//------------------------------// // When You Think About It, It's A Perfectly Natural Question // Story: Anchor Foal: A Romantic Cringe Comedy // by Estee //------------------------------// The dark was never silent. She would try to sleep: it was when she was supposed to, after all, and a good filly (or one trying so hard to be good, to figure out just what being good meant) would do what she was told. But as she twisted and twitched under the blanket, trying to let the darkness carry her into what she'd been told was called a nightscape, the sounds would reach her. There were times when they kept her from falling asleep. At others, she would become tired enough to slip into dream despite the sounds which filled the little rooms -- and then an especially loud specimen would break through, jolt her legs and fail to send the blanket flying, for it tended to tangle around her horn as she shifted in what was supposed to be her rest. It was hard to be completely still in sleep, not when so much of her wanted to run. The moans: those were the most constant thing, and so could be falsely thought of as the worst. They pushed through closed doors (not that she had a door which could close), would kick their way into lowered ears and set up echoes inside her mind. There were little gasps now and again, abrupt and sharp: the unpredictable punctuation in the continual run-on sentence of the litany which was read out to her every night. And sometimes... sometimes, there were worse sounds. She didn't have words to describe them yet: only a specific set of trembles which took over her limbs whenever one of them came through. She didn't want to listen. She wished she didn't have to. But when she couldn't sleep... all the many times she couldn't sleep, an exhausted filly body only half-aware of those parts of the world around her which weren't based in sound... she listened. To moans and gasps and things far worse as they came over and over again. She had to. The horrible thing was hearing them. The worst thing would be hearing them stop. Fleur's breaths had been deliberately slowed, and it had happened at the exact moment she'd realized she was awake. She lay still on the floor in the rented house's bedroom, eyes still closed. She was considering her position. The way she'd curled up in the night, tucked her head beneath the lone blanket, and then somehow twisted herself enough to begin wrapping that fabric around herself, tighter and tighter, a curl working outwards from covered horn... Behind her, the wall softly groaned to itself. She took another breath. And then she began to carefully twist herself in the opposite direction. Unwinding and unweaving, freeing head and limbs, exposing her horn to the open air and making it that much easier to cast. She was strong enough to simply fling a cloth covering away -- but doing so with something which was so intertwined with her own joints was begging to send herself into the inward-slanting outer wall with it. I need that plumber was her first fully coherent thought, and it wasn't a particularly original one. Fleur suspected that at least a few of the haunting claims had arisen from the condition of the building's pipes. To activate a faucet was to cue one of the world's least musical symphonies, metal groaning and creaking as water forced itself towards a never-ultimate destination, completely failing to hit the high notes along the way. Taking a bath could leave the internal system complaining for hours, and when those noises continued into the night... It was possible for a pony to hear in their sleep, react to sounds. Some of those perceptions might trigger an internal alert, bringing that pony back to the waking world in time to confront the trouble which had just arrived. But others sank directly into the nightscape, because the sleeping mind would mistake them for memory. Those sounds became part of dream, and those dreams -- -- Fleur slowly pushed herself up: forelegs straightened, then the back. She needed a plumber -- but it seemed as if Ponyville somehow didn't have that many right now. From what she'd discussed with Caramel after her initial (and very partial) complaint about the problem, the market was just opening up after its previous (and sole) occupant had departed. Plumbers were still coming into the settled zone on a rather tentative, somewhat shaky basis, uncertain as to whether it was safe: after all, there was a chance for the prior officeholder to break out of prison. And the few who had risked their lives were earning their fortunes because Ponyville citizens, who'd never seen water flowing under the pressure of a work ethic before, had responded by placing the new arrivals into a realm Fleur had often occupied in Canterlot: The Princessdom Of The Perilously Overbooked. With no true emergency pressing against her flanks and a mere week of residency for seniority, it had taken a major piece of flirting just to get something scheduled for the same moon. It had been a week. She'd sent an invoice to the palace for most of it. Fleur glanced out the window: Sun would be raised soon, and that meant it was time to start her day. Unfortunately, it was still possible for others to peer in: the security device which rendered transparency into something one-way was either still in her Canterlot residence or somewhere within the postal system. She didn't have much confidence in either shipper or shipping, and with nothing having arrived and so many of her hours spent away from the rental, she had yet to even get a glimpse of the local mailmare. Bathroom. Morning routine. With the chill of fall slowly increasing, she generally saved her bathing for the evenings: to trot through the crisp morning air (she'd taped the weather schedule next to the mirror) with damp fur was to beg for illness. But there were still things to do and after her toiletries concluded, she went through all of them: managing her mane and tail, making sure the cosmetics properly balanced and enhanced her natural hues, brightening a smile which seldom found an opportunity for natural emergence. Being pretty took time -- but it was time she needed to use, even in Ponyville. A portion of the day whose intent had gone through day after day of becoming fixed into something on the level of clockwork. They were hours she needed, and a use which was fully understood. But it was still time which passed. A week had passed, with nearly every last minute of it resented, and just about none had done any good. Because Fleur was dealing with one of the greatest lies to have ever been uttered by anypony's mouth, a two-word term so inherently contradictory as to be both incredibly insulting and, for those who didn't understand why it was wrong, that offense was completely invisible. It had been a week, and much of that had consisted of free time. She'd explored, of course: she was doing some of that now, before heading out to the cottage. When in a new territory, it was necessary to learn all the ins and outs: main highways and back streets, quick shortcuts and alleys which a desperate pony could flee through. Fleur's capacity for magical movement didn't include teleports, and the method she did have was -- 'unexpected' was a good word, but it also wasn't all that effective, plus she wanted to save it until the moment it was truly needed. So for shaking the officers who were still trying to non-valiantly (and very ineffectively) shadow her, she needed to learn all the little mundane routes. The map she'd acquired at the bookshop didn't have everything, and the rest was slowly being added to a comprehensive chart drawn up within Fleur's head. Not wasted time at all, except for the part where it never would have been necessary at all if Celestia hadn't destroyed her life. The explorations had taught her a few things, and the first discovery had been that in many ways, Ponyville wasn't all that bad. It wasn't a place she ever would have deliberately chosen to live in: when you wanted to be in the center of power -- actually, considering that it was the residence of the Bearers, it wasn't all that bad in that department either. But take them out of the equation and while it didn't seem to offer enough of anything while completely overlooking most of the small refinements which could be gifted to an escort under the delusion that it would make them responsive to the idea of interactions outside of business hours, it had homes, families, shops which generally weren't more than horribly inadequate or complete jokes, and some of the eateries smelled decent. It was a settled zone which a pony could settle in, as long as they had no ambitions towards advancing in life or ever being able to go anywhere else. So as prisons went, the air was clean, the walls were invisible, and the majority of the other prisoners didn't even know there had been a crime involved. In that sense, there were still worse options. She hadn't used the time for meeting all that many ponies. (She'd been into a few more shops, of course, including that one, and left the last without a purchase: sofas were unnecessary and when it came to quills, to write your plans down was to create the chance for somepony else to read them. Fleur's notes stayed where they were safest: within her head.) She'd had any number who'd wanted to meet her -- but she was still being careful about that. You didn't just plop yourself down into the middle of a social web: you tested the strands, saw where the vibrations went. To simply insert herself was to risk struggling to free her hooves as the predators closed in. For the most part, her time away from the cottage had been spent in directly learning about a single pony: Caramel. The pegasus who'd given her the directions to the cottage (Rainbow: Fleur had a good memory for names) had warned her about that stallion, and it had nearly made Fleur break off their first meeting immediately after the introduction had been made. But she'd pushed on and in time, she'd found out why she'd been cautioned. Some of the things Caramel said had provided hints. Most of the details had emerged from the fast-talking voices of mares who'd hurried up after seeing her in his presence, with even some of the most jealous momentarily discarding their envy in the name of feminine solidarity. For she'd considered that he might have been a serial dater, and it had turned out that she'd been drastically understating the case. But three of those seven nights had seen some time spent with him. His public decision had been that Fleur, as somepony new in the settled zone, needed a protector. The private one -- private for everypony except Fleur, who'd worked it out just from watching some of his pieces shift -- was that he was seeing her as a gateway to Fluttershy. And since that was her exact intention, she allowed him to continue believing it was his alone. She knew something of his habits now: when that much gossip overlapped, there tended to be a core of truth at the master intersection. But when it came to Fluttershy, those habits didn't matter. Caramel was meant to be the first trial gallop of Date Camp: nothing more. Fluttershy would go out with him and through doing so, score a success. And perhaps they would somehow form some level of connection, begin the process which would free Fleur -- but she had doubts there, because the edges of that gossip were jagged. It would have been wondrous, watching the connection form on the first try. But if (when) it didn't, she could use it to give Fluttershy another kind of success -- -- so that's the Rich estate. She looked at it for a while, at least as much as she could see from the entrance path: there were no gates or fences, but the path which led off from the main road curved. There were also trees to deal with, for Mr. Rich lived a little outside of Ponyville proper. When it came to giving him enough space for an actual estate, it helped -- but he'd left the natural borders of the property intact, and so Fleur could only get small glimpses of a slow-browning great lawn and elegant building from between the tree trunks. Not bad. Not bad at all. Of course, it would be better if she could get a closer look. Or an invitation. She hadn't spoken to the stallion yet. She'd seen him: Fleur had made a temporary habit of browsing in Barnyard Bargains until he'd finally appeared, and his looks -- weren't really important, although he had a definite dignity about him, even if it was starting to feel as if Ponyville was mainly populated by earth pony stallions in varying shades of brown. His age was more or less immaterial, the weariness she'd spotted on his face was something she knew how to deal with, and his power -- well, it wasn't as if he was a Princess or even a decently-placed politician, much less a noble with any degree of connection among the Houses. But he had economic power. He pushed levers and bits shifted across the continent. Fleur hadn't talked to Mr. Rich (which was how everypony referred to him, as if he had no first name at all). But she'd gotten close enough to solve his puzzle, and found there were a few pieces which matched her. Not many: the brightness of some sections suggested just about all of his dating (and formerly-married) life had been conducted with earth ponies. But there was a lingering curiosity regarding unicorns, along with a few tentative, never-explored youthful fantasies which might just need a little interaction for their hues to sharpen again. It was enough to start with. She simply wanted to learn a little more about him before beginning that acquisition, especially as concerned any connections he might have stretching out to Canterlot. There were mistakes she couldn't afford to make again. (She had learned that there was a daughter in play. She'd heard ponies talking about that filly: few of the words had been kind, and those which weren't angry were generally dubious. It was an additional obstacle to overcome. And children were often innocent -- but there were few things so falsely innocent as the casual cruelty of youth, and the public doubts regarding any change of heart for that filly were strong ones.) I'll get in there. One way or another. He wants to be with somepony again: he's probably been thinking about it for a while. I just have to create the right opportunity. But for now, she had to turn around and begin the trot to the cottage. Even if she'd found the door unlocked, she still wasn't at the point where she would have considered simply trying to trot inside unannounced: her charge startled easily, and things were hard enough already. And even though most of her arrivals would have been best off started through immediately searching the ridiculously extensive grounds -- Fleur still wasn't sure she'd seen so much as a third of the property -- she still knocked on the cottage door. There was always a chance. This time, it opened within seconds. "Yeah?" But Fluttershy hadn't opened it. Fleur was used to being stared at, was completely familiar with just how some ponies tried to hide or disguise their scrutiny, while others allowed it to openly continue until their still-mobile unheeding legs introduced the side of that turned head to the side of a tree. She knew everything there was to know about being on the receiving end. But to be the pony whose eyes had involuntarily gone wide, unable to look away no matter how much she wanted to, knowing that she had to... But there was just so much to stare at. The white-furred stallion -- the largest stallion she'd ever seen -- wasn't handsome. The vast majority of ponies had features: he had geography. The jut of his chin was a small hill, the depths of his eyes red-tinged lakes. Golden hooves indicated mining potential in the lower regions, and the earring suggested that some early excavations had been used to decorate the edge of a cliff. The brush-cut blonde mane spoke of grass rustling along the mountain's crest. And muscles bulged in every place where space was available, and in a few which wouldn't have been accessible before a few of the larger ones had shoved. He wasn't handsome. For those repelled by strength, a level of physical power more excessive than anything she'd ever imagined could exist in a pony, there was an argument to be made for some level of ugliness. But if so, he was fascinatingly ugly. It was an ugliness which went nearly all the way around the circle of appearance and started to approach a strange form of attraction from the wrong direction. It demanded attention and for several horrible seconds, Fleur found herself completely unable to stop providing it. And in the midst of that horror, she became aware that he knew she couldn't look away. "Yeah...?" he repeated, and the power in that tone might have made many ponies take a step back. But -- ...as long as I'm not afraid... Fleur focused. "Is Fluttershy in?" "Yeah," the stallion stated. "Can I see her?" At first, she thought he was taking a moment to look her over. But that steady red gaze was moving around her, and she realized he was checking for the presence of a pet. No animals were located beyond the ones who always seemed to follow her after she'd crossed the bridge, and a tinge of confusion entered his expression by way of minor earthquake. "...yeah..." he thoughtfully considered -- -- and then, from the sitting room, "...it's all right. That's Fleur." The stallion took a deep breath. It was a fascinating process to watch, and an even more fascinating effort was required to stop. "Okay," he said, not quite looking back. "Do you want to wrap up now? I can take some of the books out if you can spare them. There's been a lot of study time available in the tent." "...that's all right," Fluttershy softly offered. "I'll pick out some things to put in your saddlebags. I'm sorry, Fleur: I remembered you were coming, I swear I did, but our session ran a little long..." A short pause, and then, to the stallion, "So I want you to start with this one -- come back in: I need to show you the first page..." The stallion backed up slightly, put himself clear of the doorway before starting to turn -- and it was only then that Fleur saw the wings. Or rather, what was left of them. He wasn't looking at her any more. He had no way to see her staring. But there were senses beyond the standard ones and that which only she possessed. He felt the weight of her eyes, and his posture tightened. She watched through the doorway: multiple thick books being placed into saddlebags, which were then donned with no acknowledgement of their weight. The stallion trotted towards the door, and Fleur made her legs work in time to give him space. He went past her, stepped onto the path, the broken remnants flared out and -- What is this place? Fleur heard the soft hoofsteps come up behind her. She didn't turn. Her attention was still focused on the sky. "...I'm ready," Fluttershy said. "We can start now." "Who was that?" The hesitation was typical -- but this time, it was also rather brief. "...Snowflake." Fleur's mind tried to apply a name which suggested an ultimate level of fragility to a body which had openly declared a previously-impossible level of physical power. "Is he a client? Somepony who has to learn how to take care of his pet at home, and you're giving him the books --" "-- he's my substitute," Fluttershy quietly told her. And, while Fleur was still blinking, "...when there's missions -- somepony has to take over for us here. For the things we do every day. So I've been teaching him, and -- most of the animals like him. He's learned some of the basics for medicine. So when we all go, he comes here, as the palace's hire. He does whatever he can until we get back." It made sense, although the partial nature of that compensation still infuriated Fleur. The palace would cover for the Bearers' day jobs, but it wouldn't pay them for the missions: what kind of arrangement was that? The injustice of it normally would have set her inner self to seething. In this case, there was still a certain amount of confusion in the way. "He fills in for you?" "...we met a little over two years ago, when he moved to town. We -- sort of had somepony in common, who said we should meet, and..." Fleur waited, and that was becoming habit: time spent in holding her tongue until Fluttershy mustered the strength to continue speaking. But this time, she waited -- and nothing else came. Finally, she glanced back and found herself unable to meet her charge's eyes, not with the mare's head dipped so low and the visible eye coated in pain. She still could have approached, at least in theory. Made that attempt to offer some form of comfort. But it had been a week, and so she'd learned that if Fluttershy truly didn't want to talk about something, then bringing it up had the potential to end lessons. They'd never truly discussed the words which had been spoken just before the pegasus had fled from their first session: the ones which had created the opportunity for Discord to appear. They weren't at the point where such discussions could be had, potentially might never reach it, and Fleur knew every attempt she made could potentially postpone that near-impossible day by moons to come. If Fluttershy wanted to speak, she would. And if she didn't, nothing would make her. Time spent in waiting for pain to recede wasn't always wasted. Time used in hoping it would vanish forever was. Eventually, "...Snowflake is -- my friend. A little more than my friend." Fleur had shut her talent down as she crossed the bridge: it was habit now. She knew nothing of the stallion's puzzle. But if there was any chance that Fluttershy felt something towards him -- "...he's... sort of a sibling," the pegasus awkwardly finished. "We're not from the same family, not by blood. But we're... just about brother and sister. It's... hard to explain... I can't really even..." And it was a bad time to ask, because it always was. But on the whole, Fleur still considered what she'd been told to be good news: it at least proved that Fluttershy was capable of forming some level of relationship with a stallion. Snowflake had found a way to make a connection. In that sense, the trail didn't have to be carved out from nothing, although there was still going to be a lot of trouble finding the tiny blaze marks on the sapling trunks. But there remained a question, and the process of voicing it began with a statement. "His wings were partially amputated." She saw the blink, and knew it had come from pure surprise. "...how did you know? Most ponies just think they're small..." Too many images flashed past her inner vision, and it gave her one more excuse to ignore Fluttershy's query. "He flew away. He's missing more than half of his wings and he flew. How did he --" "...he's -- strong," Fluttershy quietly answered -- but there was pressure forcing itself out through the words. "There's -- only so much I can say, Fleur. Please..." She can't explain about strength? How is being able to haul more than anypony should and fly when they shouldn't be able to some kind of secret? But she couldn't ask. Not from Fluttershy, when even the most normal conversations were an effort, with any pressure providing another excuse to flee. She hadn't asked her charge about the identities of the other Bearers, despite having access to that source: she might be introduced to them in time, finding out on her own was a challenge to her skills, and -- it had seemed as if she might not get that answer. She hadn't tried to pry into previous missions, not after the first attempt. (Anypony would have been curious about what had happened in the fight against Nightmare. Anpony would have asked. And Fluttershy had simply blushed, murmured about royal privacy, and weakly attempted to change the subject.) After a while, Fleur had only tried to teach. Hours committed to lessons. Or what should have been lessons... "Let's get started," Fleur temporarily surrendered. "...so what are we doing today?" And with every last tenth-bit of the irony simultaneously kicking Fleur in all four shins, "Talking." They were still on the absolute basics, and there were too many reasons for that. The attempts at sexy trots had been postponed, other things had been interrupted -- repeatedly -- and very little progress had been made. But there had been a little advancement, at least in understanding: Fluttershy recognized Fleur as her teacher and even if the lessons made the pegasus want to retreat, she seemed to comprehend that the lessons would still keep on coming. Fleur had even told her charge about a portion of the short-term plan, simply because springing it on her out of nowhere might have created a full week of locked doors. "...so this is for the... test gallop?" Fluttershy tried as they reached the debris-free pasture area, settled in to face each other. Fleur nodded. "It's what I told you: I've been scouting out somepony for you. Eventually, you're going to go on a date with that pony." "...but..." A lump of hard-swallowed saliva made its way down the shapely neck. "...somepony -- with me..." "There are ponies who want to date you," Fleur solidly stated. "I've already found one. That doesn't mean this is the pony you should be with for the rest of your life. If it works out that way in the end, then we'll finish quickly. But part of the way you learn how to date and be social is by dating and being social. So in a little while, you are going to have a date. But before that, you and I will go out on the town together, so you can watch other ponies interacting. And today, we're going to talk." "...I'm going on a date," Fluttershy tried. Her voice didn't seem to indicate full acceptance of the concept on their third go-round either. "And on dates," Fleur told her, "ponies talk. So we're going to talk." That blink of innocent confusion. It was a very pretty one, and Fleur still hopelessly wished to never see it again. "...about what?" "Casual things," Fleur said. "Little things. Anything." Because Fluttershy had trouble talking, and the best case for a shutdown in that department was a rather attractive and awkwardly silent blush huddled on the other side of a table for hours: something which wouldn't do much to encourage a second date. "There's an art to conversation, Fluttershy. But right now, I just want you to talk about anything you're comfortable with. Just to have that conversation with someone you don't know all that well, because it'll prove you can. And you pick the topic." The pegasus took a slow breath. Feathers softly rustled as those slightly-oversized wings twitched -- but the limbs never extended out of the folded position. "...did you -- ever have any pets?" Fleur blinked. "No." It was the truth. "...because I've seen you coming and going a few times now. And it sort of feels like you've --" They both heard the squawk, and Fleur fought to keep her face from twisting into a wince. She knew that squawk now, and it had taken very little time to discover just how much she hated it. " -- oh," Fluttershy finished. "I -- oh, here she --" and the much-despised parrot landed on Fluttershy's right shoulder, squawked again. "I have to -- you know..." And after a mere week, she knew it by heart. Fleur nodded. Fluttershy's wings spread and the pegasus flew away, leaving the unicorn standing in the browning pasture. Again. The hours should have been committed to lessons. They were hours Fleur never would have wanted to give, the time spent laboring under her sentence -- but one method of escaping the punishment required the sacrifice of that time. But in reality, they were hours she generally spent in waiting for Fluttershy to return from dealing with the latest emergency. Time when Fleur was doing nothing at all. Time wasted. And the only thing which could make that horror worse was that she was wasting it in the place where Discord had presented his calling card. She had slept on the night after meeting him, eventually -- and then the nightmares had come. They hadn't fully stopped, although the exact topic occasionally stepped aside and allowed other things to use the inner stage. Time spent in waiting, and in waiting for him to return. Wasted time was bad enough. Waiting here, again and again... "I can do something." "What makes you think you can?" "Because it's better than doing nothing!" The pause had been as long as it dared. "Then prove it." It took mere seconds to reach full gallop. Fluttershy looked up when she heard the hoofsteps, and the visible blue-green eye blinked with surprise. "...why did you --?" Fleur didn't answer immediately. The survey of the treatment room had her full attention. The padded table which occupied most of the center had flip-up panels hanging off the edges: they could be raised to accommodate larger animals. Dangling straps indicated the chance to hold down the more reluctant occupants, with none of them currently in use. There were shelves lining three of the cream-colored walls, and most held bottles of medicine, the contents of which broke up the light into sickly-seeming rainbows. Other shelves carried little devices. Scales. Instruments of all sorts. The one wall which didn't carry any equipment was half-dedicated to frequently-used, ragged books, with the rest given over to posters displaying the anatomy of the species which found their way to that table with the greatest frequency. The space was clean and smelled mostly of sterilizing agents, with a strong overlay of panicked feline. "...easy, Charlotte," Fluttershy whispered. "Easy..." The ragdoll cat managed an agonized, frightened mew. "...she won't hurt you..." Which was when Fleur focused on the wrenched, horribly-bent right foreleg, and saw the first splinter of red-dripping bone spiking out of the fur. -- the smell hit her. Blood. Just about every pony in Equestria would have tensed. The majority would have felt their senses narrow, their perception of the world temporarily shrinking until there was nothing but the scent. Heartbeats would quicken. For a few, hooves would begin to pound, wings might flare, and everything possible would be done to get away as the odor of their own fear filled the air. If that newest scent grew strong enough, other ponies would sense that, and some of them wouldn't bother to think about what there was to be afraid of before they began to run. Enough ponies, enough panic, and all thought would vanish. The herd, ruled by instinct alone, would stampede. But Fluttershy, surrounded by the miasma of that which brought fear, simply stood there, still trying to figure out why Fleur had entered. And the unicorn -- -- stepped forward. "How are you going to straighten that?" Fluttershy didn't have a horn. Without the ability to merely glance at the broken leg and surround it with a field -- "...I have... a double-clamp," Fluttershy softly said, keeping her tones calm as an outstretched wing gently stroked the cat's fur. "With hinges and -- screws, big enough to turn with my mouth. It stretches out for different sizes, but it's not -- nice. It's scary for them, and -- it hurts. Anything would hurt, even with what I've already given her. But just seeing it -- they know something bad will happen. Fleur, you shouldn't be --" Her horn ignited, the smooth-bordered corona at the partial level. Without pressure or manipulation, soft pink glow carefully surrounded the broken leg. "What did you give her?" This blink was from shock. "...willow bark extract, with cloves and turmeric. Plus there's some -- chemicals added. It helps, but it can't take things completely away, not for her species. And I can't use a sleep drug yet, not when I have to ask her how she feels and if anything's going wrong. I wish I could, but she's scared to sleep right now, she wants to be awake.... Fleur, what are you --" "And you've sterilized the area." She could see the remnants of the white fizz among the bloodied fur. "So the break has to be straightened before you can set it and put the cast on." Which would probably be via mouth wrapping, using a flexible guard to cover the teeth and prevent anything else from getting in. "You do the splint and cast. I'll straighten her leg." Fluttershy's mouth opened, and there was a moment when no words emerged. "...you -- you're going to --" "I'm not good with splints," Fleur said. "And I'm not the pony who can keep her calm. But I can straighten." "...but -- if you've never --" "She's strong. She's going to try and kick against the pain, because she doesn't understand that she has to stay still. She's going to kick hard and if you can't keep her still, it's going to make things worse. Can you hold her, Fleur? Are you that strong? Can you keep her completely still?" "I..." "Can you?" Fluttershy's head came up a little more, tossed, and the mane shifted back. For the first time, both eyes were exposed, and Fleur finally saw her entire face: the gentle perfection marred by confusion and concern. They looked at each other across the table, in the soft light of corona glow, and both heard the mew of pain. The sound which didn't understand what had happened. The utterance made by the helpless against the cruelty of the world. And Fleur still had a chance to lie. To apologize for having come in, making assumptions in the face of expertise. The falsehood expressed as apology, all coverup automatic. And then it would have been back to waiting in the pasture, never to intrude again. But memory had taken over at the moment she'd come through the door. "I have." There was a single second before the next words came. They were sharp, but calm: the patient couldn't be panicked. They also arrived with no additional hesitation at all, the seemingly permanent pause banished for the duration, and so gave Fleur very little time for wondering what she'd just done to herself. "Move closer. Get your best viewing angle. I'll tell you when to start straightening, slowly, and when to pause. I'll need to clean this again at the midpoint: the movement may extend the skin wound, and we're going to have more bleeding no matter what we do. Can you deal with more blood?" The word "Yes," made its way out of the mist of rising personal horror. "Okay. I would usually wrap her in cloth to immobilize the rest of her. But I want you to get your field around her entire body. Don't let anything move. She's going to try and get away as soon as the pain intensifies. Be ready for it." Fleur, unable to find the words which would save her, the utterance that could take things back, simply nodded. The glow spread, and the cat's wide eyes tried to make sense of what was going on, attempted to comprehend something it couldn't understand... "Charlotte?" Another pained mew. "Start," Fluttershy gently stated. Fleur focused. The mangled leg shifted, and the feline's wail rent the air. "Stop." She did. The helpless scream didn't. "Easy..." Fluttershy whispered to the cat, feathers almost drifting across the corona-covered back. "Easy, Charlotte. I know..." and then words went away, replaced by a soft mewing, one overlaid with the complexities of pony tones. The cat's eyes slowly went back to normal. "She's ready for the next stage. Start." Again. And again. Movement. Pain. Calming. Repeated as many times as necessary. There was blood. There was always blood: it was one of the first lessons Fleur had been taught. That there would be blood, and a pony's instincts would want to react. But she was more than her instincts. She was a sapient, a being who could think. And if she truly needed to deal with the blood and everything which came with it, she could. No true fear came from the blood. But the past kicked her, over and over, and it was all she could do to remain still as her soul was bruised. There was a new odor now, a faint chemical one: bandages hardening. The cat slowly closed her eyes, raised her ears and listened to the outer world again. "And rest..." Fluttershy whispered. "It's over, Charlotte. You did your part: you told me everything I needed to help you. I'll give you something so you can sleep now, and then we'll go find your pony. You were very brave, staying awake so you could talk to me like that..." A soft, weary purr vibrated the inner surface of the field. It was a strange sensation, coming from the inside -- "....you can let go now, Fleur." The corona winked out. "I didn't pass anypony on the way in," Fleur managed. It was something to say. "How did she get here?" "...she... wanders. When she shouldn't. Two of my raccoon friends found her, and they can carry if they're careful. Sometimes it's easier to come and get me, but they were close, and -- they don't always think about it. Her pony is probably looking for her, and... I'll have to tell her. That won't be easy, but..." The yellow head dipped and the mane slipped back, covering the right side of her face. "...I'll get Charlotte home. Fleur -- how did you --" "-- I have to go." Fluttershy blinked. "Fleur?" "I have to go," she repeated. Fluttershy had to leave in the middle of things all the time: Fleur was entitled to do it once. "Right now. There's things back in town which I have to deal with, getting ready for our outing. I'll come back tomorrow." "...but --" "-- I have to go, Fluttershy. Now." And after twenty heartbeats had slammed against her ribs, "...okay. I'll walk you to the --" There was probably words to come after 'bridge', and Fleur lost them all as her field, acting on a thought barely acknowledged, slammed the door. The mill seemed to beckon her, and that was the central reason she went past it. There were too many voices to deal with already, and all of them seemed to be her own. Even the ones which were just repeating the words which she'd never said. Ultimately, it was all hers and -- -- I was just sick of waiting. Wasting time. Time when he could have come back. I thought it would be better back at the cottage. That I could do something, just so I wouldn't be doing nothing, and... She wasn't galloping. To start running would have been to risk the chance that she might never stop, and the titanium was still around her right foreleg. A week and there had been no signs of abrasion or fungal infection from constantly having metal rub against her fur. It was probably part of the magic. A minor aspect of the workings which would track her wherever she went. Fleur could run to the limits of the world, the border of her own lifespan, and the Princess would simply bring her back. She's going to ask questions. I can ignore them. She doesn't answer me half the time, or uses whatever I say as a reason to stop. I don't have to answer her. That's fair. It's not like she's going to challenge me. She doesn't have the strength to challenge me. I just don't answer her and -- -- what if she asks me to do it again? She was trotting down the path which led to Ponyville. Every sense told her that, and all of them were ignored. Memory ruled the world. I made a mistake. Why did I do that? I've been stressed, of course I've been stressed, Celestia destroyed my life and anypony would be stressed after that, but... She was only trotting. Galloping wouldn't have helped. The -- other kind of movement was just one more reminder. I forgot. I forget that something is the worst thing I can ever do. I know that mistake and I made it anyway. She didn't go back to the rented residence immediately. She explored the area a little more, because it was something she still needed to do, and there wasn't really anything else scheduled. Fleur wasn't supposed to see Caramel again until the following night, and then she had put aside an evening for taking Fluttershy out on that survey tour -- but for the current day, there was nothing significant planned. A day which was rapidly moving into night: Sun-lowering was becoming progressively earlier as autumn deepened, and she'd been exploring wandering for a while. She didn't have to answer Fluttershy. That was the core of it. No questions needed to be entertained, and any dubious attempt the pegasus might make to insist (which would probably just be a whispered partial repetition, one which barely managed to clear the ellipsis) could be ignored in favor of getting back to the lessons. Fleur had made a mistake. A familiar one, because she'd heard the pain of the helpless and -- -- stop. Stop thinking about it. Just... don't do it again. It won't lead to the same thing. It can't. But... She knew what would be waiting for her in the nightscape, and it was almost enough to make her wish for Discord. Go back to the house. Wash up. And then I'm going out. It would be easy to find a pony. Somepony who would keep her from sleep for a while, and as long as she left before her eyes inevitably closed... Part of her recognized that it wasn't the best plan. It was very likely that she would have rethought it after cleaning herself, found something else which would postpone the dreams. But it never had the chance to happen, because she trotted towards that rented residence and its groaning pipes. Fleur navigated streets which she was coming to truly know, avenues she might wind up fully memorizing within the first three years, turned the corner which served as the entrance into what wasn't her neighborhood and -- "SURPRISE!" -- realized she'd completely forgotten about Pinkie.