The foal sits near the attic's edge, the whole of the City of Light before him and a bundle of grapes dangling in his grip.
He considers popping the grapes into his mouth one by one for a half-second, before shoveling the whole thing in, stem and all. His tongue wraps round one of the berries, squashing it into a chewy mush of liquid and skin. He drinks it down greedily, not even pausing for breath, and before he's even swallowed, he's started on another.
The journey to where he's sitting was a different route from his usual one. He'd climbed into the forgotten rafters of the City's abandoned innards far earlier than was usual, skittering atop rooftops and along slumped-in attics in a shrouding halo of dust. He'd paused only once, when voices called from down below, but not to him. There was a family beneath him, laughing and chatting round an open fire as he'd paused up above them, bowl clenched inside his teeth and decaying crystal-rafters creaking under his hooves.
They must have been a new addition to the alleyways, a new collection of refugees come to try their fortune in a rigged game. Most families broke apart quickly within the City, splintering and fracturing as hate and hunger and strength overcame the bonds. He'd watched them for a moment, the red of his eyes spilling past his irises under the flickering light of the flames, and then passed on.
He pulls the chewed and empty stem from his mouth. He looks at it once, bites gingerly on it, spits and then flicks the mangled thing out over the side. The alleyways are always filled with rubbish, and he feels a small amount of pride at being able to add to it for once.
He bends down, nosing inside the bowl placed next to him. He pulls an orange out, teeth digging into the upper flesh as his eyes flick round his surroundings.
The attic at his back is still empty, though it's so utterly gloomed over that his certainty is little more than a guess. Still, the floor creaks whenever he steps on it; nopony else will be able to sneak up behind him without him noticing. His gaze turns round to the edge.
It's a long way down, as the water trickling past him makes clear, splashing loudly as it strikes against the alley's floor. The rain itself has stopped and the shinning barrier of a deep dark-blue is back, tinged red at one edge in a simulation of the coming dawn. The water itself drips down from the roof above his head in a free-flowing waterfall that he is careful to avoid.
The City itself glints before him, wet and touched in places by melting ice. Parts of it shimmer naturally, the polished crystal that the City uses to build perfectly reflecting the rays of the rising sun. And at the centre of it all is the great castle, shining like a sun ray thrust into the earth. His eyes scrunch up as they pass over it; the afterimage it leaves dances in his vision for nearly a minute.
Satisfied, he bites down on the orange, spraying his face and throat with the sweet, acidic taste of it. He almost drops it in surprise, but manages to hold on, turning it round with his tongue and then lancing his teeth down into it. Another burst squirts out, and he swallows, contented.
"That looks good," a voice speaks from behind him, and his jaws shudder together, slicing the orange in two. "Mind sharing?"
He spins round, his back hoof sliding the crystal bowl towards the edge: it would be better that he destroyed it than if he lost it. To lose is a weakness, and he must not appear weak. He must never appear weak.
The figure, however, is one he recognises, and she smiles at him as she slides the bowl back with the tip of a dusky brown wing, green eyes winking.
"You should always share, Sombra." His older sister licks her lips, and one of her wings flicks a green apple into an arc that ends in a flash of yellow teeth. "Generosity beat Discord, after all; you should honour that at all times. Like, say, in the here and now."
Sombra swallows, the orange sliding painfully down his throat in a half-chewed lump. "Mine," he mutters stubbornly as his sister crunches on his apple. She smiles in response, a sliver of green skin caught between her teeth. "They're mine, Umbrel. Mine."
"Mine, mine, mine," she taunts, sliding down next to him and sliding a wing over his shoulder. His head presses into her chest, horn uselessly angled off to one side. She takes another bite out of the apple. "You're so selfish, Sombra. What would mami and papi think?" Spits and specks of broken apple tumble from her lips as she speaks, mouth full. "We're family, kid. We share everything. Which means your day of success is my day of success, even if I've already got a mark splashed across my hide." A wing-tip scoops up a banana that she eyes curiously before shoving it into Sombra's mouth. "So... How'd you get all this, anyway?"
Sombra is choking on the banana; her wing slaps against his back, and the tip of the fruit slides out of his gullet. "C'mon," his sister says, "speak, you ever-silent horn-head. Parasprite ain't got your tongue yet."
Sombra bites down, tearing the banana in two. He is careful to swallow before he speaks: "Stole it."
"Really?" She's already started on the second bunch of grapes, popping them off the stem with her lips. "You? What happened? Did it fall in front of you or something? No! Wait, I got it: it fell in front of another foal and then they dropped dead in front of you!" Her eyes flick down to his rump, then back up to his face. "Ain't got no idea what green's gotta do with it, though. What'd you do: fart at them?"
"Took it from a house," Sombra mutters, gobbling up the remainder of the banana in as threatening a manner as he can manage. Umbral does not notice.
"Took it from a house, eh?" Sombra nods, his eyes fixed on the bowl. "Go ahead, Sombra. It ain't my food." He lunges forwards. "So. This house'd have to be empty in order for you to rob it, right?" There's no answer. "Right? Sombra?" She pulls him out of the bowl, pear clenched between his teeth. He nods at her. "Anything good in there? Heh, wait. You wouldn't have checked, would you?" His head shakes, the pear now in pieces inside his teeth, a balled-up mass bulging his cheek out to one side. "Sombra, you idiot."
His sister pauses, frowning, the half-eaten grapes dangling from her left forehoof. A few seconds later, she gets up, sliding another grape branch into her mouth as she does so, walks silently across the attic, pauses, and then turns again. "Where'd you say this house was?" His eyes follow her as she walks back over. He swallows.
"End of long alley. Short end." She nods, but before she can leave, Sombra says, "How?"
"How what? How'd I find you?" He nods, and she snorts, before sliding in next to him, moving uncomfortably close. A wing slides over his back and makes that distance unbearable.
"You've got the same brains as me, kid, but you're as predictable as a guard's toilet breaks. You always come up here when you've got food, just like the last three times you weren't back at the den." The wing round his shoulder grows tight, forcing half of his head against her chest, her ribs pressing painfully into his eyes. "And that's what you'd best keep on doing. It's a safe place, up here. Wouldn't want to see you going off anywhere else. I'd end up worrying 'bout you."
Her wing suddenly unfurls, ejecting Sombra out into the world in a spitting, unhappy mess; her hairs are in his mouth and the cloying, unwashed scent of her pervades his nostrils. By the time he recovers, she's slinked off into the shadows, vanishing from view and probably heading off towards the empty house – yet a small part of him remains convinced she's still there.
He turns back to the bowl, only to find that it's empty. The two apples and remaining orange have vanished. And yet, the bowl remains, crystal and shining and probably expensive. To his mind, that's a victory.
He picks it up in his mouth and carries it across to a corner of the room, the remaining scent of the fruit making him sniff longingly. He tucks it into a cavity inside the wall where he puts his other secret things: a stone from the old lands, a dried-up straw doll and a chunk of crystal that fell from the great castle itself. If he could arrange it, he'd place the bowl in pride of place, but he can't, and instead it's shoved roughly in. Part of him worries that it'll break, but the crystal is strong and survives the ordeal intact.
Contented, he turns, looks around once more out of habit, and then leaves the attic behind him.
He doesn't notice the green splash across his flank until he's out onto the alleyway, and one of the older, bigger foals chases him for daring to get a cutie mark first.