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.'