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."