//------------------------------// // Chapter 6 // Story: The Elements of Discord // by Midnightshadow //------------------------------// The Elements of Discord Chapter 6 An MLP:FiM Fanfiction by Midnight Shadow My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic © Hasbro and Lauren Faust. Please support the official release Lyra woke up groggily, she ached all over from the previous day’s exertions; cuts, bruises, possibly a broken rib - they had been healed with magic but it still hurt. She was cold in the tent; her and Bon-Bon’s house had been one of those scheduled to be demolished and rebuilt. It would have hurt more thinking about it but for the fact that their family, such as it was, was whole. Rocky and Caramel’s treehouse cafe was still standing, she could smell the coffee brewing, so she eased herself up onto her forelegs and then her backlegs, hearing joints pop and crack as she did so. Bon-Bon was still sleeping, Lyra looked down at her life-partner fondly and covered her up. They were sharing a blanket and with the extra body gone, the pale cream-coloured pony was starting to shiver. The sun wasn’t yet up, but she couldn’t sleep - and she wasn’t the only one. Lyra stepped out of the tent to a scene that was both tragic and heartwarming. Everywhere was destruction; broken houses, broken weapons, broken dreams - and yet Ponyville was alive with the bustling of hundreds of ponies as they set about rebuilding their lives and reclaiming their futures. She noticed with curiosity that amongst their number were the former soldiers of the invading army, freely living and working with native-born Equestrians. She tried to hate them, she tried so very hard, but she couldn’t. When they had bowed down to Celestia, they had become her kin. Who they had been was gone, what they were now remained to be seen, but the situation demanded their help. Maybe it counted as reparations. Rocky at his cafe was brewing coffee at full-tilt, not charging anypony, just asking for donations when things returned to a semblance of normal. Caramel was nursing a broken leg and a vicious gash down one side, seeing to orders as best he could. There was another smell in the air, a strangely sweet aroma that permeated the town, like something was cooking. Her nose followed the scent in the wind until she spied smoke and flames far on the outskirts. It was the bodies, she realised, they were burning the bodies with wood from the Everfree Forest. The Nightmare Army’s taint was fearful and the griffons, now mostly long gone with the dragons, weren’t carrion eaters in any case - not even of pony-meat. She noted grimly the squadrons of pegasus ponies flitting to and fro pointing out bodies, the unicorn patrollers lifting them into carts, which were pulled by teams of earth-ponies. All of them had face-masks, something almost unheard of in the usually quiet country-town. She tried not to think of the dams and sires lost in the previous days’ battles, the foals who would come back to a broken home, or no home. Maybe she could help. Maybe, she thought, maybe she and Bon-Bon could adopt? A warmth settled in her stomach as she went to get two cups, many more tears would be shed, but perhaps some good could come of it. *** Pinkie Pie wasn’t feeling very keenly pink this morning, but even a small smile seemed to help. She was delivering food from the Cakes and she was being extra-specially attentively careful with the food and not eating any of it. They’d taken the same route as her friend Rocky had, Rocky the bringer of caffeine - she still tingled thinking about it - and were giving away food to those in need, asking nothing but donations when possible. Sugar Cube Corner had been extensively damaged in the fighting, but their stock had mostly survived. It would be a while before they would have somewhere to live of their own, but they would make the best of it, and that included carrying on being cake-shop owners. To the hungry and homeless, a warm pie or fresh apple tart made the world seem that little bit better. As she weaved her way through the town she passed the huge pyres, a sight enough to make even her sunny disposition fade. She had her head down in respect when a strange low keening caught her attention. As her head lifted she spied Zecora assisting with the work, she too had stopped and was listening.         “What’s that noise? It’s so sad yet so sweet and kinda..."         “Hush now listen to what the wind has brung, t’is a thousand years past ‘ere this song was sung.” Applejack joined the pair as they listened, the lilting melody rose into the morning air, an aria so beautiful yet the words were alien, unrecognizable. It tore at their hearts but sent their spirits lifting. The sounds were coming from a purple winged unicorn, Luna the princess of the night was singing alone and yet she commanded the attention of all within earshot. It began to fade for a moment, and then a contralto counterpoint was sung as princess Celestia joined her little sister. The song was primal, stirring, it spoke of summers long gone, regrets to forgive, rain-soaked plains of freedom and movement and, finally, the march into night lit by the eternal celestial fires. As the last stars in the sky disappeared with the rising of the sun, the song became a memory with them, a promise to see the lost to their final resting place. “That’s the blessings of the sun and moon,” said Applejack with a whisper, watching as the two sisters tearfully embraced necks, “it hasn’t been heard for a thousand years because there are only two ponies in all of Equestria who can sing it, and it needs them both.”         “It’s beautiful.” said Pinkie, strangely subdued.         “It’s old magic, offering the dead safe passage to the Summer Lands. I wonder if they exist?”         Luna wandered over, “Truly I do not know, my realms are of the moon and stars, not what may or may not lie beyond, however it was fitting to honour the dead. Gather the other bearers, Applejack, Pinkie Pie, our next task begins anon.” “Then I take leave, my own way to wend - I have to visit the house of a friend.” The zebra bowed her head once and turned around to depart.         “Where are you going, Zecora?”         “Fluttershy is absent but her friends remain, someone must be there to give feed, water and grain.” *** Zecora’s trip from the outskirts of Ponyville where the funeral pyres burned brightly to Fluttershy’s modest cottage didn’t take long - the sun was high by now and the morning’s chill was gone. The cottage was quiet, peaceful. It should have been empty since poor Fluttershy was lost through the now-closed portals. The battle was over, Zecora told herself, so why did she step so carefully? Zecora narrowed her eyes as she entered, “I know you are here, I tell you so - step out, show yourself, are you friend, or foe?” There was a small gasp and pots and pans in the kitchen fell on the floor with a loud clatter. The zebra whirled and lowered her head, pawing the ground in the instinctual reaction of fight or flight. There was a flash of pink and a quiet voice said, “Don’t hurt me... I, I surrender.” “Come out, show yourself!” Zecora commanded, and watched sternly as a pink unicorn emerged from her hidey-hole. She was a bedraggled sight, magic-burned in places, her hide singed, but worse were the scars; they looked self-inflicted and fresh. She had been crying. Zecora found it hard to hate the creature although she knew full well what this unicorn had been doing, “tell me your name and follow me, I think our princess has someone new to see.” “I... I’m Weepy-Cry, Mistress, formerly of Celeste’s glorious legions. I command, no I commanded, her magical squadrons but she left me here... I stayed here... I... I have no magic left. When she went she took it with her. Please don’t hurt me.” Zecora looked long and hard at the unicorn before nodding her head, “then follow me and do as I say. Make no wrong moves and you may live out this day.” *** Weepy-Cry was brought before Celestia and Luna, the twin princesses staring down at the subjugated unicorn, now muzzled with an iron band around the horn and surrounded by four pegasus guards. She looked up fearfully. “You say she was skulking about in Fluttershy’s cottage?” “Indeed, your Majesty, she claims she has no magic left.” said one of the guards “Speak up, Weepy-Cry, what do you have to say for yourself?” Weepy-Cry was silent for a moment, then screwed up her eyes which were heavy with tears, “Kill me, princess, I have nothing left to live for.” her speech was indistinct around the muzzle, but intelligible. Celestia was taken aback, “You wish me to end your life?” Weepy-Cry nodded, “You don’t know what I’ve seen, you don’t know what... what I’ve done.” “I can imagine.” “You can’t,” whispered the unicorn, sobbing quietly, “I want it to all go away. Please, take my life, I don’t want it anymore.” Celestia stepped forward, with a single glance at her sister, who gave an inquisitive look back, “You wish for me to take your life?” Weepy-Cry nodded, and broke down, crying. She rolled onto her side, “I’m ready, strike.” “Unmuzzle her. Remove her horn-brace. If I am to take her life it will be just her and me.” Celestia’s bidding was done, and as the guards stepped back she stood proud and tall, “Stand, unicorn, and face me. I will only ask you this once more, do you wish for me to take your life?” “I do.” she stood on all fours, shaking, eyes closed tight. “Then let it be done.” Celestia touched her horn to the unicorn’s own, and then drew back. With it came a spidery, silvery light. As the princess weaved her head back and forth more thread came and with it, the pink unicorn seemed to stand a little straighter, a little higher. “What..?” asked Zecora, but Luna shushed her, “My sister is ever the canny one. She is doing as she was bid, she is taking this unicorn’s life. Those are memories, every one, she is taking them away. They burden Weepy-Cry down like stones attached to the ankles, she is taking every bad memory of this unicorn’s life and throwing them away.” “Indeed, sister,” said Celestia, weaving her magic with the lightest of touches, “this one has so much pain she thought she would rather die than live. I... instead I give her another chance, to begin again.” “How much are you taking?” Celestia’s brow grew troubled, “Almost everything, she will be naught but a foal, I wish to leave her with nothing but good memories, growing memories, useful memories... but so much is pain, she will have to start over. I wasn’t lying when I said I would take her life away.” The unicorn slumped as the last of the spell finished and Celestia stepped back, blowing lightly on the ball of silvery, spidery threads so it dissipated like sparkling dust on the wind. The pink, scar-covered unicorn dropped to the ground as the glow on the princess’ horn faded away. “It is done?” asked Luna hopefully, but Celestia shook her head, “No, sister, something is wrong. I took away almost her entire life, but there is something... something she keeps locked inside and I cannot penetrate it without hurting her. See, even now she dreams her pain.” Luna watched and hung her head, “I am the princess of the night, Celestia, dreams are my domain, my realm. My power is absolute there, if her dreams are what troubles her, then I am the one to seek them out and set things right. Have her taken to somewhere close, somewhere safe. I shall retire to my quarters, my magic is ephemeral and works over great distances, as you well remember from my exile.” Celestia bowed her head, “even whilst you were Nightmare Moon, you and I could converse in our dreams, I always thought it was my flights of fancy.” Luna smiled, “They were. Even as I wished to see you brought low, my heart wasn’t in it and I only brought you sweet dreams. The night hides many things, but true intentions aren’t one of them. I shall deal with this at once, with luck she will awake tomorrow and we six shall be on our way.” Celestia smiled a secret smile, “I saved a few of her memories, useful to us perhaps, of our foes and their designs. Use them carefully and wisely.” *** Stepping into the void between memories and dreams, everywhere Luna looked she saw broken things. All broken things. The normal waft and weave of the Dreaming, the warm cocoon every dreamer feels secure in, was fragmented and torn. It was as if the threads for this one had all been slashed in grief, yet still... here was something. It was curious. Inside was a fully realized scene. It wasn’t a flickering fragment or a half-thought, it was a fully-formed memory. A dark room, the colors blended with the nothing-colour of stars, of the Forever Dream. A tiny pink pony was weeping over the nearly prone form of an older brown colt, sobbing, “IamsorryIamsososososorry,” grasping at the brown mane. Pleadingly a pink hoof tried to smooth away some stray hairs from a sweat-stained face. Dread and guilt and anger and sadness rolled over her, emanating from the pink unicorn as Luna realized by degrees the young colt was barely breathing. Turning the image in her mind, she gasped. A very large knife lay just to the side of the sternum, gray and shining in a field of stabwounds. Crimson had begun to pool on the hardwood floor, dribbling gently off the side. The precision of the image meant Weepy had thought of this many, many, many times. A keening dull ache formed a corona over every curve, underscored every hard line in the floor. Sadness magnified every detail. The colt must have been terribly strong. Breathing through what was likely a punctured lung, he tried to sputter, “It’s- it’s alright. It’ll be alright..." but his breath was almost gone and the words would not come. There was rather more sputtering, a terrible rattling wet noise deep in his chest, a cough - the knife must have cut sideways. There was a strange tearing noise reverberating from the knife. It must have been a tiny sound, but it hung in Weepy’s ears. His eyes went wide, as did the pink pony’s. His head lolled back and he became so very still. His wide frame - rippling muscles, large hooves, a wonderful brown coat of some fifteen summers - seemed to collapse. Luna felt the scene move on in time. Weepy cradled his head for so very long, brushing away errant hairs, letting the blood cake and flake on her hooves. She needed to remember. That’s why she still had this deep in her heart, Luna realized. She needs to hear “It’ll be alright” but she never will, not without my help. In the strange dark echoes of the little pony’s mind, Luna had to think very hard on the proper course of action. Most dreamers found their own way of dealing with memories - simply they coped with other memories. The average pony could justify and re-cobble memories any way they needed to think themselves as good or brave or special - or that what they’d done was right. This little pony had none to less-than-none. The words she needed to hear were never said because…Luna tried very hard not to think about it. She began Walking and Seeking, joining the greater cosmos of the unconscious. Distances - time, space - all were strange in the Dreaming. All worlds came together in a bright confusion of sounds and half-remembered visions but they followed their own logic. She knew what she sought had left Weepy far behind; she couldn’t feel the strange sorrow of the foreigner anywhere close. It wasn’t embedded around the singing diamonds in the Caves of Cansettle, or hugging close to the walls of the Griffon King’s High Palace, though so many were; her ears always buzzed when Looking in those places. Following simple dream-physics, she knew it had to be somewhere…else. If the light of our souls, Luna remembered someone saying once ages and ages ago, is dreaming, then dreams are light and follow laws like a particle or a wave - and can be stored as photonic energy. She spied Weepy’s dream-self somewhere on the plains, furtively looking around the old abandoned rock farm for an errant memory, now long gone with the wind. Luna knew better then to bother there, so she looked up. There was an awfully bright full moon in the night sky, full and proud as it always was in the Dreaming. She was reluctant to go there; over her thousand years of exile she’d spent years in the Dreaming, puttering through the memories of others. Years and years, countless wishes and scattered hopes - was she ready to be there again, even in passing? Could she even find what she needed? Unease and uncertainty weren’t alien to her, but they clutched at her mind as Luna tried to Think her way to her totem, the Forever Moon of Night. In a moment she was there, somewhere on a bright lunar plain. About her feet flowed fragments of thought; love, hate, despair, joy, avarice... even murder. Concentrating very closely on the colt’s brown face and summoning her powers, she found threads. Following one lead to a coroner’s dream of a strange set of injuries. It was all in writing, a simple document describing multiple stab wounds. Signed by a Princess Celeste, stating the investigation was Closed. No further comment. The coroner had dreamt fitfully. Too much coffee and too much blood to clean up in the morgue that day. Luna held on to the memory, perhaps a little gingerly - it was not a happy one. The handwriting of Celeste was far too familiar. Holding it a bit tighter, she felt other memories swarm around it. Commanding elements on the Moon was so simple, she simply called for them across the deep. They answered; one of the colt fighting another, breaking a few teeth out in a school fight. The colt in passing, buying bread, looking rather shifty-eyed at the teller. Another, rather more ruby-colored, The colt lying in blood very clearly depicted in a magic mirror- The magic mirror was shining and glimmering, the magic was so very strong to grasp every detail. Warm trickling blood shining so sweet, the gasping moans felt so pleasant to her ears, yes, the sun would just be a bit warmer today- Luna felt the need to vomit. It was Celeste’s memory. She could feel the grin, the cackle rising in their throat -- the sound of “Yes, yes, that’s it, stab him again,” in an all-too-familiar voice. She had to put it away. Picking up again, she felt out more memories of the brown colt with the lightning and hammer ugly-mark. She found a bright one. A happy one, one of the very seldom few held by a pink pony in a different place. She knew that was the one. It was one with happy times and smiles and it would surely be what she wanted - but something sang. It was another memory, paired. She knew the sound, but it was so faint and warbling. She followed it. She walked between the stars, happy memory of the colt in hoof, and tried to seek out its mate. It was so very far away from Equestria. By dream logic she should have been able to simply find it, and call to it - but the happy memory knew just how far away it was. She had to travel the path. There was eclipsing darkness, pure night. It was warm and inviting to Luna, but she kept going. The song grew stronger. At length she found the dream shadow of a blue-white dwarf star. Much to her surprise it felt cold, she knew the size was vast, and at least most suns were composed of pressurized gas and not magic. She expected to have felt some hint of warmth. In the Dreaming, many things weren’t as they seemed, but the sphere was definitely blanketed in cold shimmering something. The song was very strong, but slow and sad. She called to the source through the happy memory piping warm in her hoof. Something moved, rippled in the shimmering vastness of the star’s shadow and at length a very small slight memory slipped away from the rolling not-sea of shimmer and into her hoof. It was faint, like holding a whisp of fog. She felt for its contents. It was dark and half-there. There was the image of a pink filly’s face, welling with tears. A cold wet rasping was felt more than heard. “It-it’s okay--” It was a memory. His memory. It dawned on Luna the vast shimmering was half-living dreams. The dreams of the dying. She Walked back and entered Weepy’s Dreaming. In one hoof, a bright sunny day shone and sparkled warm in the flesh of her hoof. In the other, the rasps of a dying colt felt like it was buzzing. Cold but alive. The scene was playing once more. His eyes had grown dim again. She was pawing away hairs again. The blood that had spattered had - again - begun to dry and flake at Weepy’s face. Luna shifted nervously, catching a glimpse of a clock on the mantle. She had the uncomfortable knowledge that was where a certain magic mirror had looked over the scene from. At length, she ambled behind Weepy and very gently tapped her on the shoulder. The memory faded to nothing as Weepy turned, eyes still watery with tears, shed blood boiling away to nothing from her face, warbling through a clenched throat, “Oh, h-hello Princess Luna. I thought I was in Ponyville asleep tonight.” Luna noted this was really rather cogent as Dreamers went. “Yes, you are. You’re in a kind of dream.” “Wh-what is that? It’s scary,” she sniffed. “It’s …” Luna trailed, trying to think of the proper words, “it’s something you haven’t let go.” “I want to let it go. It - it hurts,” Weepy strangled the final word, note trilling into soprano. The pink pony pointed daintily with a hoof at a place between her shoulders, right over her heart. Luna nodded, thinking Celestia was right - it’s in her heart, not her mind. “You’re a very good pony, I think, Weepy,” Luna said, feeling strange to say this to an apparent murderer, conscionable or not, “You just weren’t always treated well and made to do terrible things - and you felt terrible for what you did. Celestia took away most of that pain. She wanted to give you a chance for a happy life.” “Who... who was that?” Weepy managed, apparently ignoring Luna. Brushing away tears with the back of a hoof, “Th-the bleeding foal. On the floor.” “Your brother.” said Luna, sadly. “I have - I had a brother?” Weepy said, confused as a child being told how the sun moves about the sky. The blue-black princess held the gaze with those bleary teary sapphire eyes for some time. At length she decided to extend her hoof and show the pink pony the shiver-cold memory gasping for life. The trickle of blood leaving his body felt queerly cold. The lung on one side wasn’t working, torn muscles throughout his ribcage just didn’t sit right. He knew this wasn’t something that anything bar magic could save him from. More to the point he didn’t want it to. He was done fighting. His sister had been there, sparring and warring and…it was over. She’d won. Just that day he’d made a rather showy display of not wearing his protective breastplate. Ever-so-accidentally he’d left the war-blade just lying around the house for her to find. He’d been as quarrelsome and vicious as usual, all the while wondering what would come next. His unfocusing eyes slid down the length of the knife hilt. He now had a very strong impression of what that would be. “I’msososososososorry,” sniffed Weepy. The duel had been demanded by Queen Celeste, pony against pony, for the right to join her elite forces. He was an earth pony, strong of body, quick of reflexes, and she was his sister, his dear little sister, pink unicorn of so few summers. She had very little fight in her, could barely wield a blade, but she knew more than basic telekinesis and was quick with an energy shield and powerful with her invisible hoof. The knife had turned of it’s own accord as he had leapt at her across the ring, tearing itself out of his grip and sliding between his ribs with barely a whisper. It was almost clinical really, when she’d matter-of-factly begun stabbing below the ribs, below the sternum. Her hooves had been shaking but her horn had glowed bright, her usually dun hide vibrant pink. If there’s one thing he knew about dying now, he figured, it was noticing the details. Things were starting to fade to black. “It’s - s’okay. It’ll be alright,” came a thin high wheezing whinny from his own mouth. The words rattled and sucked in his throat; so hard to breathe. There was a very tinny noise he felt as much as heard, and something went from ‘not right’ to simply wrong. His heart gave up its beating before he stopped breathing. It was the most unpleasant sensation of his life, but tempering that was knowing his sister would live, knowing he saved her through his own semi-sacrifice - it wasn’t pleasant, maybe, but it was all he could hope for now. No matter what happened next, Weepy-Cry would be alright. That cold joy wrapped around the pain, around the rising ringing in his ears, in the sharp jolt of his head hitting the floor- There was a passing flicker of light, and then nothing. Weepy was openly bawling by the memory’s end, “I - I did have a brother and... and I did... I did that? I thought - I thought was a all a really bad dream.” Luna brought her face very close to Weepy, “Your life? It was a nightmare. That’s a bad dream. A lot of very nasty ponies,” she thought briefly of the rose-colored memory of Celeste’s magic mirror, “made you do a lot of very bad things just so you could live. Ponies you don’t have to think about any more” “But- but what I did-” “Was something he wanted you to do,” Luna said firmly, folding the memory about to expose the preparation, the planning, the hope he’d felt for Pinkie toward the end, “So you could live. And maybe be happy one day, Weepy.” Weepy heaved sighs through her chest, gasping at air that didn’t quite exist in dreams. She seemed to want it anyway, breathing deep, “b-but I don’t know anymore, it’s all so confused…who was he?” Luna smiled, this was what she had been waiting for, taking out a bright yellow memory. It was rather larger and she could feel-taste-smell laughter and something like the smell of meadowgrass. “He was this.” Weepy reached out with a pink hoof and gasped. The day had been so very long. The famines were getting worse and weapons training was rougher than usual. Getting back to the rock farm was no great consolation; rocks would have been worth something or other a few months ago, but now they were being requisitioned by the crown and nopony else wanted plain old rocks when everyone was making weapons and gunshot and powder. Actual sales were nonexistent, the crown paid next to nothing and with little income and harder work came less food - his brown coat was starting to feel strangely baggy about the ribs. Elsewhere on the farm a dainty pink filly was banging a smaller rock against a boulder. She seemed like a very strange piece of bubblegum stuck in that grassy field; her fighting stance wasn’t much better. His sister was many things, but a rock-breaker wasn’t one of them. With his weapons jangling he eased up beside her, eyeing her ministrations a might derisively. It was the wrong kind of rock for the wrong kind of boulder, and nopony under the age of some sixteen summers could hope to break a formation like that regardless. Seven was…certainly less than sixteen. “So I see you’re trying,” he smoothed. “I’m working like a big big pony! I have to get tough and fight for the glory of the Sun!” she cheered, turning a rock the wrong way and slamming it down on her limb - there was a rather pronounced chipping noise. She yelped in pain. The brown colt sighed, “Here, let’s go get you some bandage and cuticle cream.” Weepy sniffed, “But we’re supposed to favor the strong and the amen- ameni - the talents of the talon.” “No sense in having a dinged up hoof,” he said, taking her hoof and walking a little awkwardly back to the farmhouse, “Even in the strong. Silly pony.” In the house it was kindness and wooden chairs and a low table. The bandage wrapped once, twice, over a liniment oil that helped soothe the ragged chapped feeling on her hooftip. He was so delicate with it, not chiding her for playing big pony, for not doing as well as her big brother. it was simple and clean and clear. There was some rustling in the frightfully-bare kitchen-cabinet and he pulled out a jar. Twisting the cap carefully he extracted something smooth and long and striped white with red. “Here, take it.” Taking it between her now-good front hooves, Weepy sucked on the end. It was so sweet - so very, very sweet. There was something spicy in the flavor, too. It was wonderful! “What’s this?” she piped. “It’s a peppermint stick, silly filly. We don’t have much real food, but that might take the edge off,” he stumbled, taking out one for his own. They sat at the table and made goofy faces. It was a long slow afternoon, one of the few they’d ever have. Soon the food would grow scarcer and they’d need rather more than candy - but for that short time, it was all Weepy ever wanted and more. Weepy looked up at Luna with new eyes, to the princess it seemed as if life, light and colour flowed back into the small, pink frame, “He loved me?” “With all his heart - and although what you did was terrible, he let you do it, he wanted you to be the one to go on. Can you do that? Can you go on?” “I... I think I can. I can let him go now. Take it all, I want to remember him as he was, not... not this.” The grizzly scene resurfaced, but this time Weepy kissed her brother tenderly on the cheek and just for a moment a brief light returned to his eyes and he smiled, before his body, the blood, the room and everything in it boiled away to smoke and was gone forever. Luna watched as the nightmare-scape disintegrated around her and the pink unicorn fell into the first peaceful sleep she had had in many years. *** Weepy opened her eyes, it was morning, she was in a bed. She didn’t recognize the bed, but she felt... she felt happy. Like the ghost of a bad dream she remembered feeling not so good. Like probing a missing tooth she searched her memories, of which she didn’t have many, but there was one memory, just one, that filled her with joy. Her brother. She knew he was gone, but... it didn’t hurt any more. She sat up, struggled to lift the bedclothes away with her magic and found it gone. It didn’t hurt, she simply picked the covers up like she’d done yesterday, so many years before. At her stirring, a mare entered the room, “How are you feeling, Sweetie?” asked the multi-coloured pony with three cakes as an ugly- no, no, they were called ‘cutie-marks’ here, weren’t they? She wondered what hers would be, she seemed to have cut herself somehow and it wasn’t showing. “I don’t know, Miss... Miss..." “Misses Cake, but you can call me Mama if you wish dear, you’ve been through a lot.” “Mama,” said Weepy, a small smile playing on her lips. It felt foreign somehow, but good, “what happened?” “You... were in a kind of accident.” “Why can’t I remember anything?” “Oh don’t you worry about that, it’s... the accident. Something special happened to you so you’re going to live with us for a while, if you’d like, to be our special foal until you’re ready to move on?” “I think I’d like that. I can’t work magic any more, it’s all so hard..." “It’s the accident,” said Misses Cake smoothly, “don’t worry about it. We’ll teach you anything you need to know.” “Can you... can you teach me about peppermint sticks?” “Peppermint sticks?” repeated Misses Cake with surprise, “I don’t see why not. Come down when you’re ready, we’ll have some breakfast and then get right on it, we’re living with friends for a while but they have a kitchen and I’m sure there’s supplies enough for some peppermint sticks.” “Miss Cake... Mama, what’s my name?” “I... you were..." “I’m your foal now..." said the pink pony, looking down at the floor, then up at the older mare, “I can’t remember anything much, but I can recall that I don’t want to be Weepy-Cry anymore.” “I’ve always liked the name Willow,” said Misses Cake, after a moment’s thought, “it bends in the wind but doesn’t break.” “Willow. I’m Willow.” she said happily, drying the last of the forgotten tears from her cheeks. She smiled. It looked like it would be a good day.