As the moon lightened my coat and mane, I felt a cold breeze drift by, and shivered. The city was quiet and its lights were flickering out one-by-one through the windows. I looked to my left and right, and saw only the buildings, and the long shadows they cast across the alleyways. As I looked down one of those dark distrusting alleys, a fearful frown passed over my face, and I walked instead along the empty streets lit by moonlight and the occasional soft glow of a lantern, throwing shadows as the fireflies inside buzzed about.
As the mare in the moon glared down at me, I felt the weights of today and yesterday tug me down at the ground, enticing me to sleep. I looked around, but saw only the hard concrete and marble that made up the city. “No easy rest for the restless,” I sighed to myself.
I walked towards a small arcade that held up a set of adjoining buildings. The long archway was the only semblance of shelter in the open city. I brought myself just under the entrance to it, and curled up against one of its support beams on the wall. The stone-cold structure made me start to shiver, and I felt the last bits of my energy drain trying to keep myself warm. Still, the moon was kind, and a cold sleep eventually took me into its depths.
It was white. Everything was white.
The ground beneath and the sky above were white. That was everything. There was no light, no shadows, but I still could see that all was white. It was a strange sanctuary. There were no walls. The ground was flat, and as I looked on to the horizon, I imagined that it might have no end.
And therefore, there was none.
I walked for hours, it felt. I could hear only the soft sound of my hoof beats against the strange floor – a dull sound, without an echo. There was no way to go. I knew it was a dream, but I could see no goal to it. It was just an empty plain, on which I could walk, or perhaps sit if I desired. The dream seemed to have no preference. It responded to neither.
It occurred to me that I had never taken a breath. I inhaled deeply through my nose, and nearly choked.
I smelled the sweet smell of grass, of bread, of spring flowers, as well as ash, sweat, and dust. In my mouth, I tasted the metallic tincture of blood and gold. Coughing, I stopped my aimless trek to sputter out the cruel air, but for every breath I choked out, I was forced to breathe in twice more. I couldn’t stop breathing now, for I had already started. The taste and smell were renewed with every gasp, and in the short period between them, the senses would sourly die down. I was left with my eyes towards the ground, trying to filter the bitter mixture out of me.
Above, a light began to emerge from the white sky, slowly brightening, forcing me to close my eyes. Yet still, it grew brighter and brighter, and shown red through my eyelids.
I woke to a red sunrise, just breaching over the top of a building to find my eyes. I raised up my hoof in defiance of it, then gave up bitterly. Morning could not be fought. My body ached, both from the crash and, I expected, my choice to sleep against concrete. I turned and spat, though the foul taste of the dream was no longer lingering in my mouth. Far off, I could hear the splash of a fountain echoing through the other end of the arcade. As I felt the dry, fetid confines of my mouth, I imagined my breath alone could scare another pony off.
I rose up and started off at a slow trod in the direction of the sound, but something caught my eye. Sitting on the ground just before me was a bright red apple. I glanced around curiously, but no-one presented themselves. Whether or not it was a simple gift or beggar’s alms, I decided I would be thankful. I ate it in a mere couple of bites, and then turned towards the sound.
The morning was yet young, and the citizens of Canterlot were still in their homes. I could hear muffled conversation as I passed a couple of buildings with open windows, though I did not strain my ears to try to listen. The fountain’s soft roar was revealed in full as I rounded the corner of the arcade’s wall. It was larger than I had imagined, with many of its streams reaching at least twenty hooves in the air. It sat in the middle of a grand plaza, which was, at the moment, deserted. I closed the gap to the fountain and washed the foul breath out of my mouth, then began to quench my thirst in its basin.
As I drank, I realized my breath was not the only thing that would steer somepony away. I looked at my coat and mane, both of which were riddled with green and brown stain from the crash and the walk up the mountain. I took a cautious look around, but found not a single pony to watch me. Nervously, I stepped into the fountain.
Immediately, the chill of the water made my muscles tense against the frigid cascading streams. As the water met my dirt-spattered coat, it left a clean dark grey spot, shimmering with droplets of water. I felt a certain roughness leave my mane when the water splashed over my head. I got used to the water, and was able to get the dry dirt and grass stains out of my coat. It felt wonderful to be clean again. Perhaps I thought it might wash out my memory as well as it did my body. I suppose it had distracted me well enough. After all, the water was still near freezing, and remembering such only made it feel colder.
Satisfied in my job of cleaning myself up, I jumped out of the fountain, and shook myself to send tongues of water shooting out at every thinkable direction, particularly from my mane. I smiled to myself, amused that I had before thought I could be subtle. The ground around me had gathered a puddle of water, and conspicuous streaks stretched out from the puddle from my shake-drying. Still yet, some water clung to me, slowly depositing at my feet and making fresh marks on the ground as I began to wander through the streets. There was no chance of hiding my reality, and no point in trying.
Other ponies began to filter out of their homes, most of them giving me quizzical glances, and some even looking somewhat disgusted. It hurt what little was left of my pride after sleeping on the streets. I didn’t mourn my pride, though. It had never been my child to nurse. Still, the sun quickly dried me off, and I began to become another member of the crowd. I did not know which way I was looking to walk; I knew only that there was a lot less to do while sitting still.
After enough time of walking around, most of the buildings of Canterlot looked the same, however opulent. I began paying attention to the people instead. What I found wasn’t surprising. Almost all of them looked as lavish as the city around them. Although I felt a pang of jealousy for their lot in life, I could hardly hold it against them.
Or could I?
Most of the city-goers were female; that observation ricocheted around the inside of my head for a while before the connection was finally made with Fine Line’s words just the night before. The army was leaving today. I stopped a moment and looked around, as if I’d have by chance wandered straight into the Canterlot barracks. I was – quite predictably – disappointed.
I began receiving the inquisitive glances once more, as other ponies passed me. They seemed to be walking in the same direction, and like any good city-goer, I began to walk in the same direction, mindlessly following the pony in front of me. Soon enough, the sound of collective hoof beats began to wear on my ears, and the walk felt excruciatingly slow, though I had never regarded my own canter as particularly speedy. I imagined that the wind took its leisurely stroll faster than this crowd’s banal pacing.
The wind never needed directions. It just seemed to nudge others on in its own, whether that was for them, directly against them, or in some direction they would never think to travel on their own. Today, the wind flew with us, but did nothing to speed the crowd. I pondered if it actually was speeding the grouping along, and they were truly slower than this on a usual day. The thought felt inexplicably horrid.
I wrinkled my nose. This would not do. Minding the members of the crowd that had fallen in next to me, I pulled out my wings a bit, testing my muscles. There was a small ache as I pulled them to full span, but I expected they would hold. I leapt up into the air, sending heavy drafts down into the crowd, causing feeble protests, and sending a couple of extravagant hats spinning off the heads of their owners.
Excuse me for not feeling pity for the poor souls below.
In the air, the crowd turned into more of a colorful current. I followed the flow to the barracks, over which flew a set of purple, sun-emblazoned pennants. A sizable crowd had gathered below, and I could hardly hope to find a place to land on the ground. I craned my neck around, scouring the rooftops for a decent space. My eyes rested on a small, flat rooftop occupied by a single, muted light blue pegasus that seemed to be watching me. I swept over to him and landed beside His eyes, which were a soft green, were wide open, but he did not at all protest. As I settled myself and folded my wings, he took his gaze off of me and returned it to the crowd without a single word.
So he wasn't one for jovial greetings. I could relate.
I also turned my view to the congregation below. The crowds trying to filter into the small city square had ground to a halt, and most of their members were beginning to sit down, content with their places. Others seemed still discontent, trying to inch and squirm their way through the others, much to the aggravation of all parties involved. In one case, I noticed a stallion was particularly discontent, and a mare in front of him equally stubborn. The stallion became more animated in his efforts and frustration. I could not hear what he said, but it got the mare to stand up. For a moment, he was graced with a triumphant grin, but only a moment before he was graced with the two back hooves of the mare, who then sat down with a smug, vindictive smile. I laughed, and even though I was genuinely entertained, the laughter felt hollow. The other pegasus looked up at me questioningly, and I stammered, “Did you see . . .? Oh, I guess not.”
I returned my view back onto the crowd, slightly embarrassed now, even though the other seemed smaller and younger than me. I felt his eyes on me for a few moments before he too returned his view to the crowd.
“You don’t talk much,” he remarked.
“And you do?” I replied, my bitterness still leaping a step further than my mind.
The soft-blue pegasus lowered his head for a moment, then picked it back up. “I suppose not. I guess I’ve never met anyone else who was quiet like you are.”
“Sometimes, there’s just nothing to say,” I proposed to him.
He nodded, “I guess that’s it.”
A cold, bitter wind blew past us, slipping through my feathers and mane to send chills through me. Beside me, I could see my acquaintance’s feathers quake, and his muted dark teal mane carry with the wind, but he sat still without a single shiver. A short fanfare resounded from the barracks, and a massive swarm of pegasi, clad in armor of gold and steel, flooded out of its central courtyard into the air. Some were in groups, carrying platforms with supplies or other large loads that were covered in tarps. The crowd below began cheering, but I was squinting, trying to find the one soldier I actually knew.
Next to me, the pegasus asked, “Looking for somepony?”
“Yes.”
“Family?” he asked.
“No.”
“So a friend,” he affirmed.
I nodded, trying to stay focused on the crowd.
The stream of soldiers still issued forth from the barracks, and I was astounded that the building – however massive it was – could hold so many. I was glancing at every soldier at once, and occasionally I would see a black coat, but how was I supposed to tell from down on the rooftop whether it was him?
“I couldn’t find anyone in that mess,” the other remarked.
My head tilted a bit in confusion. “Do you not have anyone in there?”
He shook his head, “No, I don’t have anyone.”
I gave up my search of the skies. The young one was right, there was no way to pick out anyone from the swarm. It was too dense, too uniform. I returned my focus back to my company. “Where is your family, then?”
“I’m not sure,” he replied.
For a youth, he was very cryptic. He hadn’t seen them? I asked solemnly, “You live alone?”
He nodded dispassionately, though he kept his eyes on the swarm of soldiers, which was beginning to peter out. “You’re alone, too,” he reminded.
At first, it confused me that he would know such a thing, but remembering how I had been acting around him, I decided it wasn’t all too difficult to guess. “Yes,” I conceded, “I am.”
He continued, “You look like you've been having a rough time with it.”
“Yes, I have.”
The other took on a sympathetic visage. “It gets better,” he offered.
“I’m still waiting.”
He looked at the swarm for a bit, then back at me, “Neither of us have anything left here, do we?”
I shook my head, “No.”
“Good,” he said, standing up and testing his wings, “we can go to my place, then.”
“What?”
“Just follow me – err – what’s your name?”
“Mellownote”
“Right. I’m Dewdrop.”
With that, he leapt off the roof, away from the show, and I quickly got on my feet and leapt after him. As I fell in behind him, I looked back to see the last bit of soldiers flying from the barracks. When I craned my head back around, I didn’t see Dewdrop anymore; instead, a garish building was in his place, and approaching me quickly. I broke a sharp turn, sending buffets of air at the building and managing to throw a couple of its windows open. I caught sight of Dewdrop again as I pulled out of the turn. “I usually fly with my eyes forward, Mellownote!” he shouted back with a grin.
Color rushed to my face, even as it was buffeted by a chilling breeze. I picked up my speed to keep up with the soft-blue blur ahead of me named Dewdrop. He led me through every little tough corner and cramped area, which gave my wings quite a heavy workout after yesterday’s accident. He even flew us low into a small tunnel, where he could barely fit his own wingspan, and I was desperately flapping my wings at half span trying to stay airborne. He began to fly us towards another old building, but didn’t swerve out of its way. Instead, he hugged his wings against his sides and carried himself through an open window at the top with his own momentum. My heart leapt, and I closed my own wings just before darting through the same window. The room inside blurred at the sides of my vision, but a large white form dominated my vision as I careened straight into it.
It was a soft impact, at least, and as I plunged face-first into the white mass, and came to a very abrupt stop, I heard a poorly suppressed chuckle off to my left. Once the white mass absorbed all of my momentum, I fell out of it, my mind and vision spinning. As I lay on the floor, a soft-blue blur with a dash of teal came into view. As I regained my wits and my eyes their focus, I could see an amused smirk on Dewdrop’s face.
“Welcome to my – err – home.”
I shook my head back and forth, and then rubbed it with a hoof. I propped myself up to see I had flown straight into a sideways pile of mattresses, placed just for an unsuspecting visitor such as myself. I turned myself over onto my feet and took a more thorough look around the room.
The room was rather small, only a few meters wide and long. The walls were covered with a soft brown wallpaper, of which the sylvan patterns had long since faded. On one side of the window I had speedily entered through was a blue drapery. Above, a small brass chandelier hung, with jars of fireflies resting on the candlestick holders. The floor was wooden, save for a worn red rug in the center. In a corner next to the window sat a wrought-iron bed frame, complete with a mattress, and what looked like the other side of the window’s draperies for a blanket. Against all of the other corners were scanty stacks of books ranging from myths and legends, to the fundamentals of magic, to guides on lock picking – which I took at face value. In the rays of sunlight from the window, I could see a fresh cloud of dust that I assumed had come from my impact with the mattresses, and subsequent landing on the floor.
Completing the image was the blue-coated youth, proudly smiling in the center of the room. “Now,” he said matter-of-factly, “I’ve never had visitors before, but if there’s anything I know, there’s always room for a friend. Is that alright? Are you my friend?”
It took me a moment, as I was still taking his humble quarters. “Huh? What?” I stammered.
“Are we friends, Mellownote?”
I had had not even known him for a day, but I could hardly refuse his earnest, pleading gaze. I tried to give him an equally-sincere smile, “Yes.”
“Good, now I’ll have to clear a spot for you to sleep. I don’t have an extra bed, but if we move enough of these books, we’ll have enough room to take one of the mattresses down. Oh, and you can have the other set of drapes. Right! The mattresses are a bit stiff, but they’re sure better than that arcade.”
I perked up, “How did you know I slept under the arcade?”
“Oh, I – err,” he faltered, as color rushed to his face.
“Were you spying on me?”
“Well, uh, I wouldn’t say spying.”
“What, then?”
He smiled, “Well, I was just going out for a little flight, when I saw you lying under the archway. Now I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, I don’t own this place. It’s just an abandoned rundown little attic. Nobody owns it.
“Now, I’ve seen all of the homeless ponies around the city. You were new. I didn’t know if you’d just been thrown out or anything, or even if you’d had a bad time with other homeless ponies in the alleys yet, but I left you that apple to show you we’re not all bad guys.” Dewdrop braced himself with one eye open, as if expecting me to become a raging beast.
I was dumbfounded. “How old are you?” I asked.
“Fifteen,” he said, “but my birthday is in a week or so!”
So I had been coaxed off of the streets by none other than a boy, just two years younger.
I swallowed nervously, “How long have you been on your own like this?”
Dewdrop sat down on his bed, “A few years, I think seven now, but I’ve had this sweet little nook for six of them.”
“Oh. What happened?” I asked.
“What? Oh, why am I on my own? Too many mean kids in the orphanage. I ran away.”
I cast my eyes to the ground. “So you’ve been an orphan all your life.”
He shrugged, “Yeah, but it doesn’t matter. I do fine enough on my own.”
I kept silent. He did seem to be pretty self-sufficient; he had a home, a bed, he didn’t look starved at all. In fact, he looked more than satisfied with his home.
“So, what about you?”
“What?” I asked, confused.
“How long have you been on your own?” he pressed.
He had been open enough with me, I supposed. “A day,” I answered.
Dewdrop winced, “It wasn’t that dragon, was it?”
I nodded, and his happy countenance turned to solemnity. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked,” he sulked.
“No, it’s quite alright,” I said, “It’s a truth I’ll have to get used to telling. Besides, you told me your own.”
Dewdrop stared at the ground a moment, pondering, and then said, “No matter! You’re not on your own anymore. You can stay here with me.” He topped it off with an excited smile.
“So, I’m being adopted by a fifteen-year-old colt,” I joked.
“Hey!” he shouted indignantly, “I’m practically sixteen! If you’re going to make fun of me for being independent, the window is right there.” He gestured at the window with one of his front hooves. The sun was edging into the view of the window, readying itself to lower under the city’s skyline. It surprised me how quickly the day had passed.
I turned my attention back to Dewdrop, “Sorry. I just thought it might sound a bit silly. I’d love to stay here with you.”
Dewdrop made a little show of regaining his composure, and reacquired his excited smile. “Great! Help me move some of these books.”
He started kicking at the books scattered around the floor, and shuffled them into the corners to either side of the mattresses. I joined him, attacking the books at the right corner next to the window, throwing them over with my teeth in a mixed action of care and haste. A couple of titles came through my vision: Realms beyond Equestria, The Crystal King, Unusual Uses for String Volume III, A Collection of Poetry. “Where did you get all of these?” I asked.
“I buy them from the library when I have some extra money,” he answered nonchalantly, while flinging the last few books onto his bed, having piled the other corners so high that any more books thrown on would simply slide off. He then pushed the foremost mattress over, and it landed on the floor with a resounding thud. “Now, he continued, with a mischievous grin, “You’re going to have to be more careful about flying in. We’ve only got two mattresses for you to crash against, now.”
“Fine,” I said, and we pushed the mattress against the right corner next to the window. Dewdrop stood up on his hind legs and fiddled with the drapes on the window until they finally unhooked and fell to the ground. He ceremoniously threw the drapes over the mattress and gave me an excited smile.
“There,” he said, “nice and cozy.” He stood up on his hind legs again, and placed rags over the firefly jars on his chandelier while he continued, “Tomorrow will be a big day, Mellownote! I’ll show you all the nice people around, and we’ll be able to read together!”
Dewdrop pulled the window shutters in just as the sun had disappeared behind the buildings. He jumped into his bed and pulled his drapery sheets over himself and motioned to my bed. “Come on, the sooner we get to sleep, the sooner we can wake up!”
I smiled at his enthusiasm, and fell down into my bed. To be sure, it was far better than the street. As I pulled the covers up, I wondered just how Dewdrop found so much happiness all around him. It reminded me of Melody, the way he would so quickly flit between emotions, and how positive he would stay throughout.
I realized I had spent so much time denying Melody that same innocent happiness, however involuntarily, by being unable to sing. I frowned in my bed, and turned to look at Dewdrop – who was rolling about, trying to find a comfortable spot – then turned back around. Perhaps this was fate, giving me the second chance at being a big brother. I had to learn.
I had to do a better job of it this time.