I zigzagged in the air. "Swish!"

Breaking the current, fighting against the wind, I leave a trail of colors amidst the ocean of blue. Doing a Sonic Rainboom right now might clear the sky in an instant, but Spitfire was strict, is strict, that I only ever use it for an emergency or during our performance.

Gotta do it the old fashion way, I guess.

I jump from one cloud to another, from cumulus to stratus to citrus, chopping and karate-kicking them to a puff of nothing. As soon as I see one that balloons in my peripherals, I am already dashing towards it and, a sec later, bang! Another tries to ambush me from behind. I summersault and deliver a downward spiral head butt attack. Gathering the momentum, I propel myself to an impetus towards some cloud clusters, and then “swoosh!”

They never saw it coming.

Dash: 99; Clouds: 0

A small cloud, just about the size of Tank, floats idly by towards me. I puff it away with a slap of my hoof.

Maybe I should at least give these things a fighting chance?

I remember back in flight school how my profs all argued among themselves about the things they taught us. I never bothered to know why they bothered to teach us what kind of clouds are there, they all puff out like cotton candy the same way. The only thing they needed to tell us was which was a simple, "White clouds, puffs. Gray clouds, rain. And black clouds, lightning." Which pretty much sums up two semesters in flight school. Heck, even I can teach that to colts and fillies. If that’s all there is it then I can probably work in the academe like Twilight.

Not!

Sure, those ivory tower armchair professionals can bicker and lecture all they want, but none of them can make a sunny day like I can. And it’s not like I’m gonna give up the sky for a boring egghead classroom.

I zipped up my blue suit and finished up my work. Rolling and twisting in the air, I dart through clouds after clouds like a dart. The cool moisture feels good against my suit, which protected my coat from being stickily wet.

After a few rounds, the last of the cloud wisps out against my wing. I look up, to the warm sun, eyes squinting. Sure enough, sunny skies for Sweet Apple Acres all day long.

I stretch my limbs and wings, hearing them slightly pop for a second as my bones snap in place. The easy feeling of release it always gives me is a small reward in itself.

I glide upside for a moment, my hooves behind my head, basking my underbelly to the heat of the afternoon. My wings relax a bit and my body lets itself be carried by the wind, falling and gliding down like the autumn leaf. But then I yawn, and then I sigh. I have time to waste before I leave, hopefully by napping, but I know that is not gonna happen today. A friend’s gotta do what a friend’s gotta do.

Well... I think... Time to have another fight with Applejack, I suppose.

Below me, every fully blossomed apple of Sweet Apple Acres takes their share of the sunshine. Each red fruit shining to a bright white like cluttered beads of pearls. And moving between those green clumps of leaves is an orange coated earth pony.

I still my wings and descend to a free fall, exactly to the next tree Applejack is just about to buck. I land in the thicket of the branches, quiet as a squirrel I am. She nears; and as she rears her hindlegs for a tree-shaking kick, I pop out from my cover of leaves, shouting:

"Heya , Applejack!"

A distracted Applejack loses her concentration and balance, the momentum of her kick folds it on itself. Her focus gone haywire, she slips and falls sideways.

I burst out laughing.

"That ain't funny, Rainbow," she says, scowling. "Ah coulda hurt ya."

"Yeah," I reply, plucking out an apple from a branch, "says the mare who got her face on the ground."

She stands up and brushes a mane aside. "And that apple's worth two bit."

"Just put it on my tab," I say, taking the first bite from the fruit. Though we both know that since Applejack is the bestest friend ever, she never actually keeps a real tab.

...I hope.

She dusts a few dirt on her coat and picks up a few dropped apples. Even now, she still’s the gorgeous mare I had a crush on all those years ago. In fact, is she getting sexier? I know for a fact that she doesn’t work out but she must be straining herself very hard here in the farm if her flank is toning up a bit.

That flank...

Dash! Don’t think that. I mentally shout to myself. You already have Fluttershy, you’ll make your mare cry again.

That flank! that flank! that flank! that flank! that flank! dat flank!

Damn it!

Applejack turns around, sees the look on my face, and asks with a raished eyebrow, "So what can ah do ya for?"

She means, ‘What can I do for you?’ you little perv! I tell myself.

Finally gathering some self-control and common sense, I give myself a slap on the cheek. A gesture that raises another one of Applejack’s eyebrow. "Oh, you know,” I say, “just saying goodbye before I leave for Wonderbolt training again."

"Oh." She puts a hoof to her chin. "Sorry, was that today? Thought that was next week."

"Yeah, it was supposed to be next week but I wanted not to be late for once."

"If ah knew ah'd have ask Granny Smith to make you some of that apple pie ya love." She wears the hoofgrip of the applecart to her sides and pulls the entire thing to the next tree. "How long will ya be gone this time?"

"I dunno. Nine days, maybe. We have another show in Manehattan so it might take more than that."

"Well, look at you,” she laughs, “starting to become a busy and responsible member of society."

"Hey!"

Applejack bucks the tree and the branches shake their fruits directly down the cart. "Just don't be gone too long too often or ya'll make yer Fluttershy lonely."

"My mare can take care of herself."

I watch as Applejack moves toward the next two apple trees, meanwhile finishing my apple. She knows what our silence means, and what’s gonna come up next. So before she can reach and kick the next tree, I dart through the air and perch on its branches. Before she can grumble again, I beat her to it.

"So…” the word comes out as a sigh, “You're gonna search again, aren't you?"

Applejack casts her head down and heaves out a breath, "Rainbow..."

"Yeah... we're gonna have to go through this again."

"It's useless, Dash. We're just gonna have another fight and we’ll just be in a sour mood for days."

“If that’s what it takes.”

“It’ll take much more than that,” she spits. “No matter what happens, ah’m goin’ on a search again.”

I throw my hooves up. "AJ, it's been three years. Don't you think it's time–"

"No!"

"But you've already searched for her all over Equestria–"

"Ah know, Dash. So this time ah'm gonna look for her in the Draconian mainlands."

I want to laugh, to laugh so hard to throw her words back at her. Because she can't be serious. Even if she says it with a straight face, without batting an eye, she can't seriously consider going to the Draconian continent.

"Look, Applejack," I try, smiling apologetically. "I can rush back here tonight if you want. Or I can leave tomorrow, that works too. Why don't we drop by the bar? I'll buy you a drink. And maybe I can hook you up with somepony–"

"Ah'm still gonna look for her."

"What the hell!?” I erupt. “To Dragon-land? The only thing crazier than that is walking through Tartarus and coming back alive."

"And if she is in Tartarus, then ah'm climbin’ down that hellhole to pull her back here with me."

"Forget about her, AJ! She’s an unfaithful cheating–"

I forgot what I am supposed to say. Applejack unsaddles the hoofgrip of the cart and lets it fall on the ground with a deafening dull thud. It actually feels more like she threw the thing on the ground; the axletree detaches from the cartwheel, tipping the wooden platform to the side, and the hard-bucked-for apples spill on the dirt.

"Don't force me to get physical on ya, Dash,” she threatens, eyes glaring. “Say somethin’ like that again and ya’d be goin’ on that trainin’ of yers with a black eye like last time."

“Oh, yeah?” I answer back, not letting her threaten me unchallenged. “We’ll you’ll be bucking trees in a wheelchair... like last time.”

It starts, as it always did, with a staring contest. Then I take to the air, my wings batting furiously to show her I’m serious.

Yeah... we’re definitely gonna rough up each other.

I am ready to pounce on her again, to push her to the ground. And she might wrestle me down the dirt and hit me a couple of times before I can slide out and give her a few punches myself. Yeah, I can see it replaying all over like the last three dozen times we’ve fought. I even wonder how we can still be best friends with constant repetition of this. A lesser friend would have been an enemy by now with how often we fight. Strangest routine for bestest friends, I guess.

But something stops me, and I don’t lunge at her as we both expect. Instead, I just remain there, aloft in the air, looking down at her. I don’t know what stops me. Maybe because I know that another fight won’t change anything. Maybe because the look on Applejack’s eye, a look of three years of consistent and unflinching determination, shows me how futile I am. Maybe because after three years, three whole goddamn years, I want to stop fighting with my best friend.

“Pfft!” I belch out, throwing the half-eaten apple to the side. "Whatever."

I turn around, ready to abandon the both of us to our confusion. But something, again, stops me. “Goddamnit,” I shout to the sky. “Son of a–”

I come flying back to her face, confrontational but nonthreatening.

"You know what," I say, pushing my muzzle against hers. "Every time, every darn time before I leave for training I risk a bad taste in my mouth and a brawl with you just to be that good straightforward friend who'll dish out the truth. Honesty’s supposed to be your line, AJ. She won't come back because she doesn't want to, and you don't have an obligation to look for her. You probably won't see her again and it's high time for you to move on. And I won't stop saying these things until it comes through that dense numbskull of yours."

I see her eyes squints. "Ya done lecturin' me for the month, Rainbow?"

"Yeah... Probably..."

"Well... Maybe yer right,” she pushes me away, not shoves, to put some distance between us. “But I am still gonna look for her. Ah won't stop, Dash."

"Damnit, Applejack! You're..."

"Crazy?"

"Stubborn. It's that stubbornness of yours that made me fall in love with you back then."

"If Flutters hears you she'll cry for sure."

"If you really plan to go just... just...” Oh Damn it! “Damn it, They’ll hate me for this! Alright, alright! You wanna go to Draconia, fine! But I’m going with you, and we'll bring Twilight and Pinkie along. No way you’re going to lizard-land alone."

“What!?”

“You heard me.”

“B-But... yer Wonderbolt show...?” She stops, shakes her head, and rephrases her sentences. “Ah never asked ya to stick yer neck out for me.”

“Hey, too late now, bub. If you’re going, I’m going too. The only way we’re not going is if you’re not going.”

“Don’t be foalish, Dash,” she hisses. “Ah don’t approve of it.”

“Approval not needed.” At least with this, she won’t leave if she doesn’t want to risk all of us in danger; and if otherwise, there wouldn’t be risk of danger if she’s with us.

Applejack sighs, seeing that there’s no way I’m gonna let this one up. She knows she doesn’t want me to go for the same reason I want her to stay. She picks up the fallen apples, tosses it back to the cart, and attaches the entire thing to her side again.

"You're a good friend, Dash,” she says, walking to a nearby tree, “even though you make me mad lots of times.” She bucks, and the apples fall to a compose pyramid in the cart. “Speaking of Pinkie, the gal was looking for ya last night. Why not drop by her house later?"

"Fine," I sigh. "...And you give me lots of headaches too."

At least this went a lot better than another fight.

Entombed. Enwombed. The unborn abomination. I am awake.

Beneath the canopy of a sunny day, my windows are shut tight against the sky. Yet still, chinks of the afternoon steals itself from the slits, in slanting strips and pieces, and, by Lady Luck's mischief or Discord’s twisted humor, falls to my still dreaming eyes. A narrow needle, parchment light, that cuts across the verticals of the room.

I awake, squinting my eyes open as I yawn and curse the brightness. It is dark here. Around me are a hundred silhouettes of a hundred phantoms: balloons, balls, dolls, candies, and furniture, the darkness molding itself to the contours of my room. These inanimates, faceless as they are, become faceless even more when lurking behind the omnipresent shadow. Shapes without entities. Forms without function. Somethings without things. The cold pale womb lacks in it the warmth of a place, and it is only the persistent ray of light that shows I am not trapped inside my own mind–or, as an effusive romantic may put it–inside my own blackening heart. Heart of an artichoke.

I rise, feeling my bladed mane glide down my shoulders. Like the inner blood before a wound, the darker pigmentation of its color is the shade of pale darkness around me.

Beside me, Gummy, wet and alive, feels my waking and he uncoils his tail from its embrace around my hips.

Slithering. Massive. A dormant carpet of scales and maw. Frightening sea monster. Swimming here in my womb.

Cold like me. I, like the cold. I like the cold.

I run a hoof down to his snout and watch as the several slick shutters of his eye folds open to unveil those jagged pupillary fangs. He smiles, or snarls, or whatever the hell it is that reptilian creatures such as he does with his mouth.

The world around me stirs, sending my heightened sense of things to its vibe. Something falling? Opening doors?

No...

Something. A pony. Heading to my room.

Rainbow Dash.

I sigh, wishing to at least wash my face first before the day catches up to me. Regardless, I take a hooffull of jellybeans from a jar and scatter it across the floor. I turn on the lights, and the lights hurt me.

There is a knock on the window.

Hide! Hide now! I wear Thalia's smile on my face and puff my mane again to its round curls. Bracing myself for the intense searing light that will flood the room, I burst the window open to greet my friend:

"Good afternoon, Rainbow Dash!" I shout, forcing a chortle from my smile.

“Afternoon Pinks. How did you know it was me?”

A posteriori noesis via meta-epistemic bypass. “Lucky guess.” I shrug. “Me and Gummy are having a candy eating contest. Wanna join us? I’m winning.”

Looking past me, she sees the jellybeans spread out across the floor. “I’ll pass up on that contest."

“Awww...”

“Rain check, though.”

I smile as wide as I can. “I’ll hold you to it.” I jump beside Gummy, grab him by his neck, and lift his head to Rainbow Dash. “Wanna play a game of catch the hoof, instead?”

She backs away almost instantly, looking at the face of the six-feet two-hundred pound reptile. "Uhhh... No thanks," she says, shaking her head.

She still cannot forget about that time Gummy caught her hoof in his jaw and wouldn't let go for ten minutes. In those minutes, Rainbow Dash might have actually thought that she'll be gummed to death.

"AJ said you had something for me," she sighs, an expression that betrays the cheery mood she tries to portray.

I frown. "Dashie! Did you try to pick a fight with Applejack again?"

“Hey, I didn’t pick a fight with her,” she says, hooves in a defensive cross. “She picked a fight with me.”

Semantics. “Well at least neither of you got hurt this time,” I say, finding no bruises on her coat.

“It was close. We almost... y’know...”

I try not to sigh, and instead maintain the cheeriness my friends love. "So which one do you want first?” I ask, my tone leaping high. “Pinkie-consolation-o-matic or the apple cream pie."

"Apple cream pie, please." She flies in to my room and sits on my bed.

"Sorry, it's still in the oven.” Preconditionary foresight. “In the meantime, you can tell me all about your fight again."

"I'd rather not... again."

I know, as the rest of us does, that Rainbow Dash and Applejack has been constantly fighting. Though fighting is not the best word; I would prefer to call it theatric psychodrama, either an outlet of angst or the only Dionysian means by which they can communicate what is too feminine to be said. At least once a month or so, the two will encounter each other, in Sweet Apple Acres mostly, and engage in a brawl over the simplest of things. I do not worry for them; they worry about each other enough. These affaire d’honneurs they have is nothing more than mutual beatings of restrained punches and careful kicks, enough to inflict pain without the injury. Nothing compared to the death match they had three years ago. Rainbow Dash always instigates it the day she is about to leave for a show or training in order to allow ample time for the distance to mend what wounds they open.

Perhaps, I am wrong too. Rainbow Dash could just well be acting out her subconsciously opportunistic and repressed desire to sexually grope her ex-love in a completely physical confrontation.

"Don't be like that, Dashie. Think of it this way: if you keep this in your chest, it'll weigh you down during your Wonderbolt practiceses.”

"No! I don't rant. That's girly stuff." She crosses her arms, and stares at the wall for a minute or two. Then, throwing her forehooves about, she says, shouts actually, "It’s just that... Applejack is such a bonehead!”

Here we go.

“She actually plans to search all over Draconia this time looking for her dearest,” she says. “And here I am just looking out for her and–..."

Rainbow Dash talks; I listen with one ear, contributing a little using the same phrases and obvious questions expected of a friend. Like that of a customer uttering the same complaint about the same thing about the same merchandise, Rainbow Dash rambles on her half-inculcated rant, inculcated through year-long repetitions.

To summarize Dash’s speech, she speaks mostly of Applejack’s stubborn persistence and how she, as a loyal friend, only has AJ’s best interest at heart.

But it is interesting to note, during these rants of hers, a peculiar abnormality in the workings of her mind: not once–in three years of me listening to her–not once had she mentioned the name of a certain somepony. The same somepony whom I have initially thought to believe to become the object of her curses and denunciations. The same reason and cause for each and every one of Applejack’s expeditions throughout Equestria. The love of Applejack’s life and the ‘Witch of Canterlot.’

As of yet, I cannot conclude if Rainbow Dash is purposely, carefully, and cautiously, omitting her name; or whether this avoidance is but an automatic self-defense mechanism to refrain from speaking of a topic too sensitive–too taboo–even for her.

How to know? I wonder.

"...if she comes home hurt and injured–"

"Do you forgive her?" I interrupt.

"What?"

It is accidental. I slip, in my sudden inquiry, as the curiosity to Rainbow Dash’s state of mind has filled my thoughts and escaped to my lips. It is seldom that I interrupt a friend in her speech, and if I were to do so it is only in the spirit of being comical in its divergence. But, too late now, I have no choice but to press on.

"I mean... She said she was sorry, didn’t she?" To absolve? To condone? Or to pardon? “At least, I think she was.”

"Who,” she asks, shrugging, “Applejack?"

Feign. Evident. "You know who I'm talking about, and it isn't Jackie."

And here, compensating for a lie detected, she blurts out a truth. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't. What does it matter?"

"Maybe it's because you won't forgive her that she won’t come back."

“How does it even relate? It’s been three years, what does it matter if I forgive her or not. Things have stayed the same, haven’t they?”

I am sure she intends to make that last sentence sound as though it is a good thing. True, that things have remained the same. No special event–thanks Celestia for that–has yet to cause the necessity of having to use all six Elements of Harmony, leaving all of us to a current standstill. Things have stayed the same: Twilight still works–or lives–in the library, Applejack still with her apples, I in my mask. The somewhat noteworthy occasion of Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy finally moving in together has caused little change to either pegasi. Rainbow Dash still practices with the Wonderbolts–ah! that I forgot to mention–and Fluttershy still consistently, religious, attends the weekly spa.

There is no more progress in this circle of friends, is what I believe Rainbow Dash fails to mention. What’s left of us are five rusting cogwheels that desperately spin on its axis, too disconnected by a missing sixth pinion to let the hours pass. We, five, as a whole, are trapped to the same second when she left.

Foolish Pandora who closed the box too soon.

"Maybe it's because we won't forgive her that we can't move on," I say. Blood under the bridge, after all.

"What are you talking about?” she says, not asks, aloud. “Why is it like we’re the bad guy here? If we don’t forgive her, so what? We have the right to get angry after all she did to us. And I've forgiven her for lots of things: I've forgiven that SOB for lying to us, for blackmailing my marefriend, for turning AJ and I against each other that one time. Hell, I can even try to forgive her for trying to kill Cadance! But what I can't forgive her for is that she broke her promise!"

My ears perk up. Curiosity. New information. An agreementt? She hasn’t’ told me of this before. "What promise?" I raise a brow.

Rainbow Dash floats down back the bed. Neither of us notice that her anger lifted her a few feet from the floor. "It's... It's a promise she told me...” she explains, “long ago before this whole mess, back when she and AJ were just getting together. She promised that... she'd take care of AJ for me."

Rainbow Dash sighs.

"What I can't really forgive her for," she heaves out, "is that she... still won't come back to AJ."

"So does that mean, you'll forgive her if she does?" My question came out abruptly, as a consequence of trying to comprehend Rainbow Dash's logic.

"I..." she bites her lip, stopping. "M-Maybe I... You know what, Pinkie," she says suddenly, "Maybe you need to rant out some of the time."

That's quite a change of subject. Poor execution though, making her more obvious. "Why'd you say that?" I ask, simply to humor her.

"Well... obviously, you don't need to bottle anything up."

"I don't need to bottle buttermilk when I'm churning butter?"

"What? No! I mean..." she scratches. "I don't really have anything to back up what I'm to say so go ahead and call me weird later on... But... I think, like her, you're hiding something about yourself from us."

For a second, for the briefest of second, I drop my mask and my smile vanishes. Quod Erat Demonstratum. How can Rainbow Dash have seen me? Is my mask slipping? Is me, the real me, have been perceptible to my dearest friends for a while? No... I have been all too careful. Rainbow Dash's guess is pure ungrounded intuition.

"You can talk to us, you know," she continues, seeing that her words are having an effect on me.

Seeing Rainbow Dash now, somewhat hurt and blindly groping to help one whom she may not know or understand, risking ridicule from acting upon an assumption so incredible, I cannot bring myself to undermine her and her sincerity.

Bringing my mask back to my face again, I present Rainbow Dash the smile she wants to see. "That's so sweet of you, Dashie," I giggle. "But don't worry about me. She and I... If we're ever hiding something... it's because it's the ugly part of us we never want anyone to see."

Curtains. That should suffice, I hope.

We stand in the silence for a long while, in these minutes when neither of us move. The silence is broken by a loud ringing snap from the baker's oven.

Ting, the machine goes, spraying out a rain of confetti on the side. The aroma of apple cream pie wafts to the air.

I hop to it, slipping into the woolen mitts, and place the pie in a woven wicker basket.

“I’m... thinking of not going to training this week.” She confesses suddenly, her eyes on the pie.

“What? Why?”

She tells me of Applejack’s intention of going to Draconia, and the only means by which she can slow it down–as we both know she won’t be able to stop it.

“Alright, then,” I say. “You can just explain to your Wonderbolt friends and give this pie as a sign of apology. I hear Soarin’ loves pie.”

“Yeah... he does.” He receives the basket in her hooves. “Sorry for ranting on you... again."

"Anytime, Dashie," I tell her. "And you better go now before this gets cold and you turn in late."

"Rainbow Dash is never late!" She turns to the window, flares her feathers and darts to the outside. "See you later tonight!"

Returned to my isolation, I shut the window blinds close. Almost immediately, I return my mane to its natural and straightened crestfallen flow.

I turn to a locked chest peeking from under the bed. Lock the windows first. First thing first, I insert a wooden stick–Gummy’s control stick–between two of the window’s handles.

“Grab that box for me,” I say, moving to a nearby chair.

Gummy slithers on the floor, buries his snout beneath the bed, and grabs the box’s handle with his maw. He heaves out the container from beneath and behind a camouflage of confetti and deflated balloons and drags it to me. I reward him with a small pat on his pout.

I stop for a moment, not hesitating but remembering. Trying to recall what it is that made decide to open this box now. Surely this is not the first time Rainbow Dash and I have talked about her, albeit sparing the name she neither wishes to hear or mention. But there is something in what Rainbow Dash said–somewhere between forgiveness and coming back–that seems to melt a frozen memory in my mind.

I sigh, finally unlocking the chest with a hairpin, and uncover its contents of paper clippings. The indictments against innocence.

Printed in black, gray, and white are three-year-old documents, records, and newspaper articles.

It shows pictures of the dubbed ex-Element of Generosity, with the media tagging her as the 'Witch of Canterlot.' It covers her trial in the exaggerated bellowing of a tabloid, excluding anything that is less than controversial and scandalous.

Vae victis.

But a next most amusing series of newspaper clipping was published a day later when a certain unknown mare hiding under the nom de guerre of Miss Diane P. mailed the press an entire file cabinet of documents detailing Basket Case's involvement in the planned wedding–which she initially denied–that was less financial and more influential in its pulls. Knowing her status was in danger, Basket Case ratted on her scapegoats to save herself. But the stakes were too high, and the scapegoats ratted on their scapegoats until the chain explosion of the loudest, noisiest blame game resounded in Canterlot. The fallout that followed had the Royal Guard questioning every gossip columnist, rat, and whistleblower involved. When the dust cleared, half of Canterlot's cigar-smoking cocktail-swirling high society are charged of extortion, tax evasion, slander, and blackmail. And it is the purest and untarnished names of Cadance and Fleur de Lis who now resides at the top of the social pyramid.

For the historical dialectic had now reached another apex, and once again the meek shall inherit the earth.

Cadance, however, would not want anything to do with the subculture, deciding instead to devote her next years taking care of her healthy colt named Joyous Gard.

Who is it, I wonder, who chose the name?

Cadance’s immune and unsullied benevolence, for that matter, is one I always thought to be unfathomable. Amidst the howling refrain of, kill her, kill her, kill her, that echoes and echoes from the lips of the omniscient watchers who weighs the soul of each of us, Cadance alone begs for her absolution. To forgive her murderess like that, to forgive one who has not and would not atone, to forgive one who does not deserve forgiveness, wholeheartedly, after what was done, demands a trust in the best of ponies that I cannot conceive. Is it an act of naive stupidity? Or the most sanctified of virtues? A lesser creature would have licked its wounds, planned vengeance or renounced faith in ponykind. But to forgive, to forgive!?

To forgive so is unforgivable.

Perhaps it is less of my lust for poetic justice and more of my enmity towards the world, that makes such a prospect implausible. I am left in the dark for far too long; it is dark here, after all, behind the mask.

To what premise may one subscribe herself to such a faith? Are the mask not enough? Is it sin in itself, for she and I, to vie Cadance’s radiant purity?

Must we be damned so, like Phaëton with his chariot, like Arachne with his spindle, like Icarus with his wings?

There is a simple curiosity that has been growing in my mind these past few years that, until now, had been nothing more than irrelevant gossip. Though Cadance has refused to press charges, and even went as far as paying for the damages of the whole affair, why was it that ‘The Witch of Canterlot' have to leave? There is no–shall we say–practical reason for it. She could have very well secured herself in Applejack’s open embrace instead of vanishing to nowhere.

Applejack, for her part by the way, could not have known that her love was bound to leave that day, and leave by train, if not for me. Why did I have to tell Applejack that? I think to myself, remembering that hazy day three years ago. Why did I hope, then, for her to stay?

Perhaps it has something to do with Cadance’s benevolence that I, like her, envied as well.

And perhaps I, too, wish to partake in that disposition of forgiving.

But envy, I conclude, is all I can do. There are no such things as faces, only masks. Who is it, that poet, who once said, ‘Ah the world is a stage. And all colts and fillies are merely players’? I have taken the quotation a little too literally perhaps.

And finally I take out from the box the object of my current unease, the–cliché–missing piece in the puzzle that may–cliché again–complete the whole picture in my current mental inventory: the sanction of the judge who oversaw her trial. And here it is said, in black and white, that she is to...

At most, compensate two million bits worth of overall damages...

and...

Three years of exile from Equestria.

I look at the calendar hanging on the wall.

Three years to the date...

It takes me a moment to process everything, and a moment longer to accept it.

Then I stop and immediately, even without the mask, I burst out in laughter. Laughing, giggling, making merry in the serendipitous and benevolent overturning of it all. The laughter in me burst out like a surplus of energy. I stand up, grabbing the documents in my hoofs, and begin to scatter and hammer them all over the room in my boisterous girth. Gummy too is caught off guard with my sudden outburst of mirth. I laugh and laugh some more, laughing like God, laughing like Discord, laughing like the Element of Laughter that I truly am. Laughing with the world and all who ever lived in it.

I understand now. She does not believe in redemption, only penance.

"So... there's nothing else I can help you with?" I ask, stepping closer.

"Nnope."

"Are you sure?" I ask again, stepping back.

"Eeyup."

"Well... if you need anything... I'm just there... by the desk... waiting for you...” I bite my tongue. “I mean! I mean waiting for you if you need anything... with something."

"Eeyup," Big Macintosh says, still not looking up from his book.

I turn around and retreat to the kitchen, my heart pounding and face turning as red as a tomato. Or a cherry. An apple? Anyway, my face is red.

Because I ran... to the kitchen.

Is he blushing? I think to myself, and peek around the corner. His face is always red. At the center of everything paper and wood, the big red stallion sits there quietly with his book. He flips to the next page and scratches his chin. He looks up for a moment, absentmindedly, just to wait and ponder before returning to his book again.

But then he moves–did he see me?–and I immediately return to my hiding, back pressed against the wall.

“Big Mac is looking beefier by the week, isn’t he?” a voice beside me says.

“Yeah...”

“And he’s still a cutie!” the voice says. “I bet he’s good at smoochin’.”

“I wouldn’t know... I–” I bite my tongue again, realizing that there’s another pony by my side. I turn to Pinkie Pie, standing there beside me, holding popcorn as she also peeks around the corner.

I grab Pinkie by the shoulders and hold her back. “Pinkie,” I hiss, “how did you– what are you doing here?”

“Oh, watching you watch Big Macintosh.” She extends the junkfood to me. “Popcorn? We can watch him together if you like.”

“Shhh!” I hiss, my hoof to my lips. And I take and whizz out the popcorn from her. “And foods aren’t allowed here.”

“Right, I forgot this is the library. Even if we’re in the kitchen part of your library.”

“And I’m not watching him, I’m just checking him out! I mean... checking out if he needs help... with checking out books.” I rub my temple. Not only is Big Macintosh is already under the same roof I’m in, my most obnoxious friend is as well. I’m predicting my stress level piling up. “So why are you here? Do you want to borrow a book?”

“I want one with pictures,” she cheers, hopping high but silently.

“With pictures... right. I’ll try to find something you can read.”

“And also, I came here to invite you and Fluttershy to a party later.”

“Me and... Fluttershy?” I look around; there is no sign of the aforementioned pegasus anywhere. “She’s not here yet.”

“She will be. In the meantime, we can play with Big Macintosh while we wait.”

“We can’t play with Big Macintosh.” Purposely increasing my voice so he can hear me. “He’s busy reading.”

“He’s not. He’s standing right behind you listening to me tell you how he’s not reading.”

Pinkie Sense or not, I know that facts are not something Pinkie Pie plays with. Or maybe she can’t play with it–Celestia knows she will if she can. If she says that Big Macintosh is behind me right now then it can only mean...

"Miss Sparkle?" another voice calls from behind.

Immediately, before I can even compose myself, I turn to him. "Y-Yes?"

"Where'd ya keep yer books on water dynamics and the siphon principle?"

"Oh... Hydrophysics? I can show you where–”

“Oh, you mean Archimaredeses’s On the Principles of Buoyancy and Liquid Displacement?” Pinkie Pie asks, tilting her head. “It’s ISBN 403-1122. Just up there on the second floor, under ‘O’. Second shelf on the right.”

Damnit, Pinkie Pie! Why do you have to be so omniscient at the most random and inconvenient of times.

Big Macintosh blinks for a few seconds. He looks at me and says, “Mind showin’ me where you keep it, Miss?”

"Yes!”–Take that, Pinkie–“Yes I can! Cause that's what I am... curator and all... of the library."

I smile from ear to ear to hide my blush as I flick a hoof. Big Macintosh does not look impressed with my gesture, as he still stares at me with that blank gaze.

"Uh... Miss Twilight?" he says.

"Oh, you mean show you now. S-Sure I can. Please follow me."

I lead Big Mac to the second floor of the library where the more advance books are kept. I almost hesitated because these are very, very technical literature on pony studies and the more advance sciences; and I’ve never seen anypony else remotely touch them but me–sans the occasional Pinkie Pie who borrows some to make toy train tunnels. And Big Macintosh isn’t really an academic. I’m not saying that he’s slow but... his constant silence never gave me any reason to think otherwise.

That’s wrong, Twilight. I say to myself. You can’t affiliate verbosity with intelligence.

I turn back to see Pinkie Pie mouthing 'go get him, tigress' while making enthusiastic cheering with her hooves. I use a dab of magic and cause an avalanche of Stephenie Mare novels toppling over her.

Once Big Macintosh and I reach the shelf upstairs, I pull out the intended book and present it to him. Looking back now, I could have done so by my magic from below but...

Well, he did tell me to show it to him.

And I would be missing the completely professional pleasure of his company.

Big Macintosh takes the book unceremoniously, without as much as turning the pages or reading the title. His eyes, lovely green eyes that they are, fixes on me.

And oh Celestia, it's making me blush!

Is he blushing too? I think, pulling my head away lest he sees the color of my cheeks. Damnit, I can’t tell with that coat color of his.

"Miss Sparkle?" he says.

"Y-Yes?"

"Mind if we sit for a spell here for a minute? Ah wanna exchange a few words with ya without the risk of anypony sneaking in on us."

Believe me, if there’re two ponies who can always–and I mean always–sneak up on us, it’ll be Pinkie Pie with her weird antics and Rainbow Dash with her breaking through my room all the time.

"Sure we can," I find myself saying, “sit... and talk and stuff. I mean, you do want to talk, right?”

"Eeyup."

"Is it... personal?"

"N-Nope."

"Oh..."

He sits on the floor and leans against the shelf. Imitating him, I sit by his side with our shoulders just barely–barely!–touching. I can still shuffle closer to him. But I won’t. It’ll be too awkward... because it’ll be too obvious.

"So what do you want to talk about?" I ask. I’m already gathering and thinking up everything I know about botany and water dynamics.

"It's about yer brother," he says.

"My brother?" I reiterate. I do not expect to hear this.

"Shining Armor,” he affirms, “ah reckon his name is."

"Yeah... That's his name. What about him?"

"Ah want ya tell me somethin' about him, if ya don't mind. Ah heard he's happily married back to Princess Cadance. What's he like? Is he a good stallion?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"This aint about nothin'. Ah'm just askin'."

"Well I don't appreciate it when ponies ask about my family without telling me why." Did that come out too strong?

He takes a long look at me for a moment. He blinks twice, and apologizes, "Pardon. Ah guess ah'd best go back to mah readin' then."

Oh, damnit. Don’t go yet.

"Well." I follow up after him. "If you just tell me why you need to know then I don’t mind telling you a few things about him."

"Ah don't wanna force ya, Miss Sparkle,” he says, standing up. “And ah don't wanna make ya feel yer gossipin' out yer brother."

"I-It's not like that at all.” Seeing him already start down the stairs–Oh to hell with it–I run up to his side and grab his shoulder. “So if you can tell me..."

He stops, halfway down the stairs. "It's just this ol' stallion's curiosity and all. Nevermind ya none. Ah just can't get mind over the fact that she... cheated on Applejack with yer brother."

"She? Oh... You mean her."

"Eeyup."

Big Macintosh continues his descent down the first floor.

I rush up to him, but this time following him from behind, just far enough for him to hear what I need to say and far enough to get too close for comfort. “Hey Big Mac,” I call, my voice soft, “we’re not on... bad terms are we?”

He turns around. “Why’d ya ask?”

“Well,”–for one thing, I can never tell just by looking at you–“Your sister’s marefriend cheated on her with... my brother. Shouldn’t you be...”

“What? Cursin’ yer ancestors and threatenin’ to chase ya outta town?” he asks. It isn’t sarcasm.

“Well, no...but...”

“Ya did nothin’ wrong little Miss. Maybe yer brother did, and ah’m not afraid to pass that judgment, but ah’m not about to hurt somepony for the mistakes of somepony else. Ain’t right... And besides,” he continues, “too many ponies been hurt enough by this whole mess.”

‘This whole mess’, he says. He didn’t say: ‘that whole mess’.

"Well... I don't really know what to say,” I answer, looking down on the long levels of steps below. “First off… my brother never remarried Cadance because he and Cadance never separated in the first place. My brother is the best brother anypony can ask for. He's brave, kind, and always looks out for us. He’s doing very well as captain. And now Cadance won't stop writing about how he's the best father in the 'whole white world'. I still don't understand why he would cheat on Cadance like that. I mean... he knew the consequences, he has the self-control of a puritan, and he loves Cadance more than anything else in the world. I just don’t how he can... or why would he... I dunno. It’s been three years and I still haven’t asked him. I guess I'm still ignorant with all these relationships thing."

“Wait…” he stops. “If yer brother and Cadance never got separated then how did his second marriage with–”

“Those two were never married,” I answer, shaking my head. “It all happened too fast, overnight even, before any of the forms and papers and documents were processed. Suddenly, a grandiose wedding struck the world like a bolt from the blue. It was not legally binding or anything, despite all that ceremony. It was just… just fake… Just some game of make-believe played on the most expensive makeshift doll’s house ever.”

After a moment of reflection, Big Macintosh says, “She went through alot of trouble for a game of make-believe. ”

“No…” I answer, knowing better. “She went through a lot of friends for a game of make-believe."

"How desperate was she?" he whispers to himself, shaking his head. Then, louder, he asks, "Who'd ya think she was tryin' to fool with a stunt of such... magnitude?"

"I... I don't know. Who's worth fooling, really? Worth risking literally everything she had? Who? The world? Her friends? Shining Armor? Maybe the almighty herself... Whoever, or whatever, it was, she probably believed that if she can fool it for a night–or maybe even for a second–it'll make the whole fiasco real..."

Big Macintosh closes his eyes and shakes his head. "And yer brother," he says, “he’s hurtin’ too?”

“Kinda. He doesn't show it. And Cadance barely talks about it, mention in her letters once that ‘Shining Armor is still amending and compensating with work’ but with the peace in Equestria right now there’s little work for a Lieutenant of the Royal Guards to do but train new recruits. And, oh yeah, I remember he’s doing some investigation of some sort. Some anonymous Griffon from halfway across the continent has been sending Cadance bits for some unknown reason… It just reached two-million and a half bits.”

Yet again, Big Macintosh is unimpressed. He is looking straight to the wall, his min distant somewhere.

"So is that enough?" I ask. "Sorry... that’s all I can say about my brother for now. Or do you need me to tell you something specific?"

"That's enough ah guess."

Finally, after stopping for almost a minute on the same steps, we finally make our way back down to the reading desks.

"You asked because you're looking out for AJ, aren’t you?” I ask taking the seat right in front of him.

"Every big brother looks out for his little sis."

“Yeah.” I wait for him to open up the book we just brought down. If he do so, I know it means it’s time to end the conversation. But he didn’t yet. So I ask him further, “Does AJ still...? She still loves her?"

"Eyup," he answers, without the long drag on the letter ‘E’.

"And AJ’s still hurting."

"Funny how you saw that. Mah sis been tryin' awfully hard not to show it."

"She has that look on her face... sometimes... when the five of us are together and we all feel there's something missing. Nopony feels it more than Applejack."

"Mah sis is strong," he says, looking to the side. “She can take it.”

“She never had to.”

There is no response in him. No ‘Eeyup’ or ‘Nnope’ to affirm or deny. Instead, he finally opens the books and turns to the first page. As part of the library’s etiquette, I’m supposed to leave him now to the privacy of his reading. But, for this once, I decide to just press on a little further:

"So... Big Mac, I'm curious. Suppose that AJ really does find her hiding somewhere. And the two of them comes back and live together... here in Ponyville... Would you still... approve?"

Big Macintosh is silent for a long time. He doesn’t put the book down, but his eyes has stopped moving. "Yer askin' the wrong question, Miss Sparkle. Ya see, like yer brother, ah only have mah own little sis in mind. Whether ah approve or not doesn't matter none cuz ah know mah approval won’t change nothin’. Ah can only give her support to what she choose to do. But what matters most is the same question ya shoulda ask: 'Will it make mah little sis happy?' If yes, then she can live back here for all ah care."

There is a knock on the door, and Fluttershy comes in before I can ask anything more.

"Uhm... Twilight?” the canary pegasus asks. "I'm here to return Dashie's Daring Do book."

"Uhm... Twilight?" I ask. "I'm here to return Dashie's Daring Do book."

"Fluttershy, is that you?" She stands up from the desk and waves a hoof. "Hold on, I'm helping Big Mac."

Big Macintosh looks up from his book and we make eye contact for a second. He makes a gentlecolt-ly nod to me in acknowledgment and returns to his book. Twilight, with her hooves under her chin, leans forward over the desk and says something to Big Mac.

In the meantime, I wait here...

Just me... here... prodding my hoof on the floor... waiting for the librarian.

Not that I’m complaining... or blaming.

She’s with Big Mac after all, my second... crush... after Rainbow Dash.

So I just run my eyes around the library, reading through the alphabetically-arranged books on the shelf. From where I’m standing, I can already see the line-up of the Daring Dash series.

I-I mean… Daring Do series…

I wonder if she read all of this yet.

Just below it are some other romance light fiction that has covers foals and I can’t stare at. On the corner, there’s a messed up pile of Stephanie Mare books.

And suddenly, right in front of my eyes, the pile just made a shudder.

"Eep!” I shout; nopony hears it.

The pile of books shuffles again, but this time it moves as though it’s a single creature... towards me. I think I hear it growl.

I… I knew there was something unnatural about that novel series...

"Uhm... Hello?” I squeak out. “Mr. Book of Fairies, sir? ...You’re crawling...”

I take a step back, and two, and three more. But the pile crawls faster and faster on the floor, just behind Twilight where she can’t see it move to me... menacingly.

My breathing starts to rise up, heaving with my mouth, as my heart races and pounds against my chest.

"T-T-Twilight?" I try to call. The book is just a few meters away from me, and much more it’s shaking weirdly like a jell-o of papers, dog-ears and bad writing.

"Just a sec," she says, leaning forward Big Mac and pointing something on his book.

"T... Twilight!?" I call out. The books are inching closer.

"Coming."

Finally, with a flash of her magic, Twilight teleports just between me and my assailant. But just in time, the pile stops moving altogether and comes to a complete halt like the inanimate object it is–and should be.

"Twilight, please help me,” I beg, “those books..."

"Calm down, Fluttershy." She tilts her head. The books shuffle again behind her. “What’s wrong?”

"That’s what’s wrong..." I point to it. "Those hardbounds are alive."

The books shuffle again for the last time, slowly, and thankfully this time Twilight sees it. She observes it for a moment until she sighs and says, "Pinkie... get outta there."

And just like her confetti, Pinkie Pie pops out of her camouflage. "Hi, Fluttershy!" she shouts. A party horn appears between her lips, and as she is about to blow on it, Twilight pries it away with her magic.

"Pinkie...” Twilight sighs, “what are you still doing here? I thought you left already."

"Oh, I was eavesdropping your bonding moment with Big Mac."

"We weren't bonding–"

"A-a-a-and..." Pinkie Pie says, burying her head back to the pile of books. She reappears her head to us with two cards in her lips. She spits them out. "Now that you’re both here, it’s time for me to give you girls your invitation for a ‘Welcome Back’ party later."

“Didn’t Rainbow Dash just left training today?” I ask. “Wouldn’t it be too quick to hold another ‘Welcome Back’ party for her?”

“Nopey-dopey,” Pinkie answers. “And it’s not Rainbow Dash. It’s somepony else. Rainbow Dash will be back here tonight.”

I look at the card:

You are cordially invited to:

“Mystery Guest’s” Welcome Back Party

7:00pm–11:59pm

Sugar Cube Corner, Ponyville

"Oh, a party," I say, placing the card in my saddle. “How wonderful. Who’s the mystery guest?”

“I can’t tell you that silly,” she laughs. “Otherwise, it won’t be a mystery. Oops! Almost forgot, gotta go to Cloudsdale right now to give Rainbow Dash her invitation.”

As soon as she says that, Pinkie Pie hops out of the room through the main door. When Twilight and I peer out the window to look at her, the both of us find her vanished already. I look at Twilight and raises a brow and a question as to where’d she could’ve gone and Twilight just rolls her eyes with a shrug.

Twilight returns inside the library and levitates the Daring Do book back to its home. She asks, nonchalantly, "So whose party do you think it is?"

"Beats me."

Just then Pinkie Pie comes hopping down the stairs and lands gently beside Big Macintosh. She gives him the same invitation card she gave us and hops out the door. Twilight and I follow her with our eyes, not saying anything.

Once Pinkie Pie is gone for the second time, I turn to look at Twilight who is busy glancing over her shoulder to look at Big Macintosh read the invitation. Having no business in the library any longer, and wishing my friend the best of luck with her own romantic pursuit, I give Twilight a small pat on the shoulder and say: "Well, I guess I better get going."

"Any plans for today?" she asks, her eyes still on her crush.

"Just the spa. It's... that time of the week."

And at this, I am able to steal a moment of her attention. "Oh, I forgot,” she says, her expression changing to an astonished surprise. “You're still going to that place. Force of habit, I guess."

"Not really. It's because…” I shrug. “it was our thing."

"Right. Your thing... with her."

Twilight and I remain quiet, this always happen when we talk about our lost friend. This normally lasts for a minute or two, with me hiding under my mane or prodding my hoof, and with Twilight looking to the sides. I don’t know why she never says anything during these moments of awkwardness... I just remain quiet because I have nothing to say.

But, thankfully, I didn’t wait long. Big Macintosh, steps out of his desk, approaches Twilight, and says, “Miss Sparkle, sorry to interrupt. Can you help me look for a book about irrigation?”

"I've got to go,” Twilight says to me, his body already leaning towards Big Mac. “I'll see you later in the party?"

"Alright,” I say, leaving the two alone. “See you there."

I finally leave the library and head towards the spa. I pass through the marketplace, waving to friends and acquaintances along the way. Since I have a few more minutes to spare, I decide to take a look at the laid out merchandise of things laid out. I buy some light reading materials for some manecare tips, some hoof polish and… and I remember that I need some perfumes too. As the magazine instructed, I also buy some of the branded mane conditioner exported from Canterlot.

I sure hope Rainbow Dash will like these new scents… I think, trying hard not to blush.

It took a moment to bargain the new bottles, but in the end I got it for a lesser price than what the magazine said. I read the long words in the label that I didn’t understand, and finally tuck them in my saddle.

Excited to use my new softeners, I flip the magazine open again to read what else I can buy to best fix my mane in the spa.

Hmm... That looks good... I think, as I take a look at the long list of brands sponsored by famous and beautiful models.

And suddenly!–without warning–something bumps me–or I bump it?–and I crash on the ground.

I'm so stupid! I'm so, so stupid! My head screams at me. You’re so careless, Fluttershy!

My shampoos roll on the ground. Out of a defensive reflex, I hide behind my mane.

"I'm so sorry!" I apologize. I do not know whether I'm apologizing to a pony or a brick wall, but I have to apologize because it's my fault. "I'm so, so sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going."

"That's perfectly alright, darling." The mare I bump to says. Her voice sounds strangely familiar.

Still hiding my face beneath my bangs, I go on all fours and scramble for my bottles. "I was just so eager to go to the spa and–" a magical purplish hue envelops one of the container and levitates it up for a moment before handing it to me.

"Oh, I know! I know, dear. These spas have so much magic in them they can reverse your years with the right pampering... Although, might I make a slight suggestion? I recommend you buy Photo Finish's Springmane Series. It's cheap, and the oriental cherry blossom in them will revitalize your mane to a glossy shine."

By the time she says 'Photo Finish', I now remember to whom that voice belongs, and that accent belongs, and that magic belongs.

“Nice bumping into you again,” she says. “Ta, ta.”

But by the time I look up, she has already trotted past me.

I turn back, to her: a dove-white unicorn with a beautiful purple mane. She is wearing a sundress, a summer hat and a parasol. Beside her, she is levitating a small luggage and a smaller picnic basket.

My jaw drops, and once again I let go of the shampoos on my hoof in my sudden paralysis of seeing whom I thought I’d never see again.

At least now I know whose Pinkie Pie’s ‘Mystery Guest’ is.

A smile eases its way to my face.

Fresh from the spa, she's trotting towards Sweet Apple Acres.

With one powerful kick, I slam my back hooves against the tree. The apples fall, all inside the cart. When I look up to the tree, it nods to me with the sway of the breeze. As if to tell me that it has given all it can for the season’s harvest in payment for the family’s care. I tip my hat to it and proceed my way deeper to the woods.

I drag the apple cart under the roof of leaves. Of all parts of Sweet Apple Acres, this place, where the trees are thickest, is a favorite and personal resting ground after a hard day’s work. The ground here provides a nice earthly scent every time the south wind passes by to sing birdsong, and the cool shade, letting in only some droplets of almond-shaped sunshine, is an umbrella from the hot afternoon

Several minutes later, I finally arrive to a small secluded clearing. Here, the green and rosy trees of Sweet Apple Acres shake branches with those of brown and maple of White-Tail Woods. The air smells of fir, apples, and toadstools so fresh that it makes me yawn. And just a little below them, the moist soil opens up to a small crystal clear stream.

It is only every time that I’m here that I’m able to remember, and believe, a story that Granny Smith once told me: that one day, about this same time of this same year, as she was exploring this young land in her days as a filly, she saw a herd of alicorns galloping to rest in this very clearing. The sun-bearer Celestia, she said, was among them. Granny Smith followed them here, and there she saw dozens and dozens of them of all sizes and colors–some fiery red, some crystal blue, some sunflower yellow–grazing upon the dew of the grasses and playing with their young, and each of their cutie marks seem to represents the things that made this world.

I place the cart down from my sides, and my hat on the apple cart. I give my limbs a few stretches, before I ultimately throw myself into the running cold.

The fresh crisp water welcomes me into its cool embrace. A million needles seem to pierce my pores and pluck away the stress, sweat, and strain from my sore muscles. I open my eyes, seeing the green glinting pebbles below, and swim upwards. Breaking through the surface, I welcome the sunshine on my face and the air in my lungs. I dip my head back beneath and take in several mouthfuls to quench my thirst.

I pull my head back and let my body drift afloat the surface. My eyes closed, I can see the sunny day Rainbow Dash has laid out for me. I know she does it as an early apology if we ever got into another fight. I just never had the heart to tell the gal that, though my trees enjoy Celestia's crown, I myself personally enjoy a more cloudy and windy day. It is in such days that I always feel like the apples and hills of Sweet Apple Acres are alive, and where the gust of wind feels like the mountain is breathing in on me.

Dash...

It's a good change of pace that Rainbow Dash and I didn't fight today. What changed that gal's mind, I wonder. I was certain we'd be rolling on the dirt and roughing each other up this afternoon. It kinda messed up the routine, as by now I'm usually back in the barn, licking my wounds, instead of enjoying the river here.

I remember that I haven't taken much trouble to thank my best friend for what she does. If it isn't for her, I would've resorted to my original plan to not come back here Ponyville until I've searched all over Equestria, and the world maybe, and find her. It's thanks to Dash and this constant brawls of ours that she's able to knock some sense to me. Now my year is split between harvesting and planting, and journeying to parts unknown.

I'm like a Demeter or something, Pinkie once said to me... whatever that means.

I know what the other ponies think of me and this new lifestyle I have. Stupid, is the only word they mean but they never say: picking a fight with my best friend every now and then, and searching the world for a loved one who might not love me back. They think I'm gullible for not have seen unfaithfulness, that I'm naive for loving her as much as I do, and that I'm foolish my for my hope that I'll never see her again.

I'm the first to admit that I'm no genius like Twilight, but I can never understand this line of thinking that seeing the best within all of us is a form of weakness.

Frankly... Maybe because I do not want to understand.

I do not accept it as gullible to expect only honesty from others; I do not accept it as naive for loving with all the fires of one’s heart; I do not accept it as foolish to believe true love won't find itself. To anyone who thinks otherwise, let them damn me for whatever standard they hold; these are mine.

And I'm willing to cross continents to prove it true.

With one powerful movement of my hoof, I spray a jet of water to the sky. The fountain rises up, like an arrow to the sun, where it captures the sunbeams and reflects a rainbow. The droplets sprinkle down and it makes me laugh.

I swim back to the land and shake the water from my coat. I place my hat back to my head, my apple cart to my side, and march back to Sweet Apple Acres.

"Almost done," I yawn, stretching my limbs as I walk, "just need get these ones down the cellar and–"

The world around me stops. For a second I see something from the wide-open window of my peripherals. A sight too far, too small, too early, yet too unmistakable.

A glass of wine in her hooves, she is sitting on top of the hill–our hill, where she first returned my feelings–over a checkered picnic mat and under a small flamingo-pink parasol. Her back is turned to me. She is looking at the horizon where the sun aims its descent, an alabaster silhouette between sky-blue and a curve of grass-green. Her mane, a vibrant mauve purple, is no longer set on its curl but is cut short just below her round smooth shoulders.

A powerful breeze then sweeps the whole continent that every branch and every blade of grass sway to her direction. The trees nod their heads and the leaves ride the wind, fluttering like nature’s feathers.

But the encouragement of mother earth is not needed; I am already running, galloping, with all my strength, up that hill. Somewhere I lost the cart and the hat from my side. Somewhere further I lost my thoughts. There is only the never ending drive to move forward, to climb up. Already I am short of breath, as though for three years I have not stopped running since I have chased her from the train that stole her away from me. With every step I feel my knees are ready to buckle, that my hooves are ready to splinter, but the pain can only propel me forward.

What is the first thing I’m gonna say? Something funny like, ‘You’ve been here all this time?’ Should I be angry and say, ‘What took you so long?’ Or something like, ‘Time to make up for all the wasted years?’

Or something honest and generous: ‘I love you,’ I’ll say. ‘Let’s get married.’

But as I find myself suddenly standing behind her, I’m already short of breath, panting heavily and unable to say a thing. But I know that all those words that I mean to say have already been said simply by being here.

And her, sitting there, still staring at the endless blue sky above, gently turns her head to me. From where she sits and where I stand, her eyes are hidden just beneath the brim of her summer hat.

But all I can see is enough for me: her smile, lovely and meek, humble and apologetic, promising and fulfilling... and, most of all, happy.

I kneel, taking her shoulders in my hooves, and secure her now and forever in my embrace.