> The Old Country
>  by Astrarian
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Part One
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

‘Worm.’

The insult jolted Spike from his daydream of bubble baths and gem banquets back to bitter reality.

“Excuse me?” he demanded of Twilight, whirling around to face her.

Twilight Sparkle also jerked out of a reverie. “What?” she replied, eyes wide.

“Didn’t you – call me –?”

An icy gust of wind silenced Spike. As it hit, he realised the wind had changed. All day, it had nipped the tips of his scales from below. Now it came from above. It broke over the ridge-top like a wave, complete with white spray, then blasted down the hill and drenched him. 

The gust stole his breath and left him shivering, just like a wave of water would. It also filled his mouth and nose with a strong, musky smell. It was so intense that for a few moments, Spike could do nothing but wallow in it, stirred to think of darkness, and flowers, and snow, and – 

“Spike?”

Twilight stared at him in dismay, shivering with cold. Spike’s incredulity cooled. Twilight wouldn’t insult him.

A shaggy-shouldered yak plodded up behind her. Finding the path blocked by Twilight and Spike, he grunted questioningly. Twilight apologised, as Spike realised they’d lost ground in the trekking party.

“I thought I heard you say something,” Spike said, turning back to the path. “It must’ve just been the wind.”

He meant it as an excuse, but another frozen flurry brought the voice with it again, stinging his inner ears. ‘Worm,’ it sighed, nothing like Twilight’s voice, or anypony else’s for that matter. The unique smell filled his nose again: earthy, woody, almost sweet.

With each forward step his knees cried out for rest. The path turned steep again, so he took a deep breath, expecting the cold to snatch it away. To his surprise, the tightness seeped out of his chest, and his knees felt less sore. He could breathe properly for the first time all day, and took another cold, aching lungful.

Spike looked up from the uneven ground for the first time in hours, wondering where the smell came from. He couldn’t see any new types of plants, just the same old bleak view of grey mountains and grey sky and grey snow.

Outer Yakyakistan, the mountain range that formed Yakyakistan’s northern borderlands, was an inhospitable place. No-pony lived here, not even the yaks themselves, although they claimed their enemies did. As if. It was too wild and dangerous – and so cold! Twilight kept gushing about its ‘natural beauty’, but Spike hadn’t seen any yet.

Several times a year, the yaks sent a special Royal patrol to Outer Yakyakistan. They did this to ensure their alleged enemies weren’t trespassing in their country. Twilight, against Spike’s wishes, had chosen to join Prince Rutherford on such a patrol.

So at first, Spike resented Outer Yakyakistan just because he didn’t want to be there. That he didn’t think the yaks were worth knowing didn’t help. Then he disliked Outer Yakyakistan because whenever the sun came out the glare on the snow hurt his eyes. The yaks still weren’t worth knowing, and by then he was pretty sure they didn’t like him either.

It had been five days, and the path now lacked the common decency to stay even and just head straight uphill. The constant rise and fall of the track as it zigzagged up the side of the mountain drove Spike mad. Uphill was hard work, while downhill made his knees ache. And he could never catch his breath.

His frustration with the terrain came to the forefront again once his strange burst of energy faded. At least the path had become sheltered from the fierce wind by an outcropping above. Maybe Twilight had enough energy to carry him. He looked over his shoulder, meaning to drop back, but Twilight had dropped back to talk to the last yak.

Spike couldn’t hear what they were saying. It was sure to be boring, since yaks were terrible conversationalists. Yet Twilight suddenly laughed, her giggle pealing through the air. Spike frowned for a moment, until he realised she was probably just laughing politely. 

Spike beckoned her forward. With what looked like a spring in her step, Twilight joined him.

“How much farther are we gonna walk?” he asked.

“We’ll stop when the yaks are ready,” Twilight answered.

“So never, then,” Spike said. He glanced at Twilight’s back, covered by a thick woollen coat that trapped her wings. Although the coat was a gift, the yaks insisted Twilight wear it at all times.

Spike and Twilight both expected Rarity to be appalled by the coat’s artistic design as soon as she saw it. Apparently the coat depicted a famous duel between a yak prince and a deer prince. What it actually did was make the fight look like two brown potatoes trying to beat each other into mash. 

Looking at the coat made Spike wish Rarity was here. Rarity would be far more sympathetic to Spike’s frustrations with the hike. She wouldn’t be leaving him alone so she could talk to the yaks either.

He also wished Rainbow Dash was here because she’d pester Twilight into flying. Spike could understand why Twilight wouldn’t teleport, but not her refusal to fly. Flying would make her journey so much easier, and Spike’s too by association. He was so light that she wouldn’t even feel him on her back, and they’d been hiking for four days too many for Spike to care what the yaks would think of him if Twilight gave him a lift. 

Except that wasn’t entirely true. A question from his past mocked him whenever he wished that Twilight would use her wings: “You fly in on your mommy’s back during the migration?” At least this way, the yaks had no particular reason to think of him as weak. But that didn’t make the pain of hiking much easier to endure.

Furthermore, another part of him was glad their friends weren’t here. Spike rarely spent quality time with Twilight these days. She was so busy with her Princess duties that she even spent her free time working. This adventure had at least given just the two of them the chance to spend quality time together. Or it would have if Outer Yakyakistan hadn’t turned out to be so grim.

Ahead of them, Prince Rutherford reached a sharp turn and shouted something. Since yelling was Rutherford’s main virtue, Spike couldn’t tell if the prince was happy, sad, or frothing with classic yak rage. He didn’t care, either. A minute later, though, the sound of falling rocks did make him look up again. Prince Rutherford had vanished, but he soon reappeared on the ridgetop above them.

“We camp here,” he declared in a voice so loud Spike worried he’d cause an avalanche. “View beautiful.”

Twilight grinned at Spike. “Not far now,” she urged.

The track led into a steep and narrow gully. It looked difficult to climb. Fortunately, each time Spike reached a spot that had looked tricky from below, he saw there were many footholds available.

Yet knowing the day was almost over somehow exhausted him completely. He dragged himself up the last few chilled rocks, claws slipping against ice and loose stone. With the lip of the ridge in sight, he grinned to himself. 

Twilight chose that moment to lift him up and over the final rock with her magic.

Irritation flared inside him. If you’d just fly you wouldn’t have to help me in the first place, he thought.

All around Prince Rutherford, the yaks were establishing camp with astonishing speed. Spike tottered forward into the wind breakage provided by one of the yaks’ traditional tents – gers, he reminded himself – and threw his bag down. He flopped down on top of it, since it was too cold to lie on the grass.

“At last,” he moaned. “I thought we’d never stop.”

Completing her climb, Twilight gasped. “Oh, wow, look at the view!” she cried. “Spike, isn’t that amazing? I think this is the prettiest camp so far.”

Rolling his eyes, Spike began to rub his tender feet. “Whatever. I’m so ready to go home. There’s a spa session with my name on it. I bet Rarity’ll come with me once she sees the state of my claws.”

Twilight nuzzled him, but apparently the view was so wonderful she couldn’t keep her eyes off it for long. “I know you’re fed up, Spike,” she said, trotting a few steps away. “But I’m glad you came with me. I couldn’t have negotiated this trading contract without your help. And don’t you think it’s been exciting accompanying Prince Rutherford? Seeing the yaks in their homeland really helps me understand their culture.”

“I’d rather be in my homeland.”

‘Home,’ moaned the voice again.

Spike jumped. He glanced around, seeking the voice’s source, but no-pony was even paying attention to him. Some yaks were raising the wooden frames of their gers. Others covered such frames with decorated felt and canvas.

“Something wrong, Spike?” Twilight asked.

Spike turned her way. “Didn’t you hear that?”

Twilight levitated a small journal and a quill out of her saddlebags, her back turned to Spike. Her purple coat gave much needed colour to a landscape that, on first glance, was beyond dreary. But upon a second look, the view behind Twilight held Spike’s attention.

The lands north of Equestria weren’t just a massive frozen wasteland. In the last couple of days, as they moved north, the wind had blown away most of the deep snow, exposing icy shrubs cowering close to the ground. Now the mountains themselves gave way to a grand expanse of sky. Below, a narrow band of alpine forest clung to the other side of the ridge. Beyond, a snowy steppe spread to the horizon. Like water around an island, rippling grass flowed around a lonely mountain, which jutted towards the grey sky.

It wasn’t a beautiful view. But it was captivating. Spike stepped out of the ger’s protection, entranced. The wind scraped his face, filling the air with herbaceous perfume once more, and also hushing Twilight’s response.

A grey scar slashed the side of the distant mountain. A spot of darkness within the scar drew Spike’s eyes like a magnet. The hole must be an entrance to a cave. The longer Spike looked at it, the surer he became.

A sense of familiarity grew inside him, spreading through his body in a chill. He’d smelled this fragrance long ago. He’d seen this view before too, and not in a painting or a photograph. His bones began to ache as what he saw with his actual eyes and what he saw in his mind’s eye fused together.

Somewhere inside that mountain, ancient forces had carved out a great natural cathedral. Thousands of alabaster spikes, stalactites, hung from the ceiling. Bright gemstones glittered in the walls. The floor was covered in white sand, deep enough to hide invaluable treasures. . . things so precious no pony or centaur or dragon could afford them, though they were never for sale.

Wait. What?

Spike had no time to dwell on such a strange thought. Water poured into the massive chamber above him and rushed past his body, pushing at his arms and legs, encouraging him to join the flow. But he resisted, like always. The water roared on, continuing its journey to places unknown.

Something woke up. A great presence shifted. Far below the surface of the black, black water, two eyes kindled. Huge bubbles floated up to the surface and burst, glinting with green fire. Emerald eyes stared into emerald eyes.

‘Worm,’ the disembodied voice sighed again. Only it wasn’t a sigh, it was a gale that rushed out of the dark into the light. ‘Home,’ it called, blasting towards him, dank and strong, and yet so, so lonely.

“Spike!”

Spike cringed at the volume of Twilight’s voice. She was standing right beside him.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Spike struggled to swallow. The woody fragrance coated the back of his dry throat. Comparisons to cream and smoke and other thick things ran through his mind. None of them were right – above all else, the aroma was unique.

“Spike!”

“I don’t know,” Spike said quickly. The sound of his own voice helped to steady him. “I keep hearing a voice, like someone’s talking to me, but there’s no-pony there.” Spike paused. “And I feel like I’ve been here before.”

“Like déjà vu?”

Spike shook his head again. “I mean I have been here before, Twilight. I can feel it in my bones.”

“But how could you have been? Neither of us has been to Yakyakistan before.”

“I don’t know. I just have.”

“Maybe you dreamed it,” Twilight suggested. “We did spend a month planning this visit.”

“Maybe,” Spike conceded, frowning. “But I just know there’s a cave over there in that mountain.” He pointed to the far-distant hole in the mountain. “I know there’s a big cave underground with a. . . a river, and there’s a beach – well, not a beach, but there’s sand. . .”

He scratched his head. A few seconds passed.

“Maybe it’s something else,” Twilight said. “I wonder if the yaks know anything about that mountain. Come on. Let’s ask.”

They walked over to Prince Rutherford, who was kindling a campfire in the lee of a half-built ger. Wisps of rising smoke masked the sweet, earthy smell on the wind.

“Ponies,” he greeted loudly. “Ponies like view?”

“Very much,” Twilight said.

“Yaks save best view for last,” Rutherford said. “Tomorrow we go back home, to Ulaanyakyak.”

“Not that way?” Spike pointed at the mountain, which was becoming a silhouette in the gathering dusk.

“That not Yakyakistan.”

“It’s not?”

“Snow not perfect.”

“That’s why it’s not part of Yakyakistan?” Spike curled his lip. “Not that it’s too far away or too cold? Not everything has to be the same as Yakyakistan.”

“It might be like Equestria,” Twilight agreed.

“Not like pony home,” Rutherford disagreed. “No friends there.”

Twilight chewed her lip for a moment. “Do your enemies live there?”

“Smelly deer live here,” Rutherford growled, as the other yaks muttered to one another.

Spike barely contained his scoff. Twilight gave him a look that told him he was failing to keep his disbelief off his face.

“You mean the musk deer live here, in these mountains?” Twilight asked Rutherford.

“Yes.”

Spike rolled his eyes. They hadn’t seen any living souls other than themselves for the entire trip. Musk deer didn’t exist, except as a sign of yak narrow-mindedness.

“So you don’t have an enemy who lives on the steppe,” Twilight clarified.

Rutherford snorted. “Dragon dangerous,” he said.

Those two simple words obliterated Spike’s contempt and made Twilight gasp. “You’ve seen a dragon down there?” Spike exclaimed.

“Me not see.”

“Then how do you know there’s a dragon?”

“Yaks know.”

“That’s not good enough,” Spike objected.

Twilight nodded. “I’m sorry, Prince Rutherford,” she said, “but just saying that you know isn’t exactly satisfying.”

Rutherford flung one hoof out as though he was making a grand speech. “Yaks explore many moons ago. Perhaps make land part of Yakyakistan. Or make smelly deer live there.”

One yak stamped his hoof. “Uh-huh!”

“Yaks go far, out of sight,” Rutherford continued. “Yaks wait and wait here for friends. One night yaks endure bad storm. Ground shake. Sky on fire. Then yaks see dragon on mountain. Soon, one yak return home to Yakyakistan. Other yaks gone. Very hard trip.”

Prince Rutherford shook his head and dropped his hoof. “Not like Yakyakistan.”

The other yaks murmured appreciatively or harrumphed in agreement. Spike waited for Rutherford to keep speaking. He didn’t. Well, for a yak, that short speech was quite grand.

“Do you know what happened to the other yaks?” Twilight asked.

“Maybe dragon eat yaks.”

“Dragons eat gems,” Spike protested. “I-I mean, among other things. But not yaks. You can trust me on that.”

Prince Rutherford remained silent.

“Seriously,” Spike said. “I mean, I am a dragon.”

“Yaks still gone,” said Rutherford.

Spike glanced at Twilight. He didn’t need to: she was already nodding at his unspoken request. It might be dangerous for them to investigate, but they had to, and Twilight wasn’t about to let him go alone. After all, she was almost as interested as he was in his origins.

She turned back to the yaks. “Prince Rutherford, we’ve had a wonderful time here in Yakyakistan,” she said. “We’ll be trading partners as well as friends for a thousand moons.”

The yaks cheered.

“But I think Spike and I have to leave you here.”

The cheers transmuted into mutters. “Yaks not understand,” Rutherford said, frowning.

“Spike?” Twilight said, and a dozen hairy heads swung to stare at him.

Spike swallowed. “Eh-heh. . . Um, I don’t know if you actually noticed, since you keep calling me a pony too, but I’m actually a dragon. Obviously. Uh, the thing is, I don’t know anything about where I come from.

“I tried finding out more about dragons once. It didn’t go so well. I mean, I learned that what I was born as isn’t as important as who you want to be, but I didn’t learn anything about my past. But I feel like I’ve been here before. There’s a cave over there and I know what it looks like.” He pointed with his claw, and the yaks looked at the faraway mountain as one.

“Maybe this is where I came from,” Spike said. “Maybe I’m remembering something that I only saw as an egg. All I really know is that I want to go see for myself. I think. . . I think I need to.”

Some of the yaks were sniffling. “Story sad,” Prince Rutherford said.

“Yeah, I guess.” Spike sighed. He looked down at the pale steppe, following it with his eyes to the solitary mountain. “Maybe it won’t be any more if we find something out there.”

“Yaks help,” Rutherford said.

Shock dropped Spike’s jaw. He stared at the yak prince. “Huh?”

“Yaks go with ponies. Make story not sad.”

“Prince Rutherford, you don’t have to,” Twilight said. “This isn’t official Equestria business. We don’t want to interrupt your patrol.”

“Ponies and yaks friends,” Prince Rutherford answered firmly. “Yaks help. Maybe yaks find lost yaks.”

Spike didn’t know how to answer. He’d never expected such an offer and felt altogether off-balance. Combined with his certainty that being here was the most important thing to have happened to him all year, there was a weird combination of feelings bubbling in his stomach.

“Thank you,” Twilight said for them both.

The group of yaks grunted at one another. “Yak party?” one rumbled.

Prince Rutherford gave a guffaw that reverberated in the earth. “Tomorrow we go. Tonight, we show you yak party. Always party before adventure. YAK PARTY!”

In a boisterous flurry of noise and excitement, the yaks returned to their tasks around the camp. Prince Rutherford well-nigh bounded away to help complete the construction of another ger.

Twilight sat down beside Spike. “Uh, what just happened?” Spike asked. The herbaceous smell came and went depending on the strength of the campfire’s smoke.

“I think we’re about to see a traditional yak party,” Twilight said, grinning. Then she changed the subject. “Just think, maybe by this time next week we’ll be able to tell everypony back home where you come from.”

“I hope so,” Spike replied, his eye wandering back to the cave. For the first time since the great dragon migration, he wondered whether Ponyville was actually his home.

“We should probably send a letter to Princess Celestia to tell her what we’re doing,” he said. “Princess Cadance too.”

“Good idea. We should send one to the girls too.”

Spike was ready with quill and scroll before Twilight had decided how to phrase such a letter. She laughed. “Wow. That was fast.”

“Old habits.” Spike began to write on the parchment, quoting, “Dear Princess Celestia –”

“PONIES!”

Rutherford had somehow sneaked up on them despite his size. Spike and Twilight both yelped in fright. Only Twilight’s quick reflexes prevented the quill from blowing away.

“You have Yakyakistan cake,” he barked, pointing at said cake, shaped like an overly tall yak helmet. “Not yak party without cake.”

Given the amount of hair over his eyes, it was hard to pinpoint Prince Rutherford’s exact mood. He seemed more than pleased, though.

“Has the party already started?” Spike muttered, rubbing his ears.

“We’d love to try some cake, Prince Rutherford,” Twilight said diplomatically, recovering her senses.

“What about the letters?” Spike asked.

“We can finish them later,” Twilight said, standing up. “Come on. I never actually got to try any yak food in Ponyville.”

“Because they were too busy smashing it?” Spike said in a low voice.

“Spike.”

“I’m just saying.”

“How do you find the right balance of vanilla extract?” Twilight asked Prince Rutherford politely.

“Vanilla extract expensive,” Rutherford answered.

For some reason, Twilight seemed to find this non-response particularly fascinating. “Maybe you can try it back home, Spike,” she said. “Spike’s a great cook,” she told Rutherford.

“Not like they’d know,” Spike muttered under his breath. Twilight glared at him.

It was quite scary when Prince Rutherford swung to face Spike and leaned forward, since the yak’s head by itself was as big as Spike’s body. Spike braced himself.

“Dragon try first,” Rutherford boomed. “Vanilla extract balance perfect. You will see.”

Off Twilight’s expectant nudge, Spike said, “Er, right. I guess it’d be cool to know what traditional Yak cake tastes like.” In a quiet aside to Twilight, he murmured, “I bet it’s not as good as the one the Cakes made.”

He shouldn’t have, for he had to eat his words (much to the yaks’ confusion when Twilight drily remarked so). Yak cake was just as good as any ever made in Sugarcube Corner, particularly when drizzled with honey. The yaks swore the vanilla extract balance above all else made the difference. But since Spike had never gotten to try the one the Cakes had made, he couldn’t be certain they were right.

Still, it was fantastic to have food in his belly, and the fire soon dispelled the chill in the air. After an hour or so Spike’s poor temper vanished.

Fire and food seemed to improve the yaks’ moods too. Laughter and singing resounded through the camp. Rutherford made a lot of scornful comments about musk deer parties, but if yaks and deer were enemies, why would they be going to each other’s parties? Just more evidence the deer weren’t real. The remarks did turn every positive thing he said about Ponyville into a glowing commendation, though.

The mentions of Ponyville didn’t make Spike feel homesick that evening. In fact, his life there began to feel like another world, one he couldn’t quite remember without thatched houses and apple orchards and certain friendly voices to remind him. Twilight had been with him his whole life, after all. She didn’t remind him of Ponyville as much as she reminded him of being alive.

Late in the evening, in need of sleep, Spike yawned and stood up. “I’m kinda tired,” he told Twilight. “I think I’m gonna hit the hay.”

Twilight chuckled. “I don’t blame you. It’s been a great party. Well, good night, Spike.”

Spike had been ready to agree – the party was definitely one to remember. But now he hesitated. “Aren’t you coming?” he asked.

“No, I’m going to stay. Marsden’s telling me about his daughter. She’s an herbalist. I’ve never even heard of half the potions she makes.” Twilight directed an eager smile at the yak beside her. Then her smile turned kind as she looked back at Spike. “You did have fun tonight, right?”

“Yeah. I had fun. G’night, Twilight.”

The low sounds of conversation around the fire followed him almost all the way to the door of the ger he shared with Twilight. He paused, glancing back towards the party.

‘Home,’ murmured the wind. It whistled past his ears, gentler and more refreshing than it had been all day, yet more haunting. That musky plant smell tickled his nose. Snowflakes whirled through the night air on the breeze. He spun around slowly, following their flight with his eyes.

The wind lifted the snowflakes up and away into the night sky, like migrating dragons far beyond his reach. He watched until he couldn’t distinguish them from the jewelled stars above anymore. The sky was full of stars, in fact. The solitary mountain on the horizon was only visible thanks to the way it blotted them out.

Something more than simple loneliness pressed down on him, chafing against the scales all over his body, especially on his back. A snatch of rumbling laughter from the party sent a pang of jealousy through him. He wondered if he somehow missed Twilight, even though she was right here with him.

Except she wasn’t. He would have asked her to carry him to the mountain in a heartbeat, if she was. Though the darkness hid the cave from sight, his feet could still take him there right now, if he let them. His bones knew the way, as sure as his heart knew how to beat.

Didn’t that mean he’d finally found home?
> Part Two
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Cutie Map showed the full extent of how much Equestria knew about the lands beyond its borders. Princess Celestia actually wrote back saying she’d never realised there were lands beyond Yakyakistan. Not until now.

Surely Spike didn’t come from beyond the northern edge of the most thorough map in Equestria. It didn’t make sense. Did many dragons live so far north? How did his egg end up in Equestria in the first place? If he came from an arctic land, why was he fireproof? He regretted wasting all his time on the great dragon migration trying to impress jerks, instead of finding the answers to those questions.

That experience with other dragons proved he didn’t actually need to know anything about where he came from. Ponyville was his home, and Twilight (and the others) were the best friends a dragon could ask for. If other dragons couldn’t understand why, that was their loss, not his. He wasn’t lonely. Nope. Life in Ponyville was great.

These thoughts and his aching knees almost made him call off the whole trip several times. Every time, the pull of the mountain – and of finally finding answers – grew stronger. Like a breath of fresh air, Twilight’s voice distracted him from the one whispering in his ear. But his thoughts returned to the underground grotto regardless, birds migrating home against a persistent north wind.

They descended to the steppe via an old, zigzagging path which passed through the band of forest visible from the ridgetop. The path was pitted by holes just the right size for Spike and Twilight to twist their ankles in. So many of the holes were hidden by snow and pine needles that Twilight got fed up and finally decided to use her wings to avoid them. 

She cut a couple of crude slits in her coat so that she could fly while wearing it. Her bird’s-eye view made her spirited amazement even greater – as in, it got more annoying. In particular, the herbaceous scent that overpowered all other smells kept attracting her attention.

Spike felt he should either marvel over the unique setting too or resent everything he saw. But neither happened. His surroundings were completely unremarkable. He wouldn’t have even noted his disinterest if it weren’t for Twilight’s gushing.

Familiarity was the only thing that explained his behaviour. It felt like he was walking home after buying supplies in Ponyville. He didn’t need to pay attention to the actual town. He just had to check for rocks on the road.

Unfortunately, there were far more rocks and holes here than in Ponyville. Twilight landed beside Spike after what felt like his hundredth stumble. She lowered one wing. “You want to hop on?”

He ground his teeth. Fine time for her to ask that. “I’m okay,” he said.

“Are you?”

“Of course.” With effort, he smiled at Twilight. “It must be nice to have wings.”

“Yeah. Flying really makes a journey like this easier. I guess that’s why Rainbow Dash always flies everywhere.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, if you change your mind, I’d be happy for you to fly with me for a while. If you’re. . . finding it hard or anything.”

“Uh huh,” Spike said, glancing at his wingless back.

The forest thinned out until they left the trees behind. The organic woody smell grew fainter, replaced by the crisp smell of snow. The path grew less steep, sloping towards the final landmark before the steppe: a large eroded stone.

They made camp beside the megalith, and everyone went to bed early, wearied by the long descent. Yet Spike found it hard to get to sleep, and he wasn’t the only one. Throughout the night the wind whistled eerily, causing the fretful yaks to grumble.

Drifting off towards dreams, Spike imagined a reunion, a retreat, and a disappointing non-event. Then he pictured himself flying south over snowy, cloud-covered mountaintops. Twilight hurried ahead towards sunset, beckoning him onwards. But he couldn’t catch up. The sun disappeared, but the moon didn’t rise, and the singing voice at his back grew louder.

Clattering pots woke him up. Breakfast smells like boiling milk and steaming dumplings bid him good morning. For a few moments, he felt as good as he did when he woke up to rain. There was something wonderful about being half-asleep in a warm sleeping bag when the world outside was freezing. For a moment, nothing could touch him.

Then the wind moaned, and the feeling passed.

They broke camp under a cold blue sky, reflected bright and sharp by snowdrifts. All the way to the horizon, blades of grass poked through the snow, shivering in the wind. A fine spray of snow blew from every crest. The rising sun made tiny glints everywhere, stabbing Spike in the eyes.

Everyone bent their heads as they began to cross the steppe. Aside from Spike’s breathing, the only sounds in the world were hooves crunching on hard snow and Twilight’s light wingbeats.

With no warning, Prince Rutherford went down in the snow, bellowing in shock. Everybody in the trekking party shouted in alarm before hurrying towards him. 

Rutherford flailed and yelled, rocketed into a state of incendiary anger by his predicament. Every wild thrash caused him to sink deeper until only his snorting, snow-flecked head stuck out of the snow, level with frosted heads of grass.

As the other yaks got close to Prince Rutherford, the snow broke under their hooves too. Yelling, they plunged into the snow too. Spike broke into a run.

“Be careful,” Twilight called. She hovered beside Rutherford, then began to flit around him. She didn’t have to be careful herself, on account of her wings.

Clenching his jaw, Spike forced himself to slow down, testing each piece of snow before he stood on it. “Is everyone okay?” he asked once he reached the wallowing yaks.

Rutherford roared over the din. “No, no, no!”

“Are you hurt?”

“Yak smash!” Rutherford hurled himself towards Spike, wounded pride translating into terrifying strength. All around him the snow broke, though, keeping him trapped in the icy grass. His enraged floundering threw glinting specks of ice through the air.

“Prince Rutherford, calm down, you’ll hurt yourself,” Twilight pleaded. But Rutherford continued to bellow and thrash in wordless rage.

“Did you see what happened?” Spike asked Twilight.

“It must be the grass,” she replied.

“What do you mean?”

“The snow looks hard but it’s just air and grass underneath.” As if she was going to land, Twilight pressed her hooves against the snow. It crumbled beneath her weight, revealing a grassy pocket of air. “See? It’s not strong enough to support us.”

“I’m fine.”

“You must be light enough not to break the snow.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Spike muttered, lifting one of his feet. Cracks had formed around his footprint. The snow creaked when he put his foot down, a harmless sound that now filled Spike with dread.

“Maybe you should stay there where you’re safe,” Twilight said.

It took a lot of effort to take the frown off his face. “I’m fine,” he repeated, gingerly moving to a different spot. “You were right. I don’t weigh a lot. So don’t worry about me.”

Twilight didn’t respond. He realised she’d returned her attention to the hampered, threshing yaks.

“Don’t worry about them either. I’m sure they’ll be out in a flash once you use magic.”

“I don’t think I’m powerful enough to help them all.”

Once again Spike hid his frown. “You won’t know until you try.”

“I’m going to lift you out with my magic,” Twilight told Rutherford. “Could you – excuse me, Prince Rutherford? Please, can you listen – can you hear me? Prince Rutherford!”

“No!” Prince Rutherford shook his shaggy head.

“You can’t hear me?”

Rutherford harrumphed. “Yaks don’t need magic.”

“Prince Rutherford, I know you’re upset, but I can help you much more quickly if I use magic. Honestly, I’m not sure how else I can help.”

“Yaks no need help.”

Spike pulled a face. “No offence, but I think you do.”

Rutherford roared in disagreement and Spike backed off. He decided to leave Twilight to argue with Rutherford, and investigate the terrain.

The steppe was deceptive, the snow hiding swells and hollows in the grass. In some spots the wind had blasted the grass flat and scoured the snow to a shallow layer that barely covered the ground. In others the snowdrifts were packed hard and firm. Both of these were solid places to tread.

But in other places, thin crusts of snow were held up by nothing more than grass stems and air. Sometimes loose snow filled a deep dimple in the grass with nothing to show for it. The former wasn’t even strong enough to support Spike’s weight, let alone a yak’s. Meanwhile, to get out of the latter, he had to combine the acts of wading and scrambling. It wasn’t a fun way to move.

Still, at least he could get out of such a predicament. The yaks remained trapped, rejecting each of Twilight’s suggestions just for involving magic. Each time they rebuffed her, she got more agitated. The yaks’ thrashing hooves and horns, outright dangerous, made Spike grit his teeth.

He wished he knew how to help. But he was too small, and his magic was the wrong sort. He briefly remembered being big enough to hold Rarity in his tail, and saving the Crystal Empire. Then he shook the memories out of his head. Being small and light meant he could identify solid places where the entire trekking party would be able to walk. That would be helpful.

They’d have to retreat to where Prince Rutherford had been walking before he fell. He managed to find a solid drift of snow that led from Prince Rutherford’s wallow back to safe ground. 

When he pointed it out to Twilight, she looked thoughtful. Inspired by the solid snow, she came up with a magic-free method of helping the yaks. By wallowing down in the snow in front of Prince Rutherford, tramping back and forth, over and over, she packed it firmly enough for him to stand on it without it breaking. Then Spike directed him (from a safe distance) onto the solid snowdrift.

Even with the cumulative help of each freed yak, the process was far more time-consuming and tiring than a simple magical technique. Twilight’s expression became more haggard after each yak. Once every yak stood on safe ground again she flew into the sky to survey the steppe, and even her wingbeats looked slow and exhausted to Spike.

The yaks themselves didn’t look particularly tired. But Spike noticed one lie down, while the others hung their heads. Spike wondered how many expressions their hairy faces hid.

Twilight dropped back to the ground, shivering. The clouds made it impossible to tell whether midday had arrived. Spike decided it didn’t matter.

“Maybe we should camp here and make lunch. We can carry on later,” he suggested.

Twilight nodded.

“Food good,” Rutherford grunted. “Yaks tired,” he admitted after a moment.

It seemed crossing the steppe to reach the solitary mountain was going to take a greater toll than any of them had expected.





Despite Spike and Twilight’s combined efforts to scout out solid footing, each yak fell many times. Each fall caused their short tempers to fray a little more, until the slightest niggle could set off a tirade about the imperfect steppe.

The wind never stopped blowing; Spike’s hat did nothing to keep it out of his ears. It even managed to pierce the ger’s defences at night. Even though he wrapped himself in his sleeping bag, he couldn’t block out its bitter voice, sometimes a moan, sometimes a howl. He slept fitfully, shivering.

Two such nights passed before they reached the foot of the mountain, where the steppe yielded to bedrock. The incline was far steeper than it had looked from Yakyakistan. The black cave entrance far above was so far above that he almost fell when tilting his head back to look at it. He didn’t seem to have moved when he looked at Twilight, though.

As they climbed, the woody fragrance returned. When Spike stopped to catch his breath, the aroma gave him the energy to tackle the next scramble. He turned down Twilight’s wordless offers to ride on her back, but his resentment formed a tight ball in his chest, exacerbated by the cold and the effort of climbing such a steep slope. 

By lunchtime it was clear the ground was too uneven for them to pitch a camp any closer to the cave. Rutherford sent the majority of the yaks back downhill to establish a base camp. Two particularly large and tough-looking yaks remained. Spike wondered if they had specific skills, or were just hairier than their compatriots and thus able to endure the cold for longer.

The next time Spike paused to catch his breath – maybe for the umpteenth time – one of the yaks indicated his back. Spike shook his head until Twilight sighed. Scowling, Spike pulled a little too hard on the yak’s fur as he climbed onto his back, and the yak snorted. Strike one.

As they closed on the summit of the mountain, the cave entrance disappeared from sight, hidden by a rocky outcropping. Spike gripped the yak’s fur tightly, eliciting another snort. Strike two. But he didn’t care. The strange magnetic feeling that had pulled him this far couldn’t fail now. He directed the yak right, below the base of the outcropping.

But he couldn’t find the cave entrance. After blundering into yet another featureless gully, Spike jumped off the yak.

“Where cave?” Rutherford barked.

“I don’t know.” Spike wrung his claws together. The gully contained grubby snow and tiny pink flowers, but no cave.

“We could try going to the top and looking from there,” Twilight suggested.

“It should be here.” Spike clenched his fists, fighting the urge to punch a boulder. In a battle of earth versus dragon, he was still far too small to win.

Rutherford pawed the ground and characteristically suggested, “Yak smash.”

“No.” Twilight swooped down from above, looking alarmed. “We don’t want to cause an avalanche or a rock fall.”

Spike kicked the icy ground in frustration, scuffing the earth around the base of one of the flowers.

“Spike, calm down. We’ll find the cave. We just need to be patient and thorough.”

To Spike’s shame, tears filled his eyes. He turned away, and then kicked at the flower again, exposing a brown clump of entwined roots. The herbaceous fragrance filled the air. As before, it energised him, and incensed him enough to demand, “Ugh, what’s that smell? I smelled it before and it’s driving me crazy!”

“Spike –” Twilight started.

“Musk root,” Prince Rutherford said. He crushed the mass of roots beneath his hoof, intensifying the scent. “Special plant. Good medicine. Strong smell.”

“You got that right,” Spike said. He drummed his claws against his arm and pulled a face. “Okay, fine. Let’s climb to the top. I didn’t come all this way to be beaten by a stupid mountain.”

“Not perfect like yak mountains!”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Spike said under his breath. 

Fortunately his disillusionment blew away at the mountain’s summit. They could see all the way back to the snow-covered mountains of Yakyakistan. The wind rippled across the pale steppe, their progress marked by smudges of dislodged snow. From this angle the view felt even more familiar. Spike took a deep breath so that the smells of the mountain filled his nose, clearing his thoughts, and closed his eyes to let instinct guide him.

“Over there,” he said, pointing at a valley to their left.

Twilight flew over to check his intuition and returned after just a few minutes. “It’s there,” she called, wings beating furiously to fend off the cold. “And we can walk there from here, too. It looks easier than approaching from below.”

Within half an hour Twilight guided them to the hole in the hillside. It didn’t look like a quintessential fairy tale cave. The entrance was much smaller than Spike had expected for a landmark visible from so far away. Patches of grass did their best to grow wherever sunlight struck the ground. The same tiny pink flowers clung to the earth in the crevices between rocks.

They peered inside. A dirty bank of snow, dimpled by water dripping from the ceiling over many years, slanted into a chamber of broken boulders. In his heart Spike knew that there was more to the chamber than met the eye, even though he couldn’t see any way out other than the entrance they stood in.

Rutherford and Twilight both looked up at the sun, sinking through the sky. “We return tomorrow,” Rutherford said.

“But we just got here,” Spike argued. The feeling that the answers to all his questions were right under his feet far outweighed the small part that wanted safety. 

Twilight put her hoof on his shoulder. “It’s too late for us to go in now.”

“How can it be too late? It’s always dark underground. It doesn’t matter if it’s day or night when we’re in there.”

“Let’s be sensible about this, Spike,” said Twilight. “We can get a good night’s sleep now and come back fresh tomorrow with supplies. We’ll be better prepared. And it’s better for the yaks to wait for us during the day.”

He pushed her hoof away. “You’re just scared.”

“I’m not scared. Um, I mean, not much. But I want to be as prepared as possible. We haven’t had much time to research what alpine caves are like, or how to stay safe underground.” She glanced at Rutherford and then said in a low voice, “I trust you, but we don’t even know if the dragon’s still here.”

How could he argue with Twilight when she was voicing his fears out loud? But turning away felt like turning away from a whole tub of ice cream: impossible, until he’d done it. As if she sensed that he needed her help, Twilight escorted him away from the cave.

“I want to find out if this is where you come from as much as you do, Spike,” she said as they walked away. “I just think that since we’ve waited this long we can wait a little bit longer to make sure we’re ready.”

“I get it,” he sighed. Still, he kept looking back until the cave disappeared. Even then, he felt like there were caves in every crevice, all waiting for him to make a move.

That night in the ger he and Twilight shared, Spike fidgeted. In his mind he stared at the cave, and the cave stared back, flickering with green fire.

Twilight sighed. “How can you not be tired?”

“Sorry, Twilight. I’ll try to keep it down.”

“It’s all right. You can talk to me, if you want.”

Spike sat up and lit a candle. Only Twilight’s hooded eyes and her muzzle peeked out of her sleeping bag, snug around her head.

“Are you really not scared?” he asked.

“Of the cave? I’m a little bit scared. But the advice Princess Luna sent us from the Equestrian Speleological Society is super helpful. The only thing I’m worried about now is helmets. . .” She yawned. “I don’t think yak war helmets will help. All we really need now is a good night’s sleep. You should read the scrolls yourself.”

“I don’t think reading about going into a proper cave is going to help me.”

Twilight half-heartedly levitated the scrolls to him anyway. “I think it’s better than nothing.” She closed her eyes for a few seconds, and said, “I was thinking about the musk root, too.”

“Why?” Its fragrance was so strong Spike could still smell it, although their coats hung on the other side of the ger. 

“The way Prince Rutherford described it, it really is a special herb. I’m wondering if the yaks used to trade it with us, back before they closed their borders with Equestria. Maybe that’s how your egg came to Equestria. I’ll ask Princess Celestia.”

“We should’ve asked her ages ago. Twilight, do you. . . do you really think I’ll find out where I come from?”

“I hope so,” Twilight said through another yawn. “I’m sorry, Spike, I know it’s hard but I really think we have to get some sleep. Good night.”

Spike watched her roll over. She immediately began to snore, air whiffling through her lips. He sighed and started to read the scrolls, tugging his sleeping bag up around his shoulders for warmth. 

He didn’t understand a lot of the words, made worse by the way they got progressively harder to read. He looked up, blinking, and noticed the flame of the candle had grown smaller. No wonder he could hardly see the words on the page.

He leaned towards the candle. A moan outside made him freeze in sudden terror, and the door of the tent flapped. A chill gust, pungent with musk root, forced its way through the small gap between door and wall. The flame wavered and then went out.

Spike shoved the scrolls off his lap and pulled his sleeping bag over his head, teeth juddering.

‘Home.’ 

Twilight’s sleeping bag rustled as she shifted. He glanced at her, a smudge in the darkness inside the tent. He imagined huddling in the mouth of the cave, snow falling from the clouded sky. Stars twinkled purple above. He breathed in sweat and musk and earth and prepared to step out into bright moonlight. But a cold claw dug into his back, pulling him back into soundless blackness.

A long time passed before he fell asleep.





At dawn, the five of them trekked out of the camp with full bellies and steaming breath. Twilight carried two saddlebags bulging with canteens of water, a rope, and a couple of traditional yak trekking cakes.

A large horn, embellished with silver rings, hung around Prince Rutherford’s neck. The horn piqued Spike’s curiosity, though not enough to actually convince him to start a conversation. After this trip, Twilight better not still think of him as antisocial in the morning. To say the yaks weren’t fabulous talkers at the best of times was obviously an understatement, but their attitudes were even worse in the morning.

Spike understood that, though. His own ger called him back to bed.

They hiked through the morning. Snow lingered on the scrub, making the rocks treacherous. The sunlight peeping through the clouds never grew strong enough to melt the ice.

Still, they reached the cave without incident, and ate an early lunch of trekking cake, cheese, and dumplings. Fortified by lunch, Spike finally felt confident enough to ask about the horn Prince Rutherford carried.

“Horn summon yaks,” Rutherford answered. He lifted the horn to his lips and with one blow let loose an almighty braying sound.

Twilight flinched. “Won’t that summon them now?” 

Rutherford shook his head. “Three blows summon,” he said. An equally harsh bray filtered through the morning air. “Ha,” Rutherford barked, satisfied.

Twilight began to adjust her saddlebags far more slowly than usual. The cold wind arrowed inside Spike whenever he breathed in, aggravating a mixture of fear and exhilaration in his gut. 

Whatever they found inside the cave, the yaks were probably too big to help them. Furthermore, several hours of hiking separated Rutherford and his companions from the yaks at base camp. If something bad happened, he and Twilight would have to figure it out by themselves. 

What if there was nothing here? That was almost a worse thought. If this adventure proved to be a phenomenal waste of time, every member of royalty in two nations would be disappointed in him.

He hopped from one foot to another, itching to either get going or call the whole thing off. He couldn’t take much more uncertainty. 

“We can do this,” Twilight said to herself, low enough so that only Spike heard her.

“Ready,” Rutherford said. His tone didn’t quite reach the inflection of a question.

“We’re ready,” said Spike. “Aren’t we?”

“Right,” Twilight said, fiddling with one of the straps of her saddlebag again.

“Good luck,” Rutherford said. His eyes shone, perhaps with concern. But they were hidden behind his unshorn fringe too quickly for Spike to be sure.

Twilight flew down to the bottom of the snowy slope. Spike picked his way down to join her, listening to the occasional smack of dripping water, breath fogging in a cloud around his head.

A passage in the left wall, just a few metres wide, lead into the mountain’s hidden depths. He glanced back up at the entrance, angled high enough above him that he had to crane his neck. Though the sunlight was weak, it dazzled. When he squinted he could see three horned heads gazing down at him. Spike wondered what Rarity would think of his urge to run back to them.

He guessed she’d forgive him, even though the yaks were rather unkempt. This was a unique situation, after all.

He looked at Twilight. She gave him a weak smile. Heartened by her confidence, Spike headed towards the continuation of the cave.

The passage immediately curved to the right. As they entered, their bodies blocked the majority of the light from the outside world. Grey shadows ahead melded into looming black. 

“Hold on,” Twilight murmured. Pink sparks cast faint shadows on the potholed floor. Then the ball of light at the tip of her horn settled, her spell providing dim yet constant illumination.

Spike hesitated. He wasn’t sure where to step. Jagged darkness lurked in every crack.

“Come on, Spike,” Twilight said. Her magic surrounded him, much like a warm, tingling blanket. She paused, though, and so did he.

It made sense for her to carry him, so that his body wasn’t blocking the light of her horn. But it felt more important that her expression was hopeful when he looked at her. Every time he rejected her help, just like the yaks had, he’d hurt her. But would he rather be by himself right now? Definitely not.

“Let’s go,” he said, nodding.

Twilight placed him on her back, which was still covered by the thick travelling coat lent to her by the yaks. Then they walked into the cave, leaving light and life behind, except that which they brought with them.
> Part Three
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“This would have been easier before I got taller.” Twilight stooped beneath a massive rock barely wedged in the ceiling.

Spike bit his lip. “I think you had a point about the helmets too,” he said.

“I suppose we’re lucky we got this far without needing them.”

The cave passage had not, until now, been too challenging. Twilight hopped over and squeezed around dry boulders. Although the rocks were often sharp enough to wound, the ceiling remained several metres above their heads. So in the trickiest parts of the passage, Twilight had been able to simply fly over the obstacles.

They’d reached a small chamber where water trickled in from one narrow passage and exited via another. There was only one way on – the other was filled with damp, eroded stones. The new passage, beyond the boulder in the ceiling, was much narrower and lower than the preceding cave, preventing Twilight from flying. At least the walls and floor were no longer jagged. They’d been worn smooth by water long ago.

Twilight stopped with a noise of alarm before she hit her nose on a wall of smooth, white rock. Several rock formations, which looked like large spikes and thick curtains, hung from the ceiling, reducing the size of the cave ahead to chest height. There was no way for Twilight to carry on without crawling.

Spike slid off Twilight’s back and past her legs to investigate. The low roof didn’t bother him. He crawled forward. The natural protection of his thick scales became obvious. Even smooth rocks were uncomfortable if you kneeled on them, and gravel bit deep into his hands, making him wince a few times.

“We should’ve made a torch outside,” Spike grunted, more to himself than to Twilight. He had to keep breathing fire to see if the passage opened up again.

That happened within a few metres. “It’s not long,” he called back to Twilight.

“Right,” Twilight’s voice answered. No sound followed.

“Twilight?” he asked.

“This isn’t anything like what the speleological ponies described.”

He nearly laughed. “Are you surprised?”

“No,” she said defensively.

He waited for a few moments. “Are you coming through?”

“I wish I had a helmet,” her voice muttered.

Spike shuffled back into the tube. “I’ll help you. I can tell you if you’re going to hit your head.”

Twilight crawled forward on all fours, cautiously considering each section of rocky floor before her. Her wariness was vindicated when the sound of tearing fabric ripped through the confined space.

Twilight paused, easing her belly down against the floor. “It’s a good thing I’m wearing this coat,” she mumbled, jaw clenched, muscles trembling.

“You’re almost through,” Spike encouraged.

Twilight inched forward. Sweat dampened her face.

“That’s it, you’re done!”

Twilight’s legs quivered with relief as she stood up eagerly and stretched them. Spike began to smile, feeling better for it. They’d passed their first test.

Around the corner the floor of the passage first sloped steeply downwards and then dropped away entirely. The walls continued for another couple of metres, blocking the rest of the cave from sight. They seemed to be standing inside a crack. On the edge of hearing, a low roar throbbed rhythmically, deeper even than a dragon’s grumble. They were deep inside the body of the mountain now, nearing its heart.

The walls confined the light of Twilight’s horn. If there was a floor beneath their vantage point, it was hidden by a black void. Eerie shadows flickered whenever Twilight moved her head.

They peered forward and down, trying to gauge their new surroundings. Spike recoiled after a few moments. He’d sometimes wondered if not being able to see the bottom of a large drop would make it easier to stomach. Apparently not.

“Are you getting vertigo like me?” he said.

“Don’t ask,” Twilight said, swallowing. “Can you see anything about where we are? Do you think we’re already there?”

The way her voice travelled suggested that there was a large, open space hidden from their sight, beyond the walls.

Spike shook his head. “No. Well, uh, I-I mean, this isn’t what I remember. It must be further. Can you just fly down?”

Twilight made a noise that combined every possible emotion implied by the word ‘unhappiness’.

“What if. . . what if y-you lift me forward with your magic?” Spike suggested. “So I can get a better look?”

“No way. It’s too risky.”

“You’re always picking me up with magic. It’s not. . .” Even though Spike didn’t look at the dark drop beneath them, he could still see it. “It’s n-not that dangerous.”

“I’d rather not.” Twilight splayed one wing out for balance. She gingerly lifted a hoof over the edge of the drop, and lowered it out of Spike’s sight.

“What are you doing?” he hissed, grabbing her tail.

Twilight’s tongue poked out of her mouth. “Hold. . . on. . .”

She must have found some tiny, precarious ledge to stand on. Quivering, she craned her neck as far forward as she could, peering down.

“Twilight. . .”

She retreated. “I could almost see the floor down there,” she said, sounding relieved. “I don’t think it’s that far. I think you’re right. We can fly down, if I’m careful.”

Twilight spread her other wing. Most of her feathers pressed against the walls.

“I don’t know,” Spike said. “There’s not a lot of room.”

“Even if I lifted you down with magic, I don’t see much choice for myself.”

“Couldn’t you just. . . fall and catch yourself in time?” he asked.

Twilight blanched. “I-I don’t think the floor’s far enough away for me to have time to do that.”

Spike shivered too. We should’ve spent time perfecting the flight by self-levitation spell, he thought. He didn’t say it out loud; it wouldn’t help.

Twilight edged forward. She crouched down, searching for as much room as possible. Half-hunched and half-stretched across the precipice, she began to flap her wings. Since she couldn’t get full extension, she had to really force them back and forth.

Spike closed his eyes and hoped for the best, feeling her muscles working even through the coat.

A sudden drop followed. Spike’s heart jumped into his throat, hammering. But a few moments later they landed in the bend of a large passageway.

“Oh gosh,” Twilight gasped. 

Spike leaped off her back. “Oh sweet, sweet ground,” he effused, kissing the floor under his feet at least twice before noticing the grit in his mouth.

“I thought having wings would be helpful down here,” he admitted, wiping his lips. “But that was pretty horrible.”

Twilight seemed to need a moment. Spike let her have it. He noted the crack in the wall where they’d come from, and damp staining on the wall below it.

They appeared to be standing in an old river channel. Brown bands stained the cave walls. The sight made him wonder if water had flowed recently. But when he touched the walls, he couldn’t tell whether they were wet or just cold.

“Whoa,” he breathed.

“Spike,” Twilight whispered.

“Yeah. . .”

“Are you ready to go? Spike?”

“Huh?” Spike looked away from the tide marks and saw Twilight looking downright miserable. “Are you okay?”

“Do you feel like something wants to hurt us? It’s like the dark is. . . watching us.”

Spike glanced at the full extent of Twilight’s illumination. Now that she mentioned it, the image of a malevolent creature lurking just out of sight came easily to mind.

“I didn’t until now. . . Uh, let’s keep going.”

“Okay. Which way?”

Spike tried to let his feet take charge. But they refused to lead him onwards. Maybe their confidence had run out now that they were underground. “Um,” Spike said, choosing to go right rather than left. He stepped around a large boulder, glancing back at Twilight.

He watched her mouth drop open as his foot went down further than it should have, into nothing.

Gravity took control. He fell into a dark smile, confident in its supremacy. A horrible feeling of stretching space and hopelessness filled him, boiling up his throat in a scream.

Wings, he thought. Oh, I wish I had wings!

The sharp lurch of Twilight dragging him back on to cold, solid stone forced the scream out. The feeling that he was about to be sick followed. He scrambled away from the black hole, deeper into Twilight’s embrace.

“Spike,” Twilight gasped. Her warm, damp breath condensed against his clammy face, setting off a chain of earthquakes in his body.

There was nothing else to say that wasn’t better said by their trembling bodies.

At least, the compulsion to be sick passed. The chill of inactivity and fear settled over them. Spike peered forward again. The pit was many metres deep; not a simple shadow like he’d told himself. Its maw made him sweat and blanch again, so he tried to look past it to the rest of the cave.

The passage ahead resembled a battlefield, created by giants capable of picking up and hurling boulders at one another. Gigantic rocks choked the passage from ceiling to floor. They leaned against one another at terrible angles, weights resting on just one razor-thin edge or broken corner. Even the small boulders could have squashed Spike into a stain on the floor if they fell.

“Is it” – Twilight gulped – “that way?”

Beyond a shadow of a doubt, Spike felt that just one breath of air would unleash the loaded avalanche of doom. Like the breeze created by an alicorn flying around investigating possible ways on, for instance. He felt sick again.

“Er. . . let’s try the other way first.”

They beat a retreat back to their starting point, although turning his back on the boulder slope of death made Spike’s spines crawl. What if their steps were enough to make it crash down on top of them?

Worsening thoughts came to him. What if the cathedral was behind the boulders? What if somepony had caused a cave-in to trap the dragon they sought: somepony who had decided that it was better to leave greedy, selfish dragons alone? Spike had no proper reason to believe the dragon in this mountain, if it was even still here, would be nice at all. In fact, his other experiences with dragons suggested it would be as mean as any other. Dragons had the worst reputation of all creatures in the known world, even worse than yaks.

“I think coming in here was one of the worst ideas I’ve ever had,” he muttered.

They both looked wishfully at the fissure in the wall that led back to the surface. But then Twilight shook her head.

“No, it’s not. We’re here to find out where you come from. Whatever it takes, it’s worth it.”

Spike felt cold as he spoke. “Is it? I mean. . . I’m fine in Ponyville.”

Twilight stayed quiet for several seconds. “But you’ll always wonder, won’t you?”

Spike sighed. Twilight brushed his face with the tip of her wing, feathers soft, lifting both his chin and his spirits. She smiled at him: weakly, but it was a smile nonetheless.

Going left, the large passage sloped downward. There were no boulders to climb over or hop between, or blind pits to stumble into. Soon Spike walked beside Twilight instead of sitting on her back. Because they were close together, they often tried to step in the same spots. It would have been annoying above ground. Here, it was comforting.

Sand began to appear on the floor. The low background roar became distinguishable as flowing water, reverberating through the cave. A draft blew past their ears, hurrying them along.

The sound of water grew louder as they continued to tiptoe along the dark passage, and the sand deepened. The passage also became bigger, like a widening funnel. Rough grooves and pits marred the walls.

A crunch shattered the relative silence. Spike retracted his foot, aware that his step had caused the sound. Thousands of tiny mineral fragments covered the floor. Some looked as though someone had shaved small slices off a clouded crystal. Others looked like tiny curling twigs. They gleamed in the light radiating off Twilight’s horn.

“Oh wow, helictites,” Twilight said breathlessly, bending down to look at them. Spike tried to pick one up. It was so delicate it broke immediately in his claws. When he took a handful, they tinkled as they jostled and broke against one another.

A rumble that bore no relation to the running water shook his insides, turning them to jelly. Spike and Twilight both yelped, clutching one another. The noise quietened and then stopped.

“W-what was th-that?” Spike asked. “An earthquake?”

The noise shook the ground again, a cognizant snarling edge in it this time. Not an earthquake. Twilight’s horn went out like a candle extinguished, plunging them into a world blacker than night. “My magic,” she cried.

Spike waved his claws in front of his face. At least, he thought he did; he couldn’t see his hands to be sure. Only the physical movement of air confirmed his motion. Once the draft ceased, he immediately felt unsure it had ever happened. He saw nothing. He’d never seen nothing like this.

A mewl caught in his throat.

“Who’s there?” Twilight shouted.

“Y-yeah, show yourself!” Spike yelled, reassured by her voice.

In a roar of igniting flames and pounding water and building rage, sudden fire banished both darkness and coldness. Twilight automatically threw out a wing to shade their eyes.

The light blinded him. Spike squinted and winced in pain. Then everything suddenly came into focus. The dancing firelight unveiled unseen vastness. They were standing in a gargantuan chamber. . .

A gargantuan wedge-shaped head towered over them, huge eyes glittering and whirling.

Spike tilted his head, back, back, back, until he couldn’t anymore. And he stared.

He’d been right all along. This was the place he remembered without living memory. These were the eyes of the dragon he’d seen in his mind, the one who’d answer his questions. Feelings of respect and admiration filled him, tempered with awe. . . and terror.

A glistening strand of spit dangled from the great split of its mouth. Sharp alabaster fangs within sparkled much as the ancient spiked stalactites far above its head did. Magic shimmered around it like hazy rainbows in mist. When the dragon growled, the ground quivered and the firelight flared and the helictites chimed.

Stunned, Spike realised the light came from the fire burning within its barrelled chest. Stippled luminous skin distorted a fiery yellow-green orb, locked behind ribbed shadows.

Then Spike gazed up into its radiant regard. In eyes as multi-faceted as a diamond beautiful beyond either his or Rarity’s imagining, tiny versions of Spike gaped back. Time lost all meaning.

“Please don’t hurt us,” he heard Twilight plead.

The dragon blinked, breaking its mesmerising scrutiny. Its fangs regained prominence in Spike’s eyes. Discoloured with age, they glistened with saliva.

Spike’s own teeth were so small and blunt in comparison, and they chattered awfully as he tried to speak. “Wh-wh-who are y-you? W-w-what d-do you want?”

As Spike expected, the creature spoke in the whispering voice of the wind through the grass. “You? Want?” it sighed. “Who? You. What? Want.”

“We want to know who you are,” Twilight repeated.

Its front claw, resting sedately on the sand, snapped towards them. Burning sand stung Spike’s face, but his scales protected him from the abrasion. Twilight had no such defence and cried out.

“Who,” it hissed, iridescent eyes whirling with fury. A ferocious wave of heat caused Twilight to wither instantly. Spike made a futile grab for her: he couldn’t keep her from falling to her forelegs.

“Stop, please,” he heard her groan. Her horn sizzled.

Forked tongues dancing in a snarl, the dragon flung sand at her again. A second blast of heat and light made Twilight swoon and Spike cringe.

“Want! Worm!” the creature spat. 

“Stop it! You’re hurting her!”

A snort like a boulder smashing against a mountain rocked the cavern. But the heatwave passed. Twilight gave a strangled gasp.

“Twilight, are you all right? Please, Twilight. Talk to me. Tell me you’re okay.”

“Spike,” she rasped. “I’m – Spike. . .”

“Stay with me, Twilight.”

Her eyelids fluttered. “It’s bright,” she moaned. Her face fell between her forelegs.

“Twilight.” Aghast, Spike turned on the dragon. “Hey! Turn it down a bit!”

“Want,” growled the beast.

Spike had nothing but rage to use to try to change its mind. “Turn yourself down!”

“Dragons grow thanks to want,” it said. As it spoke a full sentence, the gravel in its voice disappeared. Its sheer gravitas remained. “Worms are born from desire. Is that what you want, worm?”

“I’m not a worm! I’m a dragon. And yeah, I want you to turn it down.”

The dragon shifted onto its forelegs, swinging forward. The glistening string of spit also swung towards Spike. He flinched, afraid not just of the dragon’s size but of the resentment still alight in its whirling eyes, a furnace banked rather than quenched.

Enormous oily shadows unfurled from its back. A cooling breeze wafted over Spike and Twilight. To Spike’s relief, Twilight twitched. But she didn’t seem to be aware of him when he shook her shoulders. Despite the warmth in the cavern, he shivered.

“Wyrm, not worm,” the dragon said.

The word didn’t sound any different. Spike glared up at the beast. The massive eyes stared back, dappled like a lakebed on a sunny day. They were calmer now, spinning less quickly. Green light bloomed within and rose to the pearly surface.

Spike’s anger threatened to ebb away. At the same time, he began to understand the mesmerising feeling was magical. He shook his head, gritting his jaw.

“You better not have hurt her,” he spat.

The dragon ignored his pathetic threat. “You are not so young,” it said. “If you were a dragon, you would have wings by now. You are not.”

Spike balled his claws into fists. “I am a dragon.”

He couldn’t remember meeting any dragons who didn’t have wings, though. Just another way that meant Spike was different. Every single one had denied that Spike was a dragon. Why did he even insist that he was one of them? They were horrible.

The dragon huffed. Glints floated in its eyes, many small points of shifting colour in a green ocean. It reminded Spike of the embers and snowflakes he’d watched dance into the sky, above the ridge, several nights ago.

There was mist in the air, created by the spray from the water on the other side of the chamber. A few seconds passed before Spike realised the dragon was also responsible for the mist. Pale, smoky vapours drifted out of its nose. The smoke wasn’t noxious: in fact, it smelled inexplicably of fresh water and musk root.

The enormous maw opened and the beast inhaled. Smoke and spray cascaded into its yawning mouth.

“You do not smell of dragon.”

“Whatever,” Spike said. He folded his arms, hoping it would make him look tougher, as well as conceal his trembling. “I come from Equestria, okay. Yeah, that’s where ponies live. Big deal. They’re my best friends. If you want to call me a pony, or say I smell like one, go right ahead. I don’t care.”

“You do not smell like pony either.”

“So what – uh. . . I mean. . .” Spike sagged, wringing his claws together. “Well, what do I smell of, then?”

“Wyrm,” said the dragon. Just as Spike was about to protest again it added, “Snow. Yak.”

“Really?” Spike sniffed himself. All he could smell was his own sweat. “I told you Yakyakistan smelled different,” he said to Twilight, hoping she would respond.

The dragon swung its head towards Spike again. The shiny strand dangling from its lips almost hit him – Spike scrambled out of the way just in time.

The dragon stilled. “What do you want?” it asked. “Why did you come here?”

“Um. . .”

Now that it wasn’t swinging about, Spike got a good look at the saliva strand. It actually looked too solid to be spit. Tiny droplets of water trembled on the surface. The draft created by flowing water caused it to shiver like a spider’s web in the breeze. The more he thought about it, the more it looked like a thick fibre of spider silk.

“Speak,” the dragon demanded.

“I felt like I recognised this place when I saw it from a distance,” Spike blurted. He was shocked by his own honesty, yet continued out of fear. “Like maybe I’d been here before.”

“You are a wyrm.”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“Dragons have wings.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “You know, I’ve met other dragons who said that, but I’m pretty sure they were just being mean.”

A strong, hot breeze blew against his face. Spike’s gaze snapped back to the creature. He tensed, prepared to defend Twilight again. 

The great regard of the beast’s eyes, multi-coloured once again, encompassed Spike. Though he could feel sand around his feet and Twilight’s mane in his fist, he wondered if he was floating.

“Look harder,” said the dragon, flapping the furled shadows on its back pointedly. Spike peered up at the shadows, and as the fire flared so did realisation.

“You’ve got four wings,” Spike gasped. “I’ve never seen a dragon with four wings before. And they’re all different. . .”

One looked like a normal dragon wing, thick and tough. One resembled Twilight’s own feathered wings. One, brindled and possessing a faint metallic sheen, almost looked furry. The final wing was thin and translucent, veins crisscrossing its surface. It looked just like a changeling wing. A chill ran through Spike’s blood.

“You’re not a dragon,” Spike realised aloud. A dozen new questions came to mind. “Can you fly like that?” he asked, before he realised he could reduce all his queries into the simple: “What are you?”

“A wyrm,” said the thing that wasn’t a dragon.

“That’s a terrible name.”

The creature tilted its head. “A name is just a word.”

“No it’s not.”

Spike saw an impression of wistfulness in its visage. 

He frowned. “Although. . . I guess if you never talk to anyone, it’s just a word,” he conceded. “I’m Spike. What’s your name?”

“My name. . .” it said, as though it had to think about this of all things, while all other answers were obvious. “You may call. . . me. . . Ormr.”

“Huh. What does that mean?”

“Wyrm.”

“You’re hopeless,” Spike said. “Um, no offence.”

The creature exhaled a warm breath, pleasant rather than hazardous. Spike interpreted the action as civil, albeit not yet friendly.

“Is it just the four wings that make you a wyrm instead of a dragon?” Spike asked.

“It is magic.”

“Everyone’s got magic. Even earth ponies.”

Ormr tilted its head again. “Indeed. But wyrms are born from want. And magic is little more than the ability to make desire into reality.”

It shifted its gaze from Spike to Twilight, eyes beginning to whirl again. Like a noticeable change in the wind, magic coalesced around them. In some respects the magic felt just like run-of-the-mill unicorn magic. But it also felt like the Elements of Harmony. Furthermore, it triggered the bubbly forerunner to a magical belch in Spike’s belly.

“This alicorn wanted to hatch you more than anything else in that moment,” said the wyrm.

Spike opened his mouth to question Ormr’s words. Sweet and musky magic poured into him like water into an empty vessel. He tried to close his mouth and shut his eyes to stop the flow. Neither body part obeyed.

Ormr began to burn, soaking them in waves of lambent fire. Seductive colours swirled in its eyes. Pressure built in Spike’s head as he stared into a welkin too bright to endure yet too sublime to ignore. He reeled, falling back against Twilight Sparkle.

Magenta light purged every shadow, except that of the silhouette of a small pony. He heard muffled voices. One sounded young and sweet and disappointed.

“I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

It was Twilight’s voice. He was looking at Twilight: not as she was now, not even as she’d been on the day they first met, but just before that. He was still inside his egg, and he hadn’t hatched yet.

Rather than through Twilight’s excitable retelling, he saw his hatching through his own eyes. Technically he’d lived most of it, so this was his second viewing. But it felt like the first.

Without a memory of his own, the story had always reminded him of a fairy tale about destiny. His own birth was just a subplot in that story. Now it was altogether real, the main event. How pleasant it was to be suspended at the beginning of existence, nothing like the awful weightlessness that came before falling. How warm he was in the sun, and how ticklish the current of magic on his shell.

The ground shook and somepony cried out. Magic cracked open his shell. In a flash of pink light, he finally met the outside world. He stretched and yawned, ready for life.

“Her desire gave you existence,” said Ormr.

The vision vanished, leaving Spike with the afterimage of an overexcited filly and the impression of a rainbow. He rubbed his eyes and his shoulders, for the echo of powerful magic still pulsed through his body. “How did you know that?” he asked.

“Because you were there. And she was there. Thus, so was I.”

“You really are in my head,” Spike said, awed.

“She was just a pony then,” Ormr said, whirling eyes intent on Twilight. Spike wrestled a glower off his face. Why did Ormr care so much about Twilight, rather than Spike?

Ormr lifted itself off the ground, presumably to come closer. Spike leaped to his feet, prepared to defend Twilight again if need be, and the great wyrm hesitated. Spike glimpsed a dozen colourful ovoids buried in the sand beneath its glowing body.

“Are those wyrm eggs?” he asked. They looked too round to be mere rocks.

The fire inside Ormr’s chest flickered. After a long moment it said, “Yes.”

Spike glanced at Twilight, prone on the floor. She whined when he nudged her shoulder, as if she actually was asleep and he’d disturbed a dream. He still intended to warn Ormr away from her while he investigated the eggs.

Ormr’s jewelled eyes were stupendous, though. . .

How long he sat there, transfixed, he didn’t know. At some point Ormr’s gaze flickered. Then the wyrm looked away completely, rasping out a coarse hiss. Spike shook himself, relieving the kind of stiffness he associated with a long nap. 

He made his way over to the eggs. Breaking helictites tinkled under his feet, then gave way to warm sand.

Each ovoid was about the size of his head. Up close, they looked less like rocks and more like eggs, with spotted, dimpled shells. But like any normal rock, the surface was chilly, unaffected by the warmth of the sand.

A hot, dizzying sense of familiarity passed through his body. “This is where my egg was laid,” he said. “That’s why I feel like I’ve been here before. Twilight figured it out. But how did I get out? How old are you? Are you my fam –”

He stopped, remembering how Twilight had collapsed under the heat of Ormr’s fury. If Spike hadn’t been there to distract Ormr, who could say how much the wyrm might have hurt her? The idea made Spike sick.

Perhaps Ormr just didn’t respond well to disturbances. No – it must have known they were coming. Without Ormr’s voice, Spike wouldn’t have come here. A door inside him opened when he heard Ormr’s voice, before he ever saw the rest of the world from the ridgetop of Outer Yakyakistan.

He squinted at Ormr, lessening the hypnotic impact of its lustrous eyes. The wyrm stared at Twilight. Spike noticed bared fangs and narrow eyes, and feared for her safety.

He changed the subject. “You said Twilight wanted me to hatch.”

“Our shells respond to strong magic, to want. Alas, the eggs here may never hatch. The world is full of magic, but without a friend who wants them, that will never matter.”

“Don’t you want them to hatch? Aren’t you their friend?”

“Wyrms cannot hatch wyrms. Mine is not the right magic. Nor would I wish to use it even if I could.”

“Why?”

Ormr’s luminous eyes dulled for a moment. “I lack a reason to use magic. I will never use it again.”

“You used magic when we came in. You didn’t just take Twilight’s magic away, you – you really hurt her.” Spike jabbed a finger towards her. “And she used to be the Element of Magic! You wanted to do that. Why? How long has it been since you even talked to anyone except yourself?”

The firelight wavered. “Let us simply say that it has been a long time.”

“You’ve just been here in the dark for ‘a long time’? How did you get here? Were you laid here as well? Who hatched you?”

Part of Spike felt triumphant when Ormr’s eyes began to whirl. “It matters not.”

“Of course it matters. Why are you here?”

“Why are you?”

“Because I’m looking for answers,” Spike snapped. “Why don’t you just give me some?”

A bright blaze crackled in Ormr’s chest. The little vindictive section of Spike’s heart cheered.

“You are here now,” the wyrm growled. Its head swayed from side to side, like a snake. The silken strand of spit writhed on the sand, coiling upon itself due to Ormr’s movements. Currents of magic and mist billowed around them.

Spike glared defiantly. “Answer me.”

Ormr’s claws dug great trenches in the sand, scraping against the rock beneath. “There is no need to rush!”

“You don’t scare me,” Spike said, standing up.

Ormr reared like a threatened animal, its shadowy wings blowing sand against Spike’s scales. He glanced at Twilight. She seemed unharmed. 

If Ormr could see Spike’s past, Spike must be able to see Ormr’s as well. He stared up into Ormr’s massive eyes, green and yellow and red flames writhing within. I’m fireproof, he assured himself, and Ormr won’t hurt me.

Everything burned. Swirling fire surrounded him. Spike gritted his teeth and pushed onward, diving through lava, wading through snow, walking into the wind. He kept pushing even though Ormr pushed back.

Suddenly the resistance disappeared. The sun scorched his bare back. Waves lapped against his feet. He stood on the shore of a great lake at the height of summer. A perfect day.

A desolate, wrathful loneliness gnawed his heart. He bared his fangs at the dazzling sky. How dare it be so cheerful? Where was the storm his beloved friend deserved? How could the sun and moon keep rising without Chiron, the greatest centaur to ever live; the greatest centaur the world ever lost?

His eyes watered. The sun continued to blaze insolently, until he was forced to look away from its bright smirk. His eyes still streamed with tears. They dripped off his chin, fleeing into the lake.

A couple of young wingless wyrms stood in the water, one beside a griffon and one beside a centaur. They looked concerned. The griffon reached for him, and he jerked away, heart battering his ribs in an attempt to reach blessed, deathly rest.

“I hate you!”

The cry of fury broke the vision. Ormr’s heart smouldered, and Spike’s ached. Gloom surrounded them. Spike ran from the shadows into the light around Twilight, back into his own life rather than Ormr’s.

Ormr’s resentful voice rumbled through the chamber. “You are lucky.”

Spike shivered. Emptiness fuelled the flame within the great wyrm. Ormr tried to ignore it, but at the same time it obsessively nursed that bitter void. Spike pressed himself against Twilight’s warm body, inhaling the faint scents of grass and musk root clinging to her hair. There was a world of selflessness and friendship out there. He wished they were there now, around a fire with Prince Rutherford, or sorting gems for Rarity.

“Twilight, wake up,” he begged. “Don’t leave me alone.”

Ormr answered instead, growling in the gloom. “Loneliness is inevitable!”

In another life, this underground cathedral had been a serene grotto, cradling new life. Now it felt like a grave. If it was Spike’s destiny to one day nourish a deep dark melancholic rage in a deep dark place under the snow, then he didn’t want it. He didn’t want any part of the life that would lead him to such an end.

Ormr roared. It lifted one huge hand and smashed it into the wall of the chamber. With earthshattering noise, its claws ripped the rock asunder. A thousand gemstones tumbled in a glittering waterfall onto the sand. Coloured ore veins striated the rock.

Spike’s dry mouth began to water.

“Everything you need is here, wyrm,” Ormr declared. “This is your home. You will never be alone now we are together.”

Twilight didn’t move. Spike could feel her heart beating under her skin.

“My name is Spike,” he said, running his hand over her soft feathers.

He turned to face the whirling fires in the darkness. “Twilight’s more than just my friend. She’s my family. I’m not alone. But you are.”

Ormr made a sound like the rustle in the grass just before a frozen gale bites again.

“Maybe I’m not a dragon,” Spike said softly. “But just because I’m a wyrm it doesn’t mean I’m the same as you.” He barked out a laugh, breaking the weird hush created by Ormr’s breathing and the distant water. “I mean, I don’t even have wings.”

Ormr’s voice softened. “Sometimes, I don’t either.” With the barest movement of air, Ormr folded its wings away. Just like tears underwater, or life underground, they were lost to sight. . . and in a sense, to existence.

“But you could have wings,” it whispered. “Look again.”

Ormr exhaled a breath that smelled of earth and fresh water. Spike’s head spun. He recognised his own longing for Twilight’s wings, felt Ormr’s wingless back as a young wyrm, and saw himself aloft above Equestria. Rarity and Fluttershy admired the magnificence of his wings, Twilight and Rainbow Dash praised how well he flew, and Pinkie Pie and Applejack marvelled at the view from their vantage on his back. Ormr flew beside him, and their wingtips nearly touched.

Spike wanted that. But the six ponies turned to one another, laughing, and the dream Ormr nudged his non-existent wings, drawing his attention away. As the dream dwindled he began to fall. Ormr didn’t know what to say, and couldn’t catch him.

Spike wiped away tears on his cheeks. “If you’re so bothered about me having wings then why are you pretending you don’t have any?” he asked.

Ormr huffed. “Your friend is an alicorn,” it said. “She is still with you.” A wheedling quality seeped into its voice. “Perhaps you will be luckier still than I, and never lose her, if you stay with me for a time.”

Another sweet, warm breeze washed over Spike. On the coil of silken strands below Ormr’s wedge-shaped head, droplets of water trembled. Spike cringed, pressing his hand against Twilight’s pulse.

“I know little of alicorns,” Ormr whispered. “But we are much like them.”

Despite his reservations, Spike took the opportunity to keep Ormr talking. “What do you mean?”

“Mere ponies can become alicorns through magic. So too can a dragon become a wyrm instead, if it can overcome its nature.”

“What nature does a wyrm have?” he said.

Ormr didn’t answer. Instead it said, “Dragons are born from worse than want. They are born from greed.”

Spike remembered Zecora’s old warning as he spoke, challenging Ormr. “Well, I’ve been greedy. Doesn’t that make me a dragon, not a wyrm?”

“No.”

“I got so big and selfish I nearly wrecked Ponyville.”

“Home?” growled Ormr, hearing wistfulness in Spike’s voice.

“Yeah. My home.” Spike’s stomach lurched with the memory of himself and Rarity plunging towards the ground, wind buffing the fire ruby around her neck, her sparkling tears falling into the skies. He jerked his thumb at his own head. “Can’t you see it?”

Ormr seemed to shrink, a tiny candle twinkling at the bottom of an endless black chasm. “You are no dragon. You are small again. Small enough to return home.”

“This isn’t my home.” Spike took a deep breath. “I don’t think it’s yours, either.”

He sat down beside Twilight, close enough that their sides touched. “Twilight’s my real home,” he said, “like Chiron was yours. You can’t replace her. I don’t need wings, Ormr.”

The burning pain of the old wyrm’s loss was as plain as daylight, for a moment. Then the dazzling light began to fade. Stone and sand and stalactites all disappeared.

“What’s the matter?” Spike asked, a leaden weight of sadness settling on his shoulders. Darkness encircled them. “What’s happening?”

Ormr laid its huge head not a metre away from Spike, beside the lump of opalescent silk strands. Despite the deteriorating light, the silk shined as if burnished.

“It’s getting darker,” Spike whispered, huddling into Twilight. Frigid shadows touched the tips of his scales.

“Yes.” Only embers remained in the void of Ormr’s eyes, two dying stars.

“I’m. . . I’m scared.”

Two faint rainbows glimmered as they climbed along Spike’s arms and slashed across one another, over his heart. “There is nothing to be afraid of in the dark. After all, darkness is nothing.”

“Then why are you afraid?”

The light went out. The belly of the world engulfed Spike, more isolated than any place on the surface could ever be. No stars, no plants, no smells, a cold wilderness outside reality. A primeval, forgotten country where even good and evil didn’t exist: only there, and not there. He closed his eyes and looked into nothingness.

“Ormr,” he asked, “are you still there?”

The wyrm sighed. ‘Always.’

Twilight mumbled something incoherent, twitching, and Spike curled into her body. He didn’t need to see her to know she was there. I’m not alone, he thought.

But Ormr is.

Twilight didn’t need to be awake for Spike to know what she’d say if she could. But before he could speak, he heard the brief tinkling of helictites breaking, and a warm breeze caressed his face. Then the rush of distant water filled his hearing.
> Part Four
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Something heavy and solid smashed into something else. A low braying noise followed. Spike winced as the unwelcome sounds jarred in his ears, but otherwise ignored them. He wanted sleep. He’d been asleep. He could get back to sleep if he just concentrated.

But distant though they were and difficult as it was to really hear them rather than the world’s soothing shushes, universal and unending, more insistent brays grated against his nerves, stopping him from getting back to sleep. His body, perhaps believing itself to be dozing in bed listening to the rain, made the mistake of rolling over. Cold crawled over his body and soaked into his scales, while a number of quite hard and uncomfortable things poked him in the back. 

Groaning in displeasure, he surfaced from lassitude. He opened his eyes, to absolute black. 

Unnerved for a few moments, his heart raced, clearing the grogginess from his head. Then memories of the past few days and hours whirled through his mind. He reminded himself that darkness itself was nothing, though it felt like everything, and his heart calmed down. Sight was just one way of seeing. He wasn’t alone.

He slowly moved his arm. Helictites chinked together. Then his hand bumped against something soft.

“Twilight.”

Twilight’s voice instantly answered. “Spike?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Can you use your magic?”

Twilight grunted softly. Her horn sparked to life, illuminating her position behind him.

Spike turned around in the sand immediately to hug her. “I’m so glad you’re all right. I mean, you are all right, right?”

Twilight spread one wing for balance and laid the other wing across his back. “I feel weird,” she grumbled.

“You do?” he asked worriedly, leaning back to look at her. “How weird? Magically knocked out by a giant wyrm weird?”

Twilight looked at Spike doubtfully. “Excuse me? I don’t remember that.”

“You don’t?”

“I remember coming in here and finding helictites, and then there was a bright light.” Twilight rubbed her horn, yet she didn’t say anything about losing her ability to channel magic. “I had a dream about the day you hatched and I got my cutie mark,” she said. She looked at Spike doubtfully. “What’s a worm? I mean, you obviously don’t mean an earthworm, right, because who ever heard of a giant earthworm. Wait! Do you mean a tatzlwurm? No, that would be crazy, right?” She laughed, but her eyes flitted about the place.

“Calm down, Twilight. I mean a wyrm.” Spike corrected her somewhat absently, however, because the better question was where Ormr had gone.

He scrutinised the cavern. Spray made the air hazy, but the vast chamber obviously lay empty. The gargantuan wyrm had disappeared. So had the eggs in the white sand. 

Briefly, he thought everything he’d experienced was a crazy dream. But the gems Ormr had torn from the walls still twinkled on the sand, making Spike’s stomach grumble, and the terrible gouges in the walls remained.

So did the feeling of powerful, ancient magic, seeping out of him like body heat.

Spike rubbed his arms rapidly, as much to drive out the last shiver of magic as to stave off the chill draft which had also returned to the cavern. He remembered shadows reclaiming the cave as Ormr went dark, and a niggling feeling that he should say something else to the wyrm. A few minutes ago, he’d woken up.

A glower spread across his face. Ormr must have taken Spike’s words to heart and decided to leave. Worse than that, though, it had taken away Spike’s ability to do anything at all about its choice by. . . by putting him to sleep like he was a child, just like it had taken Twilight’s magic away!

“What’s that?” Twilight asked, pointing with her hoof. Distracted from his anger, Spike noticed her shivering. 

The sand contained a great hollow: the kind a huge head might create if it rested there. Beside it there was a dark solid ovoid. As Spike padded over to it (the sand held some residual warmth, the only warm thing in the whole place aside from Twilight) interlaced filaments within glinted like metal ore.

Despite the thin internal fibres, just one thick strand created the majority of the structure. It coiled round and round on top of itself. Water droplets had condensed on its surface. Its colour now was much darker than it had been when Ormr’s fire faded, but Spike knew what it was and that it was made of Ormr’s silken saliva.

“It’s a cocoon,” Spike said.

Twilight followed him. “Why is there a cocoon here?” she said.

The top of the cocoon was open, and soft as feathers to the touch. It was gloomy inside. But Spike was no longer afraid of the dark. It might be nice to lie inside it, just to be protected from the draft inside the chamber. With a gemstone to nibble on, it would be like getting into bed for a nap.

By the time he woke up, he’d have wings.

“I think it’s my future,” Spike said quietly.

“What are you talking about?”

In a sudden gust, the draft whipped around them, chill and uncomfortable. Twilight’s horn died for a few moments. Spike ignored her exclamation, feeling the tenebrosity that only existed in places beyond reach of day and night cover him in a weightless blanket.

‘Wyrm,’ Ormr’s voice whispered.

An almighty shiver wracked his body. Ormr might have gone back to hiding in its subterranean river, too proud and too resentful to give Spike its attention now that its own desires had been extinguished. But its presence lingered in more ways than aerial eddies of magic and mist.

Twilight’s horn sputtered back to full brightness. “Sorry about that, Spike,” she said. “I don’t know why that happened.”

Spike’s eyes drifted towards the back of the chamber, shrouded in heavy mist from the waterfall. He thought about confronting Ormr again. But why bother: it didn’t want him anymore.

Why bother when Spike didn’t want Ormr either.

“Ormr’s just messing with your magic,” Spike said, folding his arms. “It doesn’t like you much.”

He kicked the sand around the cocoon. It made him feel a bit better, and kept his blood moving, which was a good thing in a cold cave.

Twilight sounded exasperated when she said, “Spike, I don’t want to sound rude, but you keep saying things I don’t understand.”

“Hey, wait a second. Look,” Spike said. In kicking the sand, he noticed a spotted green egg behind the cocoon, half-buried in the sand and no bigger than his head. He wasn’t sure if his scuffling had unburied it, or if it had always been there.

“It looks like an egg,” Twilight said, trotting around the cocoon to get a closer look.

“It is an egg. If it wasn’t green, it’d look just like mine did.”

They both started when a distant bang filtered through the cave, interrupting their fascination. Brays of alarm followed. 

Spike’s mind grasped the concepts of yaks and of Prince Rutherford’s horn a little slower than he would have liked. Soon enough though he remembered warmth, and food, and light. He craved those things now far more than answers.

“I think it’s time to get out of here,” Spike said. “Before Prince Rutherford tries to yak-smash the whole mountain to pieces.”

“I’m not sure that would be the worst thing,” Twilight muttered. Her teeth rattled against one another, but the majority of her focus stayed on the egg. “But are you sure, Spike? Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I think I did.”

“Really?” Twilight lifted her head, eager eyes shining.

“I promise I’ll tell you everything. Just not right now, okay? I think we should just concentrate on leaving.”

In spite of the cold, Twilight scrutinised him, as if suspicious. The moment stretched out uncomfortably. She was going to refuse –   

Spike’s stomach rumbled loudly, taking them both by surprise. He clasped his belly and chuckled, almost apologetically. Twilight’s stern expression relaxed, and she began to giggle too.

“Okay,” she said with a sigh. She still sounded confused, but she was willing to get answers later rather than now. Her teeth still chattered gently. “We must have been in here for ages. I wouldn’t mind leaving for now, to be honest. It’s probably safer that way, too. Besides, we can always come back.”

Or not, Spike thought. He hugged Twilight, relieved. Her coat smelled good: like home.

“Oh, Spike,” Twilight responded, amiably enough. She nuzzled the top of his head.

Releasing her, Spike picked up the egg and grunted in surprise. “It’s warm!”

The egg was tepid to the touch, just warm enough for Spike to suspect it was due to more than the earlier heat of the sand, which was now quite cool.

He brushed grains of sand off the shell. Or was it rock? He had no idea what the egg was made of. It wasn’t like any other egg he’d held.

Did a baby wyrm like Spike sleep within, suspended in serenity until someone willed it into existence? That would never happen down here. Didn’t it deserve a chance to find a friend and a family of its own? A home on the surface, where life thrived?

Maybe long ago, a wyrm like himself had made this same journey, and held Spike’s own egg between its claws, pondering its future.

After taking a couple of minutes to eat gemstones and trekking cake (much-needed energy for the journey out, but also to make enough space in the saddlebags for the egg) they departed. Twilight’s sense of direction, fairly reliable in day to day matters even without a map, also departed. Even though he rode on Twilight’s back, Spike took the lead. He recognised most of the meanders of the dry riverbed, and spotted the crack in the wall where they’d entered.

They considered using the rope to tie Spike to Twilight while she flew into the crack. Spike didn’t want to be slammed into the wall by accident though. So he waited in the passage below, thinking of Rarity and gemstones and anything that helped him forget their perilous surroundings.

Twilight’s hooves scrabbled for purchase on the smooth, slippery rock. With plenty of grunts and scraping noises, she managed to find solid ground. After a couple of minutes of panting, she lifted Spike up with her magic. She used more caution in doing so than she probably ever had before.

She looked exhausted by the effort. Once they’d shuffled away from the drop, seeking the feeling of safety more than an actual location of one, they guzzled the water in their canteens. Despite the water break, and their earlier food, hunger began to growl in Spike’s belly again. It had been a long, long day.

He guided Twilight through the crawl, seeing bags under her eyes. It helped him to appreciate how quickly he’d become accustomed to this underground world. Not that he was especially familiar with it, but in this instance, he was definitely more like a dragon – more like a wyrm – than a pony.

The idea set his teeth on edge for a moment, until more pressing matters took priority. Twilight was clearly flagging. She didn’t remember the journey into the cave taking this long. Neither did Spike, actually.

But they’d make it, together.

The temperature dropped noticeably, nipping his cheeks. Spike breathed in a wonderful, overpowering scent. It was the smell of soil and musk root and open spaces under the endless sky – the smell of the surface, the smell of life.

Spike squeezed Twilight’s flanks with his feet. “Smell that? Fresh air!”

She quivered, her chest pushing back against his feet as she breathed in. “We have to be close,” she said. “We have to be.”

The smell and the cold delivered a second wind to both. Yet corner after twist after bend followed without revealing the snow slope at the entrance. Twilight’s head began to sag again, her steps becoming shorter and slower. The sharp scent of ozone faded.

Twilight stopped. Spike could hear defeat in her voice as she said, “It just keeps going.”

“You have to keep going,” Spike urged. Thinking of his navigational successes thus far, he wasn’t yet drained of faith that they would find their way back to the surface.

“What if I can’t find the way out?”

“Of course we can,” Spike said. “We can’t stop now.”

“Maybe we took a wrong turn.”

“We didn’t. I know the way. I remember it, Twilight. Anyway, we can’t have: we smelled fresh air. We’re almost out. Think about how good it’s gonna be to see Prince Rutherford again.”

“Are you kidding?” He could see a small smile at the corner of Twilight’s mouth as she turned her head.

“Not even a little bit,” he admitted. “We can do this.”

“I don’t suppose I have a choice,” Twilight muttered. “That’s just like what I read, actually.” Her ears perked up somewhat. “One of the speleological ponies said he liked the commitment of going into a cave. You can’t give up.”

Spike vaguely remembered that part. “The only way to get out is to keep going and keep trying.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Twilight huffed out a breath, which rose in a white cloud around her head.

“It’s basically what I just said,” Spike pointed out, nudging her, and she laughed with a tangible mixture of relief and actual amusement. Spike squeezed her flanks again, and ignored how the phrase ‘the only way to get out is to keep going and keep trying’ soured in his mouth when he thought unbidden of Ormr.

A minute later, when Twilight stumbled over smashed boulders in the entrance chamber (some of them looked freshly broken, pale insides stark like snow), he was the one laughing out of a mixture of amusement and relief. Neither of them had spotted the snow bank glowing faintly, though it seemed so obvious now as he looked at it.

Loud clamouring erupted at the top of the snow bank. Over all the others, one voice reigned supreme.

“Ponies!” Prince Rutherford charged down the snow slope with ease that suggested either recklessness or deep familiarity, fur all akimbo. He shouted something at Twilight that Spike didn’t listen to, being too busy scrambling over the snow so he could hug the yak prince. He could move so quickly now that there weren’t bottomless pits and sharp boulders everywhere.

“Spike dragon!” Rutherford hugged Spike so tightly he nearly choked on his laugh. Other yaks clustered around him, shouting and cheering.

Someone shoved an upturned helmet into Spike’s hands, brimming with steaming, fragrant liquid. “Drink,” a yak ordered.

Spike threw his head back and drank until he could no longer see lights at the top of the snow bank, only the roof of the cave. The broth was thick and delicious. He didn’t stop until his lips touched something solid and spiky.

He examined the prize in the bottom of the helmet. It was a kind of gemstone Spike had never seen before, and a crystal cluster at that, in a raw form he rarely saw. It glimmered green.

“Whoa,” he breathed. Even the gems beyond Yakyakistan were wild.

“Gem not perfect?” Rutherford asked. Spike could hear anxiety in his voice.

“Don’t worry, Prince Rutherford,” he said, popping it into his mouth whole. It broke with a satisfying crunch between his teeth. “It’s perfect. Thanks.” He hugged the yak prince again. Funny that he’d hated the yaks so much before. How petty. Now he was beyond happy to be able to clench his claws in the softness of thick yak fur.

“Not perfect,” Rutherford repeated, shaking his head. “But if dragon like. . . maybe perfect enough.”

“That’s more like it,” Spike said.

The yaks carried them both up the slope even though Twilight protested, since she had wings. At the surface, frigid wind raked across Spike’s spines, whistling through nooks and crannies in the rock, snatching away the scent of the musk root growing around the cave.

“It’s so windy,” Twilight shouted, grinning foalishly.

The yak’s warm fur protected Spike from the full extent of the chill. Yet his lungs ached gladly when he inhaled the cold, so crisp and fresh compared to the lifeless cold found underground. He realised he was grinning too as he stared up at a perfect dark blue sky blazing with stars. Never again would he call the night black.

At that point, time started to pass in something of a blur. Twilight thought she should fly back to the camp at the base of the mountain, but the yaks insisted that they carry her as well as Spike. Unsure whether Twilight’s time spent unconscious underground had actually been as restful as proper sleep, Spike didn’t back her up, and soon stopped listening.

He spent the trip back to camp dozing, and looking at the roof of the world. A milky band of stars stretched across the centre of the sky, each point of light the tip of a far-distant stalactite. They span slowly, one great celestial whirlpool. They reminded him of Ormr’s kaleidoscopic eyes.

He thought he wouldn’t be able to stay awake long enough to eat. His deep weariness disappeared though as soon as a full meal appeared. No food had ever tasted as good. Hunger, it seemed, was the best flavour.

The yaks hustled Spike and Twilight off to bed as soon as they’d eaten. Twilight, drooping, was about to close the ger’s heavy felt door when Spike heard the grass sighing. He rushed outside before she could stop him. The air smelled crisp and clean and wild, and the steppe was a silver ocean that rustled in the wind with a thousand voices.

‘Come back if you ever wish for wings,’ it whispered. A breeze caressed his face.

“Spike?” called Twilight.

He returned to the ger and climbed into his welcome sleeping bag. Twilight closed the door, trapping the rich aromas of outdoor life inside, where they began to mingle with the musky odours of two tired, unwashed friends covered in stale sweat and wood smoke and fragrant musk root. Even by Spike’s normal standards, everything stank.

Yet tonight, adrift in happiness, Spike thought it was wonderful.

He rested his hand against the blood-warm shell of the egg he’d carried out of the cave. Combined with the suspiring grass, nodding its many heads in appreciation of the night, and Twilight’s gentle snoring, the egg’s warmth lulled him to sleep.