Interlude
Flights of Fancy
Childish adventures are by no level of reasoning any less real or meaningful than the ones that ‘grown-up’ ponies have, although perhaps those who are older derive a bit more from them. Dinky had been having herself a grand adventure, as was usual for her. She had wandered back to her own house through the midday roads and fields; the friend or two that had been accompanying her had left, but it was of no consequence to any of them. Now she was occupying a niche under a tree; she stretched out and contemplated a nap as children profess not to want yet occasionally partake in.
Then there was something—a movement—the boughs of green patterns above she examined with a new intensity born of imagination and curiosity, but she found no object and her interest faded. Full-flighted and with only the slightest dulling, the leaves of the tree were weathering the summer and the summer’s heat with magnificent durability. Dinky thought she saw another difference in it this time; and with the familiarity of a short lifetime’s span spent near the branches she attentively eyed the slow-rustling limbs.
There was a flash of grey: not a moving grey, but a light color that was rather sitting quite quietly still in the branches with the leaves waving around and over and under his form that was so tightly clutching the limb he lay on. She could and would not derive much from his unusual habitation, but instead initially attempted to shimmy up the tree to see him better. After a failed attempt or two and having fallen a few inconsequential inches, she satisfied herself by grabbing his attention.
“Hi, Tick!”
He might have moved amid the tree’s extremities, but Dinky could not tell. Tick certainly did not opt to respond.
Her first maneuver thwarted, Dinky took a more critical look of the tree trunk, consisting of a scrunchy face and a soft, analytical ‘Hmm’ sound. She decided that it was surmountable after all and clung to the middling-thick tree once again. She might have fallen more than a few inconsequential inches the third and fourth time, but she recovered quickly without damages. Trials rapidly rendered triumphs as she found herself dizzyingly off the ground, clinging to the trunk-and-branch connection and just behind Tick.
He appeared to stare into a leaf not an inch from his nose. Carefully, with a wobbling determination, she walked as if on a tightrope onto the branch that he lay on. Tick had still not responded, choosing to keep his eyes and attention on the lone leaf. She waited patiently by his tail for nearly five seconds—an infinite turmoil for an impetuous young child—and then spoke.
“When are we gonna finish our game?”
Dinky received no response, and disappointed she became downcast for a moment’s time. Quickly, her face brightened with a thought, and she abandoned all sense of manners or proper composure and clambered atop his still back.
Tick seemed to have no objection to her standing on top of him while he rested on the tree branch, yet he resisted the urge to shift and allow her to tumble.
“I liked your eyes. Why won’t you look at me?”
There was a quiet, cool and peaceful breeze blowing; she loved the atmosphere and the sense of unruly danger but she would have traded it away for another game of marbles, another time to spend with him truly; although this was nice too. She flipped over onto her back on top of his, adjusted herself so she laid impromptly upside-down to his right-side-up, back to back; she stared at the green ceiling and thought of meaningful things.
“You’re not as comfortable as mom, but you’ll do,” Dinky assured him. She lay her head back so she could see the leaf he was apparently staring at, and found it not very intriguing.
“Have you ever had an adventure, Tick?”
He remained softer and quieter than the rustle of the leaves, and answered not.
“I had an adventure once. It was kind of scary, but fun at the same time. Maybe it was fun afterwards, but I don’t remember it being fun during it. We went all the way to the edge of the Everfree forest, and we even thought that we had gotten lost. That was the worst part, even worse than when we thought we heard a timber wolf a long way away. I didn’t like feeling lost; I thought I would never get home again and never see mom again. We found our way back eventually, but it seemed like a long time.”
Tick could feel her shift around a little bit on top of him, her nub of a horn poked him gently the slightest bit as she did, yet her thoughts were ever as impenetrable to Tick as her mother’s. The tree, and this its inhabitants as well, swayed gently in the breeze for a peaceful period of time. Dinky waited what she felt was an appropriate amount of time, then spoke.
“I don’t remember ever having a dad, just my mom. You seem pretty nice, will you be my dad?”
Tick yelped in a panicked manner that seemed quite unusual and convulsed suddenly, startled; the next thing Dinky knew she was falling through branches, plummeting by leaves; she saw the ground, but mercifully she had no time to process it. If she had, she would have been consumed by fear and preemptory pain, but now she was suspended—floating—
Tick had swept out of the trees and caught her before she could horrendously crash into the ground, and he swiftly—gently—set her on the ground, upright, before he disappeared back into the branches.
“You could have just said no!” Dinky called, not angry or negative in the least but still processing the frazzling event. She walked away, completely undamaged physically, yet there was a hint of sadness playing about behind her eyes and below her nose. Soon, she was out of sight but far from out of mind for the far more shell-shocked ‘participant’ in the conversation.
~~~~~~~~
It was a long flight, but it would pass swifter than what seemed reasonable. Luna was engaged in the most important expenditure of her time in her two years of return, yet all foresight had turned to hindsight, contrary to her demanding circumstances.
Luna’s relationship with her sister was of a unique nature. They had lived for the span of a hundred mortals’ memories in each other’s presence, yet change kept them on edge. No, there was no perfection in it; it was always a work in progress. Their rule of inner law had been crumbling, evaporating, and now they could only vainly attempt to reach out and touch the other’s mind.
And so, once split asunder…
Celestia was fading in her sight; even the connection when they were close had become ethereal. Yet she was still there, only Luna’s perception could be erroneous—or maybe it was Celestia’s, or maybe their powers had weakened. It was strange to them, magic being such a natural piece of their existence, that they should not understand the powers moving through and around them. They had become familiar to the touch of magic, and as it had once been familiar to them, certain things were now lost after a thousand years ripped apart.
The warm summer’s night was a star-struck one, very little of what once had been her crescent moon was left visible, but she could see all of it despite the absence of light. Behind her in her silent flight were a small number of guards, servants, attendants: their purposes were manifold. They were not a necessity, but they would be useful for what Luna had in mind. Yet Luna’s mind was not so clear a place anymore, and her thoughts wandered from a dream to the heights of a mountain to a curtain of blackness that could not be pierced…
The cold night air streamed around them, yet it was not quite as cold as her as they descended from the mountain.