onto and bulked out their unit certainly could, and more besides. The same monotone white fur and pool blue eyes and featured muzzles, with half-cocky demeanors and identical muscles that seemed to bulge in all the right places. Cananor blushed and wiped at his forehead. It was as though they'd all fallen off of a production line. A well toned, shamefully hunky production line. He was glad that the soldiers were not yet privy to himself and his fellow onlookers, watching from their secret place, otherwise they'd surely be lying in a drooling heaped mess, not unlike their scholar friend was right now.

They talked between one another, these stallions from Canterlot, and lo, the mystery voices belonged to them after all. But it beggered the question: where were the other three members of their squad? There was a distinct reduction of pentagonal white-toned excellence and it was nothing short of jarring to their usual image.

"Two bad dudes," Cananor passed the news to Derkington, "So you're in luck. We're on jerk shy of your cut-off limit."

Weatherstorm placed a hoof on his back. "Not to imply that my lawyer is incapable of presenting truths, but I think that you might be one jerk short. Look, there, to your immediate left." Cananor did so.

To the left sat a large cage, a pen of sorts, fashioned crudely from some light coloured wood, sloping the ground at an angle. The bamboo bars lined all four sides, and let in a little light, which illuminated the occupant within; it was Belove. Oh, their free-spirited friend, confined in a lackluster jail cell. The thought made Weatherstorm bite his lip.

The stallion lay unmoving on the ground, curled, legs and tail tucked away, and were it not for the barely noticeable rising and falling of his back one would have been forgiven in thinking that his confinement had killed him. Shifting shadow sticks, strewn across his body by the fire, stretched and withdrew and painted his fur with inmate constriction.

"Oh, lookie there, our compagno. Tucked away in a box like a Hearth's Warming present that nopony wanted."

"They've got Belove, as sure as chips," Weatherstorm assured him, "Stuck him in a hutch, like a rabbid rabbit. I do wonder how many times he's told them by now that they can't lock him up because he's an officer of the law?"

"You can't just lock me up like this, fellas," Belove chirped up, on cue, to his captors, "Stick me in a hutch and all, like some kind of... rabbid rabbit, like. You can't lock me up, right? Because I, you pair of goons, am an officer of the law."

Cananor whistled silently, and applauded Weatherstorm. "There we go, right on the nose."

"What can I say? When you know a chap, you know a chap."

"Shut up, prisoner," one of the guards snapped violently at Belove, "You're like a broken record. Just lie there and be quiet or we'll beat you again."

Belove spat through the bars of his confinement. "Can I get that on camera, lads? Come on, name and badge number." A rock bounced off of his forehead, and he threw it right back. "You wimps couldn't take me in a fair fight, I know that much. No, you melters had to clobber me over the back of the scalp, and then pelt me with rocks. Bleedin' pussy-cats."

The guards tried to ignore him, and reverted to speaking amongst themselves. Cananor could hear one whisper as he stoked at the campfire, clear as day, "Don't give him any attention. He'll be out of our manes in a half-hour, anyway. Just wait until the captain returns."

This didn't deter the captive, who continued his rant with, "But remember this, ugly stepsisters: you're darned lucky that I'm locked away in this here cage or else I'd be making you," he pointed to the nearest aggressor, "Pull yer bap out from lover boy's tush."

Cananor giggled, and fanned at his face. "Whew, Belove, what a paramour."

The observers heard no retaliation from the guards, and deduced that they had employed their plan to feed the stallion little sought-after attention. Instead, both soldiers, talking amongst themselves, eased themselves into their makeshift seats by the fire, and the guard nearest to the hidden foursome in the bushes reached down, past the tree log, and materialized a saddlebag. "We've time to kill yet," he spoke, "Might as well have another good laugh."

Despite his blurred vision, Weatherstorm recognised the bag, and his smile turned into a thing of brief confusion, then realization, and finally horror. "Is that... Gracious!" he choked, and a clasped hoof to the mouth from Derkington had to remind him to keep his voice down, lest their cover be blown. "Please tell me that my eyesight is as bad as I believe! That they don't have my bag! My bag! I think they've got my ruddy bag!"

"What's a ruddybag?"

"My saddlebags, Derkington, my saddlebags! The ones that went walkabout, mysteriously vanished into thin air back at the cave! Those fiends, they... they must have snuck in and stole them in the dead of night..."

"It's always night..."

"...that joke died long ago, Cananor, but yes, alas! The elite soldiers are to blame! Vile villains! They stole my bags, and all that I brought besides!"

Cananor peered through the hedge, and squinted at the guard, and his sack. "You sure, Double-U? That could be any old common-or-garden bag."

"Tell me if the bag appears to be accented by a strip of fine aegean crêpe de chine and embroidered with a noir ouroboros."

Silence, and then, "It's blue and silky and has some sorta snake thing on it."

"Well, that's my bag, chaps."

As if to confirm, the guard, unaware of the fuming owner's presence, slid a ruled page out from the open bag, and, almost crumpling the thing with his hooves, held it aloft. "I'm telling you," he explained to his squadmate, "Whichever one of those little ponies wrote these love letters is a real freak."

The other guard smiled. "You have to be making these up."

"I swear on our supreme ruler's name, I'm not making a single word up. It's all here, in black and white."

"Go on, then, read another one."

Weatherstorm nearly threw himself through the hedge then and there, were it not for the hooves of Derky and Cananor holding him back. "My poems!" he wailed, voice nearly cracking under his whisper, "Do you hear this? These hooligans, awful rotten scoundrels have been reading my very private work! For miss Rarity's eyes only! And laughing, apparently? For shame!"

"Dude, calm down," Cananor pleaded, "They obviously mistook it for a satirical piece and consider you some sorta comedic genius or something. Heck, I'd take that and run with it." He screwed up his face as he watched the soldier rest a pair of familiar spectacles upon his muzzle. "Oh, whoa. He's really getting prepared."

"What? What's happening?"

"He's, uh... he's going to read your poetry, wearing your glasses."

"M-my glasses? That swine! Those spectacles are prescription only! PRESCRIPTION!"

They heard words lull over to their hidey-hole, and Weatherstorm lashed out and attempted to cover the ears of both of his friends, to little success. "Strung upon a moonlight's mist," the bespectacled soldier began, reading from the page, "A silky snow, a velvet kiss, and never she a miss unmissed, alas, by any other name, a Rarity."

The journalist felt tears welling in his eyes as the other guard's laughter shook the leaves. He tugged at his own ears. "Don't you dare listen to them, Cananor, Derkington," his voice cracked, and so too did his facade, albeit briefly, "C-c'mon, please guys, don't listen to this. It's not right. These are private. Private. I feel violated."

"If Rarity read these, I'm sure she would feel violated too." Cananor and Derkington couldn't help but actually feel bad for him. They forced frowns in-between their stifled laughter.

The bespectacled guard finished the first stanza, and had to take a breath to compose himself. His toothy grin was caught like a photo flash in the glow of the fire. "Whew, this is hard to read through." He laughed. "What an absolute loser."

The other guard concurred. "Yeah, he shouldn't quit his day job."

"Unless he's a professional comedian, that is."

Cananor gave Weatherstorm his 'bada-boom' face. "Take it and run with it," he reminded him. It did nothing to lighten the latter's spirits.

The other guard wiped his nose with the back of his hoof. "I bet I could do better. I thought that poems were meant to rhyme."

"It's half rhyme," the blue Pegasus grumbled, out of earshot, "Golly, these brutes are uneducated. I'm surprised they're even literate, that there's even room for brain midst the rolls of muscle."

"Go on," the armored stallion by the campfire said. He rustled around with something behind him, and produced a banana. "Keep reading. I want to see if we can get to the end of one of these poems without totally losing it." He began to peel the fruit, and then offered it to his friend. "You want one? This bag over here is full of them."

"Is that the bag that had all those weird books in it?"

"Yeah."

"Heh, if that's the case, no way. I'm surprised you haven't pricked yourself yet, pawing through that thing. There's a bunch of needles just laying around near the bottom of that bag. Probably leaked into those bananas, too."

The second guard stared at the fruit in his hoof for several seconds, before chomping down on it. "Eh," he mumbled between mouthfuls, "More for me, then. Besides, it's not like that other bag with all the salt in it. Pretty sure those syringe things are just those... what do you call them... injectors? You know, for diabetes. Little insulin in your bananas never hurt nopony."

"Whoa," Derky shook the unconcious Starfire, "Looks like they've been poking around your saddlebags as well, Starry. Mine, too."

Cananor cracked his neck. "I swear, if they've been putting their dirty banana cloppers anywhere near my mint condition comic books I'm going to sue them so hard that their entire platoon will be in debt."

"No, no," Weatherstorm huffed. "I should think them mint and crisp as ever. They seem to be getting so much more pleasure from my written work. Look, that fellow can't keep his borrowed eyes from it, or his plagiaristic tongue from repeating it."

Sure enough, there was a certain allure that exuded from Weatherstorm's rather dull written ramblings that couldn't keep the soldier away from them, like a moth and a flame. He continued on with his spectated deliverance, with a clearing of his throat and disregard towards his pal's sudden taking to yellow tropical fruits. "For she the Belle tolls, dissonance, along my heartstrings gallop, prance, and dance through meadows, thou chance a glance, a carousel of..." The soldier paused. "Rarity, Rarity, Rarity. Hmm. Hey, that name seems kinda familiar."

Banana bodyguard nodded. "Isn't that one of the mares that we..."

"Whoa, whoa," guard number one coughed. "Probably shouldn't go saying too much in front of the prisoner. Remember what the captain said: he's on a need to know basis."

Bananaguard shrugged and swallowed the last of his food, before carelessly tossing the spotted peel some distance from himself and no sooner had he wiped his mouth than he was peeling another. "Does it matter? He's not going to be a problem for too much longer, anyway. Once the captain ties up our loose ends, us wardens will be making ol' red there's confinement a little bit more... longer."

To the surprise of nopony, the imprisoned earth pony, who had until now been stewing in his cage and mumbling an assortment of curses towards his captives, spoke up loudly enough that his comrades hidden in the bushes could hear. "Jays, you're daft. You could've said permanent or something like that. Yous'uns haven't two wee brain cells between the both of youse. Less now, probably, since you've been reading Weatherstorm's poetry so religiously. And that's another thing. If you so much as dare read another word of his private work, or if you," he pointed angrily to the other soldier, "So much as breathe on one more of Starfire's bananas or lay a hoof on his medication, I'll stretch both of you out so long and flat that you'll tarmac a path from here to Canterlot."

The first guard sneered. "Big stallion, huh? Big hero? Don't like us touching your friends' stuff? Loyal to the end? Should have shown-"

"...some of that loyalty back when we were still together," the caged Earth Pony finished the guard's mock, drably. "Don't try to sound like your boss, it makes you too predictable." Belove pulled himself close to the bars that housed him. "And let's get one thing clear; I'm not willing to break and beat you both so hard that you'll become the next big drum and bass single, simply because I'm an upstanding lawman. I'm a doer. I follow my gut. Occasionally I'm wrong. And that sometimes puts me at odds with others, even friends, family. But everything I do, whenever I can, I do for them. I do what I think will be the best for them, even if they don't like it. You see," he smiled, "Heck, you'll love this... I'm not peeved at you for poking at that which doesn't belong to you, touching my friends' stuff... I'm peeved because that's my job, okay? I was going to nosy my way through all that poetry myself, and I was going to tell Weatherstorm, stallion to stallion, that they were rubbish, and know what else? Want to know why? Because I'd want Weatherstorm to get angry, hate me if he must, and then he'd go back to the drawing board and write something that Rarity one couldn't refuse, something that would blow her away, because he has the ability and by Celestia I'm going to drag it outta him. That's what a friend does. Oh," he added, "And I was going to eat those bananas, too boot."

The hidden party of onlookers smiled, and Weatherstorm doubly so. How brave he was, in the face of hostility, How honest, and true. The pegasus' cheeks felt warm. There was a big heart in the large red lug. A well meaning, selfless, totally misplaced heart.

Banana guard took the bait. "You still consider them your friends? Even after they left you?"

"I didn't want to have them drag me down, and I didn't want to drag them down myself. By my side or no, they're truer than true."

The guard was curious. "Why were you going to eat these, then?" he said, shaking a yellow peel, "What good would THAT have done anypony?"

Belove shrugged. "Not anypony a bit of good, but myself. Didn't like that Starfire fella when I met him. Wanted to teach that student a lesson he don't get in school. Guess my intuition was out of whack. Can't be right all the time. But," he scowled, "As I sit here and watch your gormless lips slather all over that which don't belong to you, my gut is screaming at me that you're no lawmen. You're nothing but petty criminals, pulling the wool over all those eyes, even your own. And my gut is never wrong twice in a row. Never."

The first guard seemed to chew on Belove's words. Almost nodding, wavering, he gave a sly shrug of his shoulders and wrinkled the inky piece of paper in his hoof. "Never really got this sort of stuff. Poems and stories and that. But I know one thing: in stories like these, like ours, everything is... what's that word? It's on the tip of my tongue... ah well." He threw the white page on the fire and it went up at once, burning orange ripping through the written words like a stutter. Weatherstorm's face became as steel, and fury, and wiped at his forehead, but knew better than to reveal his position now. The second guard spluttered with laughter, and spat his foodstuff onto the crackling embers and fading snow of the poetry. "See," concluded guard number one, "You can call us what you want. But this story is written by the ponies who win. And we can write anything we want."

"Shouldn't have done that," Belove said, calmly. He watched the final few glowing words settle and die on the fire. "Should not have done that. Burned up that page. Shouldn't have done it."

"And you shouldn't have defied us. You've been trouble, red pony. When the new day starts, you'll trouble us no more."

The observers in the hedge did not like the way the guardstallion smiled when he said that. Not a lot had been cemented in the verbal exchange between the three soldiers, but the lawyer, the journalist, the slacker and, had he been awake, the student scholar, all knew that Belove was not being kept caged of his own volition in the best of care nor company.

"What an enlightening and timely natter they had," Weatherstorm whispered as the conversation beyond abruptly stopped, and Belove went back to his silent prone position in his cage. "It's left me lumped with a feeling firmly between awe, audaciousness and untethered rage."

Cananor pulled close the hole they had opened in the bush to peek through, and sighed. "From they way they're talking, if we don't get in there and free Belove before Captain Sickarus comes back, they're gonna end up doing something even more unpredictable than the chronology of Equestria's seasons."

"Indeed they will. For instance, reduce more of my poetry to ashes, or worse yet, read another stanza aloud."

"Or take a peek through my bag, and get their fruit-slick mitts on my comics."

"Or, uh... eat all of my salt."

Weatherstorm shook his head. "Those monsters. "

"Yeah, all that potassium and they choose to be salty." Cananor struggled. "I felt a salt-related joke coming on, but it came and went." He thought for a moment. "Must be because I'm sodium tired."

Weatherstorm gave it a so-so. "Ehhh."

Cananor straightened his tie. "You could have followed with, 'It was chloright.' But as much as it pains me to say it, we gotta stop talking about salt and start showing some pepper. Get out there and make an impact. This is a high-stakes operation, guys. Our amateur poetry, collectible comic books, baggies of salt and bannana supplies are at risk."

"And they might lock Belove up in prison for a really long time."

"Oh yeah. Belove needs our help, too. Right"

"Dare I ask what the plan is?"

Cananor held his nose. "Well, that's where Starfire comes in."

Starfire did not come in. He could not have been, in that moment, more out. The poor stallion was still recovering from his continuous magical fatigue, and he was colourless and pasty like a stale dusted pastry. His head rolled and stirred and he made no noise.

"Oh yeah." Cananor snapped his hoof and waved it over the Starfire's face. "Starfire, get your mind in order, dude. We need our big blue clued in. Our smarty ready to party. Our mane man needs to make a plan." He waved at him again. "Shoot, he doesn't look like he's in any well state to go formulating a breakout. I think he really is broken this time around."

"Up to us, then, I suppose." Weatherstorm said. "To make a plan."

"Plan, plan, plan," Cananor fiddled with his tie once again, loosening the knot, then readjusting. "Can, coming up with a plan. Plaaaaannnnnnn. Plaaaaaaannnnnnnn-ty. Oh, wait, plan-ty! Plenty! Plant! There's plenty of plants around here!"

Derky stepped back. "Yeah. You're...that's some truth, right there. All around. I feel like a rat in a..."

"Cage?"

"...no, uh, cabbage patch."

"We're surrounded by shrubbery, nettles and suspicious mushrooms, Derky, not cabbages."

"Oh. Because I ate a lot of green-looking stuff when you and Cananor were talking and my mouth is kinda tingly, so that explains a lot. That isn't bad? Right? We're, eh, horses, so that's good for us, isn't it?"

Weatherstorm rightfully chose to ignore Derky, brushing his tongue. Perhaps if Derkington showed some restraint in the relationship between new and interesting substances, and his mouth, then he wouldn't have to rake like it was the middle of autumn. "In that case, go wild. Make sure to save me some pond algae, won't you? Now, Cananor, you have me hooked. What of your planty plan?"

"Okay, what I was thinking is this." The lawyer scuttled up some leaves as quietly as he could and attempted to stick them to his body. They did not. "We just grab handfuls of leaves, okay, and we... just stick them all over our bodies, you know, like camouflage."

The journalist bit his lip. "I see. Blending in. 'Going commando.'"

"No, that's a common mistake, 'Stormy. If we were going commando, we'd be naked."

"Cananor, we are naked. Right now. And have been for most of our lives."

"Maybe you are, Weatherstorm, but I'm gonna still have my tie on. Anyway, we're going to just coat our entire bodies, not my hair, of course," he gave a flick, "With soil and flowers and more weeds than one of Derky's bucket hats. They won't see us coming. It's a little manoveour I like to call, 'Au naturel.'"

"Ah, I see. THAT has no nude connotations at all. So, we're camouflaged aptly. What then?"

"...And then, uh..." The unicorn scoured the floor, before wrapping his hooves around a length of vine and snapped it straight for effect. "We sneak in and use this."

"Cananor," Weatherstorm inquired, "I do hope that you're not insinuating that we garrote those guards."

Cananor bent his brows. "What? No! What is wrong with you? I was GOING to suggest that we slip our way past the soldiers, all green and earthy like a trio of..."

"Topiaries?"

"I was going to say 'CartBucks coffees' but whatever..."

"And there goes your chance at a brand deal."

"...so, then we get up close to Belove..."

"Quite," Weatherstorm again interrupted, "So, we strangle Belove silly instead? Is that what you are suggesting?"

"...and tie this vine around the door of his cage, see?" Cananor gave it a tug. "We'll pull that door right off! Hey presto! How's that for a bitta bada-boosh?"

A silent clap and a hearty smile. "Impressive, Cananor. I am actually rather surprised. Your plan is almost flawless." Without another word, Weatherstorm bent down picked up a single leaf, and gingerly dropped it onto his own back. "Like so, yes?" With a nod of affirmation, he picked up another leaf, inspected it, folded it, and wedged it behind his ear. "Yes sir. Almost flawless."

"I actually just improvised a lot from a Daring Do / Phoenix Flight crossover comic. Pretty lousy edition, honestly, but I guess these kinds of situations are a little more believable than I first thought. And to think that my dad said that reading comic books was messing with my mind." He tapped his skull. "But I learned everything I know from comic books and I'm sitting pretty with a law degree, so what does he... wait... 'ALMOST flawless?'"

Weatherstorm picked up another leaf, dusted it free of dirt with his wing, and then set it back down again and chose another. "Well, by that, I meant that your plan was in no way perfect but still a rather admirable effort."

"And what is wrong with my plan? It worked perfectly in the comic."

"I'm far from one to question the validity of comic book logic, but I feel like you're leaving out some crucial elements. Sneaking our way past the guards should prove easy enough; Celestia knows those goons are far too busy burying their snouts in my poetry. But how do you propose we open Belove's cell?"

"I told you, with the vines."

"Yes, certainly, but using what exactly?"

"The vines."

"Attached to what?"

"The cell."

"We tie the cell door up with vines, yes?"

"Yes."

"Which, in turn, are tied to...?"

"US. This isn't a complex plan, Weatherstorm. The beauty is in the simplicity. Derky understands, don't you, Derky?"

Derky, who had been cautiously peering through the hedge, this time making sure to keep his eyeballs clear of sharp branches, mumbled, "Er... I'm not really getting the bit where we have to dress up as trees... and the bit where we choke the guards."

"We're not choking anypony! That was Weatherstorm's idea!"

"No, it was my idea that it was your idea. But I digress. Tell me, in this comic, a jungle vine was used to pull open a door of sorts?"

"Yeah," Cananor sighed, "They wrapped jungle vines around their waists, tied the other ends to the bamboo bars and pulled in different directions. It was at an ancient Azteca temple brimming with treasure that was also being used as a spiritual courtroom. Phoenix was representing a ghost. It was a long and confusing story arc."

"Might I inquire as to whom was doing the pulling?"

"There was Daring Do and Phoenix Flight, naturally, and also a Diamond Dog named Bowie. He was a one off character. Didn't catch on with the fanbase."

"So, in this, I stress, comic book, it took the combined might of an agile treasure hunter, a larger-than-life half-lion and a literal hulking mass of muscle to tear apart bamboo supports. In case you haven't noticed, Cananor, we do not consist of such burly archetypes. At the risk of sounding akin to your father, we are not stallion material. Not yet. We are but mere ponies, gents, white collar workers with about as much unified strength as a narcoplectic slug. I haven't so much as pulled a plough before. Have you?"

"Shucks. You're right. We're weaker than Applejack's cider. The only one physically strong enough to even make a dent is the red-headed meat-cube trapped inside the thing we're trying to break him out of."

"Me?"

"No, Derky, not you."

"And," continued Weatherstorm, "Even if we three did make some manner of progress, there's no doubt that we would generate sufficient noise to make Icarus' soldiers aware of our presence. A fight would ensue, I am sure of it. And again, the only pony bulky enough to bruise is the pony we are daring to rescue to begin with."

"Starry's proven himself to be nifty with a bolt blast when he needs to. He could try to keep private-poetry and fruit-loop busy from here while we bust Belove out."

"Indeed he could," he pointed to the drooling, palsied Starfire, "had he not rendered himself a blue vegetable by over-excerting himself with his spellcasting."

"Would you mind not picking holes in my plan?"

"I will, should you make a truly un-holy plan. But other than the glaring and dangerous oversights, it's leaps and bounds above anything I was going to suggest. Now, can you please help me get these tossing leaves to stick? They keep falling off and I'd rather avoid using dirt or spit to keep them in place. And for goodness sakes, Derky, stop sticking your entire head through the hedge. Those hooligans shall spot you and shear it clean off."

Derky did not move. His green eyes darted back and forth between the two guards, and their stolen saddlebags. Back and forth, back and forth, and an idea crept its way into his mind. A very silly idea, but no more so than sticking dirt and leaves to three fully grown horses and sneaking past two likely armed soldiers. No, this idea was silly, so very silly, that it just might work. "It's so silly that it just might work," he said.

"C'mon, Derky, your head isn't silly! I've seen it work plenty of times, no sillyness involved!"

"Not my head, Cananor. The plan."

"I'd like to hope so. I do wish I hadn't pointed out so many flaws in it for I can feel my confidence draining by the second."

"Not Cananor's plan, Weatherstorm. It's, uh... it's my plan."

"..."

Both Cananor and Weatherstorm gave a knowing nod to each other, rubbed their hooves, and leaned in to a close huddle. "Oh-ho, this should be good."

"So, like, for first thing's first," Derky peeled one of the leaves off of Weatherstorm's back, and it stuck to his hoof. "We don't need to get all brown."

Cananor seemed shocked. "But you love rolling in dirt! That's one of your favourite things to do, before and after meals!"

"Yeah," he smiled, "I do love rolling in dirt."

"Food makes you grassy, huh?"

"Anyway, uh... I like your plan, Cananor. I'm just maybe changing some stuff. We can still hide, but where they can see us." Derky stoked his chin. "You get me?"

"No," was the unanimous reply.

"I'm, uh... I'm not good at explaining these things. But I can show you as we go." He held out a hoof and smiled. "You'll have to trust me, guys."

And again, "No," was the unanimous reply.

"C'mooooon."

After much hmm-ing and hah-ing, the pegasus and the unicorn finally gave in. "Fine, Derky, we'll put our trust and wellbeing in your hooves, and not in a comic book. It's not like we have great choices. May Celestia have mercy."

Derky looked happy, like a foal, and he hugged them both. "We need to work together to do this. Cananor," he asked, "You can still throw your voice, right? Make it sound like you're somewhere where you aren't, like you do with puppets and stuff?"

The lawyer looked pleased. "Heck yeah! I bet even a fancy pants wannabe wizard like Starfire can't cast a ventriloquism spell as good as I can."

"I have to ask, Cananor. Why, tell me, do you know a ventriloquism spell, of all things?"

"I'm a born performer, Weatherstorm, and when you REALLY want to win a school talent show with your puppet act, sometimes you put in a little extra work. My ventriloquism act was too convincing. One thing led to another, and would you believe it, it ended up bringing about The Great Marionette Purge of Ponyville. My parents banned me from reading my grandpa's old stage-magic books any more. I was just, you know, going through an experimental stage."

"I feel as though Belove would have made a joke of that."

"I still practice with socks, you know." He added his own rimshot.

"You can still throw your voice." Derky tapped his hoof. "That's great. Do you think you could do that spell on another pony? Could you send their voice somewhere else, instead?"

"Probably. I've never tried." The beige unicorn rubbed his horn. "What ARE you planning, Derky?"

"You'll see, I guess. Weatherstorm, you can, um, pretend to be other ponies, can't you? Like, ah... do their voices?"

"And who told you I am even capable of doing such a thing?"

"Remember when I helped you move into your new house, and we had some... some cider, like a party? And then you had too much and got sick?"

"No, I do not remember that. But I WAS wondering why I woke up with all my possessions upside down and fractured, and that can be indicative of your hoofwork alone."

Derky paused. "Are you sure you don't remember that night? You got really silly and did a really good Rarity voice, and started kissing the mirror, and..."

"Whoa-ho!" Weatherstorm coughed, a little louder than he ought to have. The noise remained unnoticed by the guards. "All right, Derky. Settle down. That's enough of that. Yes, I can perform a few passable impressions. It really depends on the pony you'd like me to mimic."

"Okay. Just one last question. Cananor," asked Derky, "How far can you use your magic to... do the, what is it called... lifty-thing?"

"That's a good question, Derks. I'll get back to you when I understand it."

"I think he might be asking what your telekenisis range is. I think."

"Yeah yeah. Telekekneesocks."

Cananor twirled his hair. "Not great, admittedly. Short. More like telekeanklesocks."

Derky let out a heartfelt sigh. "Oh dear. That's not good. Starfire is too tired to help. And we need magic. Or," his eyes drifted to the loose vine they had discarded, and he picked it up and twisted it, "Maybe we could, uh... use this thingie to, erm..." he made a whipping motion and held it above his head. "I guess."

"Derky, I've made it clear that we're not strangling anypony."

The white-shirted Pegasus struggled to find the words, so instead he began looping one end of the vine, and motioned for the others to help him. "I don't like violence, you guys. If we all do good, nopony will get hurt." He gave them his puppy stare. "And those guards will let Belove go without a fight. You have to trust me. This'll be the bestest break-out ever seened."

And his confidence was infectious, for Weatherstorm and Cananor found themselves smiling too, their clear lack of clarity regarding the plan outweighed by their sheer will to free their imprisoned friend.

"Yes, Derky," replied both, "We trust you. This will be the best rescue attempt the world has ever seen."

This was far from the best rescue attempt Belove had ever seen.

The earth pony hadn't so much as raised an eyebrow at the spectacle, and what a spectacle it was. There he lay, with one eye peeled towards the hedges, watching his just-out-of-sight friends and wannabe rescuers flounder around and bungle through the motions.

Thrice now had a mysterious ropey woodland vine, tied and tightened around one end to fashion a makeshift lassoo, slipped through the undergrowth, and immediatly hit the clearing floor below with a wet slap. Then the rope would be pulled backwards, back into the invisibility of what lay behind the dark hedges, and all would be still but the rustling of the leaves.

Slap. Four times now.

He was surprised that his captors had not yet heard the plipping and plopping of his friends' intentions. Or, for that matter, his friends' voices. Weatherstorm had a bit of hush to him, true, and Derky was a naturally quiet soul, but he could hear Cananor as clear as day from where he lay, even if he couldn't see the trio, or the seemingly silent Starfire.

Could it have been the crackle of the fire that prevented Icarus' men from taking notice of the sounds around them? Belove gave them a glance, hootering and hollering at Weatherstorm's little written laments. Somehow, he doubted it. For soldiers, they were far from observant. He counted himself lucky to be held under lock and key by the least elite bodyguards he had ever met, and that they had their backs to him.

He watched the vine fly through the hedge for a fifth time, and this attempt made it further to their goal than the last. It was an admirable plan, Belove had to admit, even if it was going slightly left of field, and he respected the resourcefulness of his comrades. As Cananor had rather loudly, too loudly if Belove himself had heard his whispers, reiterated Derky's revised plan, they were to fashion a lasso with the materials they had on hoof. Using that lasso, they would be able to reach through into the clearing, hook their saddlebags, and reel them in, back into their refuge. Doing so right under the noses of his own sentries.

A decent first stage of the plan, all in all. Whatever they actually needed the bags themselves for in such a situation was lost on the prisoner, however, because Cananor had decided to tone his voice down halfway into their rundown of stage two. He could only imagine that the bags were pivotal to the overall success of the plan as a whole, and since he'd heard the words "rescue Belove" peppered around, he'd rather like them to succeed.

Of course, like all plans, it needed improvement. Belove scanned their hoofmade instrument with unchanging eyes as it was slowly reeled back into the bushes. He could tell that the lasso had been hobbled together by a bunch of amateurs who had never tied a sturdy knot in their lives. Trying to hit anything with that loose a loop would be like trying to wrangle a raging bull's nose ring with a shoelace. He was put in mind of the claw of a skill crane down in Ponyville arcade. Maybe by the thousandth or so attempt they may just win themselves their prize. He hoped they brought enough tokens with them because they were playing for his life.

His friends, he had noticed, also threw like girls with pansy arms. Or maybe pansies with girl arms. They had yet to throw the ramshackle lasso relatively close to their target, no more than having cleared the hedge they nestled themselves behind before it lolled to the forest floor like a noodle slipping through the cracks of a fork.

Crssh THWRUPT.

Belove's eyes opened wide. Everything had happened so fast. He was unsure as to whom had been operating the lasso beforehoof, but he was almost certain now that Derky had been handed the reigns. Out of the undergrowth the vine had flown, both ends, soaring squirmishly through the night sky. What an unfortunate overshoot. Past the stationary saddlebags it flew, and hit one of Icarus' guards on the back of the neck with a sharp snap. The page he had been holding in his hooves fell forward, into the fire, the stolen glasses on his nose nearly joined it, and some somewhere behind him, there was an exclaimation of, "Ah, whoopsie."

The Pegasus soldier's reaction was instant. Simultaneously clenching his jaw, hooves and wings, his head swivelled around like that of an owl, his eyes narrow and ominous. Belove's heart skipped a beat. What a rescue this turned out to be. His friends would be discovered now, surely, and the sleeping Manticore would soon be eating not just an equine breakfast, but a full five-horse meal.

Feeling around at the back of his head, the royal bodyguard rose up from his seat, his eyes not once breaking contact with Belove. "What is this?" He demanded, seething, holding the thrown object aloft like a murder weapon. "Why?"

Belove sighed, at mopped at his brow. That armour-clad chump thought that he himself had thrown it as an act of defiance. His friends hadn't been caught red, or rather, green, handed as he had thought. He decided to reinforce the lie. "Ach, sure... I did it for the vine. Thought you and the banana guzzler might want to, you know..." He whipped at the air with his hoof and made a tsh noise. "Court martial each other. I don't know what you high-and-mighty Canterlot 'soldiers' do in your spare time, when you're not off grooming yourselves."

The high and mighty Canterlot soldiers were both offended. With a ruffle of his wings and a cry of, "You... you pony trash!" the poetry guard flew to his hooves and, in his bout of anger, kicked the nearest saddlebag, that being Weatherstorm's, over onto its side. The flap flopped open and out sprawled all that had been contained within, all of the journalist's travelling possessions, all rolling out onto the spongy forest floor, about one and a half meters from the surrounding shrubbery. Neither of the accused bodyguards noticed.

The first guard came to a sudden stop at Belove's makeshift prison and grabbed the occupant gruffly by his chest fur, slamming his face against the bars that stood between them. He didn't look like he took the joke well, and Belove pondered if he had accidently struck a very real cord. "Don't you understand? Don't you get it yet? You're nothing but a farm to us!"

Squirming against the vice of his aggressor, Belove's eyes moved past him, and his accomplice, to the bushes. He could see the faintest silvery tingle illuminate off of the dark green leaves, and heard the slightest jingle of unicorn magic. One by one, the strewn items, cast from the haven of Weatherstorm's bag, began to move, and the lick of icey aura was so faint that they may very well have been moving of their own accord. First, he saw the circular dish of white talc that Weatherstorm used to keep his hooves soft and womanly roll off, guided by that invisible horn, into the blankness of the bushes. Not a second later, the ice blue mist snaked out and around a tub of mane gel, and then a few stray hair clips, and one of Cananor's combs, and pulled them all back in through the greenery. One banana peel. Then another. And another. Four banana peels slid silently along the ground and joined the rest of the reclaimed objects. Belove smiled.

The first guard kept his hooves wrapped around Belove's fur, but his brow softened into a look of mystery. "Are you listening to me?"

"Aye, aye, something about me growing up on a farm. Original."

There was a rustling now, louder than ever, coming from behind the bushes, and then a grunt, and what could have been a whisper. The second guard, vine in hand, caught on to the sound at once. "Hey," he said, still chewing banana with his mouth full, "Didcha hear that? Rustling." He turned and, head lowered, began to approach the bushes. They fell silent, and still. Too silent. Too still.

Belove laughed, and the other guard's grip on him tightened. "Leaves rustle. You're learning."

He paid the mouthy earth pony no mind. The Royal Bodyguard could swear that the closer he got, he could hear mumbling... He put both hooves to the leaves, and began to open a peephole, slowly, deliberately...

"EW! AH, OW, EW, EW, EW!"

The guard was torn away from the hedge by the sound of frantic activity behind him. His comrade was flailing around the clearing, his hooves groping at his left eye, which was shut and twitching. He made a most awful commotion, and it sounded unlike him. The prisoner lay on his back on the floor of his cell, and he was laughing even harder, holding a hoof to his own cheek and rubbing it in circular motions. "Janey Mac! I got you as good as you got me, eh?"

The first guard tried to prise apart his eyelids. "You... you're disgusting! You SPAT IN MY EYE!"

"Well, I wasn't aiming for your eye, but I've got to say, I'm not complaining with the outcome, so I'm not."

The soldier growled, and stumbled around the camp, coming perilously close to the fire. "I could have sworn that there were eyedrops in one of those bags. Oh, where are they?" He pawed at the ground, tumbling through the strewn, assorted healthcare products and tattered sheets that he, himself, had scattered. He waved off at his comrade. "Deal with him."

"Well, what do you want me to do to him?"

"Whip him! Beat him! In fact, to heck with the Captain's plan, feed him to the beast now for all I care!"

And then came a mistake. "Beast?" Followed by, "Whoops."

Neither of the three soldiers had spoken those two words. The two Canterlot guards shared glances, then both looked to Belove. The latter cleared his throat, and blushed. "U-uh... I mean... Beast? That's what I said. Me. I said it."

They didn't buy it. The second guard, still holding the vine like a whip, called to the bushes, "Now I know somepony is hiding back there. Come out!"

Beloved facehoofed when a response came from the shrubbery. "...Uh, just a minute." This was followed by hushed whispering.

At the very least, the sheer brazenness of whomsoever lay behind the hedge, just out of sight, took the guards by such surprise that they could speak nary a word between them. They stood, dumbfounded both, unmoving for several seconds, trying to piece together exactly what was happening tonight.

And then Derky walked out from behind the hedge and right into the clearing, directly into plain view. Belove almost died on the spot.

The Pegasus was wearing the most bizarre getup Belove had ever seen. It certainly was deserving of a double take. The once soft, caramel brown Derky Bells' fur was now as white as sunbleached bones, an unnatural, offputting white. Belove couldn't tell if he still wore his usual shirt or not, for it may well have just receeded back into his overbearing whiteness and became one with his fur.

His mane, too, was altered almost beyond recognition. Anasuming he may be, but one of Derky's most noticeable traits was his fluorescent ginger hair, something that he no longer seemed to possess. From his scalp, hung long strands of yellow. A fair, off-blonde. Everything about the image was so off, and more pressingly, so out of place.

He looked as far from the Derkington that Belove knew as could be possible. But he was not mistaken. That silly little muzzle that slanted awkwardly to one side. The green, effortless eyes. The breezy brow that had not a line of worry upon it.

'Derky?' Belove thought, his mind still unable to come to terms with what he was looking at, 'What'n the heck is he doing out here? What is going on with his fur? His mane? Why is he smiling at my captors?'

Derky blinked, and the gap-mouthed soldiers blinked back. He bent his static, expressionless face into a forced, heroic smile, and spoke loudly and deliberately. "Gentlecolts! It is I, your captain, Icarus!"

The soldier harassing Belove released him at once, and both the captors looked to each other, and then their newly emerged 'captain.' Belove fell to the floor as the iron grip was freed of him, but the shock of what he was seeing was quickly being superseded by what he was hearing.

"Captain?" Guard number one asked, "Is that you?"

"Quite," replied the disguised Derky, "That is indeed who I am. Icarus, your superior. I have returned."

The soldiers looked him up and down. The guard with the vine-whip that the rescuers had fashioned bit his lip and tightened the grip on his weapon. His comrade clicked his tongue, loudly, and made an advance towards the imposter.

'Ah jays,' Belove squirmed in his cage, and he saw the innocently smiling Derky do likewise as the trained and armored guardspony walked closer to his so-called-superior. 'What were they thinking, sending Derky in here like that? Looking like that? Just daft, that is!'

The first guard pressed right up against the disguised Derky, and stared right into his soft, green eyes. Derky remained oddly calm in his typical blasé manner, opened his mouth, and, "Soldier, you are infringing on my personal space, stand down," came out.

'No way,' Belove thought. 'There's no way that they'll trick even these eejits into thinking that Derky is Captain Icarus. Not a chance.' A small part of him hoped to every deity under the sun, and the deity of the sun herself, that he was very, very wrong.

He was very, very wrong. To his surprise, the soldier bowed his head at once, and placed a hoof to his chest. The other bodyguard did likewise. "Sorry, sir," the first soldier said, "I thought that you might have been one of this pony's friends."

'Icarus' laughed. "Have you forgotten what they look like already, soldier? Or what I, your leader, look like?"

Belove remained quiet, and listened to Derky talk. There was something off about his speech. He'd known the stallion for the better part of his childhood and throughout his adolescence. Derky was a slack-jawed creature. He mumbled out his words with often incoherent effortlessness. And whilst he, standing there in his disguise, looked vaguely like Icarus, if in nothing else but for the wings on his back, he sounded a little bit TOO convincing. The voice coming from Derky's mouth, whilst not quite perfect, was pretty darned close to the voice of the real Icarus himself. The pegasus was certainly replicating the same tone and pitch as the absent captain, and following the same speech patterns, even down to the faux Canterlot accent. Not a bad imitation, all in all, and if Belove had have closed his eyes, he might have even believed that Derky's Icarus voice belonged to the real deal.

Very odd, indeed.

Because Derky wasn't exactly good at pretending.

The second guard loosened his stance, and spoke up. "All of them look the same to me, captain." He coughed, as though he wasn't sure as to how to phrase his next statement. "But, uh... you need to fix up your image a little bit. You don't look right. Captain."

"Ah, yes. I lost my armor. To a... pool of quicksand, would you believe it."

"I don't mean your armor, captain. But I know that that image is hard to keep up. Just make sure to reapply it before we head back to the city. Could be hard to explain for all of us if you don't."

Derky looked almost puzzled for a moment, and he perched his lips together into a duckface. And yet he somehow still spoke, clearly and coherently, in his rendition of Icarus' voice, "I appreciate the exhortation, soldier." He seemed to bite his lip at that, and then opened his mouth in an exaggerated, silent speech, at least a second before he continued to speak in that same, passable impression.

His lip movements did not at all match the words coming from his mouth, for he looked like a guppy gulping water with wild tongue waggling and obscure, forced and exaggerated, but he spoke confidently and smoothly as though he were simply poorly miming or lip-synching along to a movie he had yet to watch.

Belove was not perceptive enough to pick up on this, but Derky's choice wording kept the alarm bells ringing. Not once, for as long as he'd known him, had he heard Derky use the word, 'Exhortation.' Belove himself barely knew the meaning, or at least, he thought he did, and he wouldn't dare attempt to pronounce it.

Sure, it was very in-character of Derky to keep the multiple syllable words flowing as the pony he was pretending to be, but very out of character for him as the pony that he was underneath. Derky was not a walking dictionary, after all. Such forced vocabulary was a hallmark of those who dearly wished to pretend, and he knew only two who would ever pepper their dialogue with that kind of fru-fru, flowery nonsense. Only two ponies. One of whom who had imprisoned him, and the other who was trying to break him out, likely right behind that hedge...

"Weatherstorm?" Belove mumbled the name under his breath.

It couldn't be Weatherstorm speaking. Not a chance. Of course, the journalist could probably attempt a decent impersonation of the captain if he wanted to, and only he would be able to pick up on all of Icarus' little speech habits, but the figure that stood before him, completely fooling the two guards, was clearly Derky. It just didn't add up. Wasn't Weatherstorm just speaking from the bushes, either. The voice was coming from Derky's mouth, at least, that's how it looked.

Not that Belove was going to sweat himself with the small stuff. All he needed to know was that Derky was somehow passing himself off as Captain Icarus, and that his two captors were apparently stupid enough to fall for it.

"So, Captain," the first guard asked, slowly sauntering over to the back of the clearing, towards a dark object that lay encased in shadow, "Does this mean that the plan went ahead without a hitch?" He sounded optimistic.

"Yes, yes," Derky replied. Belove could only imagine that he was telling them whatever they wanted to hear. Likely biding his time. Frankly, he was still in awe of the moving-company-employee's apparent knack for voice acting. "Flawlessly. All according to plan."

"The others?"

Derky said nothing for a moment, and Belove believed that only now had he notcied that there were two hostile soldiers in the clearing, not four. He came back with a quick, "Uh... oh, of course. They're finishing up. The plan, that is. They'll be joining us shortly." Once again, his mouth barely moved.

"Heh. Nice." The second guard smiled. "Can't wait until we head back to Canterlot and finish up for good, sir. I've been looking forward to slipping back into something more comfortable." He scratched at his mane as he turned, and joined his friend by the dark edge of the clearing. "Hey, captain? Is there any chance we could pick up some bananas on the way back? I ate a few while you were gone, and they're actually kind of tasty."

"Shouldn't be eating those things if you ask me," the first guard said, pushing Weatherstorm's glasses from the bridge of his nose, up past his forehead. "I know they're different to what we usually have, but who knows what effect they'll have on you? Now, these glasses," he pointed, "I'm thinking of keeping them for myself. Think I'd look good with glasses."

"Like heck you will," replied Derky, sternly, so suddenly that even he looked surprised. His impression wavered into something else altogether, but he quickly regained control of his voice. "I, uh... I mean, those glasses are prescription, surely. You'll ruin your perfect 20/20 vision, and what use will you be to your country then? I suggest you give them to me, so that I may dispose of them."

"Yes, sir," the guard said reluctantly. He made no attempt to give his commanding officer the glasses in question. "But first, don't you think it's about time we got rid of him?" He pointed to Belove. "We've kept tight lips in your absense, but he's got a wild look in his eyes. I think he might have us figured. Especially now that he's seen you like this, sir. The sooner he is out of the picture for good, the better."

"Indeed, chaps," Derky stood right up to Belove's cage, and tapped it once. His wide, heavy-eyed smile never left him. "Time to haul this prisoner back to Canterlot and lock him up in the big house, where he belongs. But we can't carry a CAGE with us, you know. Quickly, now, pass me the key to his cell, double time!"

"Oh?" The second guard looked puzzled for a moment, and then his eyes widened, and a look of bemusement came about him. He and his comrade shared a knowing glance. "Well sure, if you say so."

The two guards stood by the dark shape in the corner, and turned their backs for the briefest of moments. Belove could hear them mumbling quietly. Derky seized the moment of privacy by leaning in close to Belove, and whispering to him, in his usual monotone voice, "Hey, Belove. Don't be afraid. I'm not really Icarus."

"I know, Derky." Belove whispered back.

"It's me, your friend."

"I know, Derky."

"Yeah, Derky Bells. That's me. Surprise! Don't tell anypony, but I'm in disguise." He winked.

"Derky, great to see you and all, but how in the heck is your fur white? And clumpy? You look like somepony has dumped a big bag of flour on your head."

"Well," Derky hushly replied, "Chalk, I think. Or, you know... that white, powder stuff that Weatherstorm puts on his hooves to, uh, keep them soft, or something. He had a little dish of the stuff in his bag, so we stole it. Well, re-stole it from the ponies who, um, stole it first."

"Talc powder? You're telling me that they covered you head to hoof in the stuff they put on baby's butts? No wonder you smell like a delicate wee foal."

"D'aww, thanks! It makes me feel smooth. Like a marshmallow." He brushed a hoof along his magically blonde mane. "Oh, these are banana peels. We just stripped them really fine and tied them in, like braids. Weatherstorm said I had to be real careful not to move my head all around, or they'd fall out. And, uh... that would look pretty sick"

Belove bit his tongue. There were a million things he wanted to say, but he settled on, "You have the others with you, aye? Don't suppose that they'll all race out here in 'disguises' too, will they?"

"No, no. They need to be secret and hidden and stuff so that we can help you escape. I have this whole plan."

"So you are helping me escape. Thank me lucky days for that. Thought you lads were just here to mock me for leaving you all back in that cave."

Derky winked. "Trust me, you'll like this plan. It's sneaky. Like ninjas."

"Captain," the first guard interrupted their whispered exchange. "Could you come over here for a moment? We need your help."

Shooting Belove a final, sidewards wink, the disguised Derky bounced over to his newfound, oblivious squadmates, with all the energy that stolen valour provided. His voice naturally slank back into that of Icarus, even if his silly little features found it considerably more difficult to do so. Either Derky had became infused with the spirit of Icarus himself, or perhaps Weatherstorm and his mastery of the accented tongue had possessed the poor pegasus, but this voice was not his own.

"Sir, captain..." the first guard blushed under his specs. "I am sorry. I was clumsy. And there may now be a problem on our hooves."

"Spit it out, soldier."

The second guard spoke up. "Eh, see, 'Pede here was rustling around for the key to HIS cage... and accidently dropped the thing in ITS cage."

"Whose cage?" Derky drew closer to the couple. They huddled around a dark shape. Their shadows, somehow so large and shifting, kept the thing faint and obscured.

"Oh, ya'know... THIS cage." Both guards moved aside and beckoned their captain lookalike to join them. Standing between the two, Derky caught his first glimpse of the second prisoner.

The manticore remained caged, in its larger-than-life slumber, but there was a restlessness about it. It lay close to the bars than confined it and pawed at the ground with its wicked claws, as though its biological clock was already beginning to naturally wake the thing as the new sunless day dawned.

"Whoa," Derk-arus said, his accent dropping. "That's a manticore." From somewhere off in the far bushes, Belove could make out a very faint, muffled, "A manticore?"

The voice, and Derky's slip, remained unnoticed. "Again, I'm sorry, captain. Can you see the key in there, at all? You might have to reach in close to the beast's mouth. I think I see it glinting."

Derky remained puzzled, but his voice quickly recovered. He asked, from a mouth that barely moved at all, as plain as the day that would not come, "You are asking me to reach in, through the bars of a... manticore's cage, to rectify your mistake?"

"Please, captain. We're too scared to put our own hooves anywhere near that thing. But you? A manticore is like a household fly to you, sir."

"Yeah, you're braver than us," affirmed the second guard, "Captain, you've never been afraid of a little old manticore for as long as we've served under you. Certainly not this manticore that you beat with your own two hooves."

Derky shuffled, then looked behind him, and gave a shrug to the bushes. "Very well," he said, perfectly, his lips unmoving, "I'll show you sorry excuses for 'elite' soldiers how it is done, and when we find ourselves back in Canterlot, I'll have you stripped of your ranks and shining my horseshoes. Clear?"

"Yes, captain. Thank you, captain. Do you see the key in the darkness? There. By the monster's mouth."

The pegasus didn't seem at all hesitant to stick his hoof in the cage, and the onlookers seemed a little surprised by Derky's apparent enthusiasm, given the circumstances. He bent down to his haunches and slid his right foreleg through the bars, his hoof coming rather close to the mouth of the sleeping beast. "Whoa, nice," cooed the stallion in his usual voice. "You look really sweet up close. When you're asleep, and not trying to eat me and stuff."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that." A flash of white, and suddenly, Derky's hoof was pinned to the ground. The two soldiers held him in place, pushing his face against the dirt. "After all, we have been keeping track of the time since YOU left, 'captain.' It's probably time to get this furball some breakfast. Should we wake it up, sir?"

The mutany was so sudden. Belove tried to shout, but couldn't. A panicked gasp erupted from the bushes, but was cut short. Derky himself tried to pull his hoof back from their grasp, but finding it constricted still, merely said, "Oh no."

The second guard laughed. "You think you could fool us?"

"Uh, I don't know. Kinda," Derky said, but he managed to overlap himself with a slightly breathy, nevertheless well pronounced, "What is this madness, soldiers? Insubordination?"

"Cut the act. You honestly think we wouldn't recognize an imposter when we saw one?" The first guard tightened his grip on Derky's foreleg. "You haven't been paying much attention. To the way he walks, the way he talks, the way he carries himself in private. You would also know, sir, that I had no key to misplace. That you, captain, took the key with you."

"How dumb do you think we are? You lost your armor? The others are finishing the final plan? You really have no idea about this entire situation, do you, stranger?"

Derky tried to struggle free again, but they kept him in their iron grip. He retained his mimicked voice, but it sounded desperate. "I swear, you stallions had better release me at once, or else you'll be lucky to find yourselves in front of a military court."

The first guard laughed. "Impressive, to keep that impersonation going for as long as you have. Even now." He leaned in close, and twisted his captive's arm. "Can you even tell us our names, sir?"

Silence. And then came two very different answers.

"Soldier stallion and guard guy?" guessed Derky with a sideways smile. But he also managed to simultaneously say, in his Icarus voice, "Court-Martialed and Dishonorably-Discharged. That's certainly what they'll call you when I'm finished with you."

They twisted Derky's arm sharply and Belove protested, rattling against the steadfast wooden bars of his cell. "How did you do that?" The first guard inquired, growing angrier by the second. "You spoke with two different voices."

"Yeah, at the same time." The second guard seemed puzzled. "How'd he do that?" He turned to Belove. "Was it you?"

"'Course not," the first guard said. "That one is too stupid to impersonate voices. His accent is too thick."

"You're too thick, you eejit."

"I'm not a e-jet, Belove."

"I wasn't talking to you, Derky. I was talking to those manhandling bozos restraining you."

The first guard pressed his knee deeper into Derky's back, and held the pegasus' arm in place. "Oh. So, your name is Derky, is it?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Well, look at that," the second guard clapped his hooves. "He did it again! Two voices at once! From the same mouth! Like a magic trick!"

"I don't know how, but..." The guard with the glasses shot his head around the surrounding area in something close to panic, and then whispered, so hot and heavy in Derky's ear. "There's somepony else here, isn't there? Putting words in your mouth. Hiding? Where, in the trees? In the bushes? Where are they? Tell us."

"Er... no thanks. Sorry."

"Did that sound like a request?" The guard stamped on Derky's hoof for effect, and he winced. "We know that this sad sack pretending to be our captain isn't working alone!" He called out to the dark forest, beyond the reaches of the campfire. "That means, we know you're out there, somewhere! Hiding in the undergrowth with your voices and... words! So, here's what is going to happen!"

He nudged his comrade, and signalled to his whip, and then to the manticore. The message was conveyed aptly. "I'm going to take this imposter's hoof and start moving it closer and closer to this manticore's snout. My partner here, meanwhile, will begin lashing at the beast with that whip. Now, I can't see our sleeping pet here waking up in too good of a mood, and he'll take a lunge at the first thing he sees. Probably gonna be this," he pointed to the squirming Derky, "pony's right foreleg. That is, unless, you give yourself up, stranger. Do that, and we might go easy on you. Both. Let the manticore eat you whole instead of lots of little bites. You have 10 seconds to make up your mind." He began to force Derky's hoof towards the sleeping manticore's mouth, inch by inch, as his fellow soldier readied his whip.

Sweat began to form on Derky's brow, but Belove wasn't sure whether it was a result of the thought of his imminent, impending doom, the pain from the blockheaded bullies twisting his hoof into positions that hooves should not be twisted into, or a buzz of excitement of getting to touch a real life sleeping manticore up close. Derky was a hard pony to read.

As it turned out, Derky was sweating as a result of all three. "Hey, guys..." he said in his usual drawl, "I really like the idea of getting to pet a manticore when it isn't trying to eat me, which is nice. But you're leaning real heavy on my hoof and it's going kinda numb. Also, I don't want you to wake the manticore up and make it bite my hoof off. That wouldn't be great. Could you not do that?"

"Eight seconds now."

"I counted seven." The second guard said. "Wish I had a stopwatch on me."

"Oh. Okay. Well, now it's down to six. Believe me, whoever you are, wherever you are, my colleague and I have no problems with letting this thing tear your friend's hoof apart reeeaaaal slow, so-"

"Four seconds."

"No way," Derky spoke up, "It's gotta be about three seconds by now. Uh, I think, anyway. Maybe I counted wrong."

Belove gnashed at his cage. "Derky, don't help them count, of all things!"

"Sorry."

The guard with the whip readied himself, poised over the stirring Manticore with a manic grin. Whipping a hapless creature? Watching it eat a pony's leg whole in one big bite? He couldn't deny that he loved his job. "Three, two, o-"

"Wait!" The voice was Icarus', but it no longer came from Derky's talc-y mouth. It came from behind the hedge. A cough, and then another, "Wait. Don't hurt him. We're coming." This time the voice was unmistakingly Weatherstorm's.

Slowly, timidly, four ears poked through the foliage, followed by two snouts and eight legs. Weatherstorm and Cananor, both splattered with dashes of talc powder and decorated with the occasional leaf, stood before their challengers. And neither of them looked at all happy about it.

"Bother," Weatherstorm mused. "Looks as though the gig really is up. We've been made, and make no mistake."

"Sure does. Looks like we're gonna have to make a fight of it, huh?"

Belove bit his lip.

As far as rescues went... well, he'd seen better.