//------------------------------// // Forty // Story: The Moon Also Rises // by Nicroburst //------------------------------// We scorned Celestia when she declared her intent. But she was right, there was no other choice left to us. Even had the Well been myth, nothing else would have sufficed. From that font of power, she returned adorned with Harmony itself, invested in glowing raiment, rather than her flesh, that same raiment which defeated us in turn. Forty APPLEJACK SLOWED her canter to a trot, batting the air about her head with her hat. The heat of the desert—sun not just beating down, but reflecting up from the sand, baking her from all angles—was steadily growing unbearable. She glanced to her side, at the wispy patch of fog peeking out of her saddlebags, and then shook her head. Fluttershy was well ahead; far enough that the view Applejack had of her tail was blurred by heat. She’d been eager, waking Applejack well before dawn on the morning of their departure, waving goodbye to the few who’d gathered to see them off from the edge of town, while Applejack hugged, and smiled: clapping her cousin on the shoulder, shaking Bill’s hoof, embracing Achak. Appleloosa had given them a proper send-off the night before, and food and water enough for roughly two weeks of travel, as close as she could judge it, packing her bags to bulging. But there was no way of knowing how far they’d got to go. Applejack couldn’t feel the water, flowing North underneath them: it was too far down, and she didn’t know this earth, the sand was no part of her domain. Fluttershy had said that they’d encounter a Storm in the Everfree, just as it was to be loosed, had Dreamt of that struggle. Between here and there lay a desert, followed by a series of rolling plains . . . the train line actually cut through them, edging the desert before diving in to Appleloosa from the east. Applejack had suggested just that: take the train. Heck, they could go all the way back to Ponyville, a day’s journey, and have the greater part of two weeks to search the Forest for the impending Storm. Fluttershy had shot that idea down immediately, and truth be told, Applejack thought she made good points. They didn’t know where the Storms were originating. Yes, it was likely somewhere in the Forest. No, they couldn’t be sure. And so, no matter how tempting, venturing off the Storm’s trail would be a Bad Idea. The trail itself wasn’t hard to follow, even after days of exposure to the desert’s winds and sands. The Storm had picked up tons of sand as it passed, whipped the desert itself into a frenzy. The path they followed was carved into the dunes, a straight line, broad and flat. It wouldn’t last long, the formlessness of the desert already beginning to assert itself on either edge, but for now, they made good use of it: a road heading North. Applejack pulled a flask out, took a long drink, and then trotted up to Fluttershy’s side. “Reckon we should stop for lunch, soon,” she said, giving Fluttershy a long look. “Oh, if you want,” Fluttershy said. “I wouldn’t mind walking for a bit longer, myself.” “Are we in some special hurry?” Applejack asked. “Feels like you’re pretty fixated on a good pace.” “No. It’s just-” Fluttershy bit her lip. “-I’m worried. About the town.” “You got something you wanna tell me?” “Well . . .” now she cast a glance at Applejack, measuring, weighing. “I don’t know. My Dream . . .” “They’re not prophetic, right.” Fluttershy hummed. “That’s not quite it. Dreaming shows me one future. A possibility. A likelihood, even.” “But we can change that.” “Yes. Back in Ponyville, I Dreamt of Appleloosa, had we not come—o-or even, just arrived too late.” “They’re safe now,” Applejack said, lifting a hoof to pat her on the shoulder. “We’ll stop anything else heading their way. An’ they’ve experienced a bit, learnt something from it all.” “I know.” Applejack gave her a few beats, before prompting. “But . . .“ “But . . . we’re going to face a Storm. As it’s forming. And . . . I don’t know . . . I don’t know if we’re going to be able to stop it.” “We beat the last one.” Fluttershy shook her head violently. “You know that’s not the same.” Applejack slowed. “Should we even be going, then?” “Oh, yes. It’s—well, umm, it’s the best time.” It was the only time, she meant. The last Storm had been a touch early, but Applejack was confident in her estimation. The cyclical nature of their appearances gave them a limited window to reach the Storm’s source. Two weeks, to push north. Two weeks, to put a stop to this before any more damage could be done. “’Shy,” Applejack said. “If we’re overwhelmed, the town won’t survive. None of ‘em . . . ain’t that what your Dream told us?” She remembered Fluttershy’s original Dream, the warning that had propelled her south with Applejack, in response to a desperate missive. A Dream where Fluttershy walked through the remnants of Appleloosa, saw the residents reduced to nomadic survivors of the desert. A-and—Applejack for the first time questioning her interpretation—what if she’d got the cause wrong? The warning heard, but misunderstood? But Fluttershy was still moving, once again pulling ahead of Applejack. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, and there was a firmness to her tone that gave Applejack pause. “We . . . it doesn’t matter.” “But-“ “I refuse to do nothing!” Now she spun, eyes fixing Applejack in place. “We can’t sit in those tiny shelters, fret about what might happen! What hasn’t happened! No! I’m done waiting.” She turned back to the desert, resumed walking. Unbidden, Applejack followed. The outburst, so unusual, unexpected—though perhaps it shouldn’t have been?—became hypnotic: drawing her after Fluttershy without thought. “It’s become an itch,” Fluttershy said. “All . . . all the sorrow. All the poignancy. I- I can’t not . . . I,” she straightened her bowed neck, “I’m sorry. “But I can’t do this without you, AJ.” Head turned once again, eyes shining, the glint of the sun reaching forth. “I have to believe that the two of us can stop the Storms. Stop, stop the pain . . . Applejack bit down on her lip, not daring to let a word pass her lips. She could empathise, after all, though she’d been—perhaps focused was the word, yes—focused on more practical matters, there remained the itch, as Fluttershy had put it. A nagging sensation in her mind, a terrible weight on her back: responsibility, guilt, a desire to do more, to be more. She ran after Fluttershy, and walked at her side through the desert. Lunch could wait. The long expanse of sand unchanging across the hours, as ever so slowly, the sun sank towards the horizon, and through it all: heat, grit, and unrelenting wind, burned an intent in their minds. Sometime towards evening, they came upon the remnants of the spell designed to disintegrate clouds, the supplies of water shipped southward—tell-tale evidence already hidden by the shifting sand, but a sense of wrong, raising of fur and hackle comparable to what Applejack had felt at the height of Discord’s mayhem. Such a sensation she might once have dismissed, but now she was grasping for answers, struggling to fit the puzzle pieces together, and she was no longer willing to claim coincidence. Chaotic magic, designed to harm. Fragments of the Crystal Empire, found buried deep under the sand. Why, her mind circling on the question, spiralling round and round, a vulture waiting for its prey to finally give up and expire, why would somepony—someone—want to attack Equestria’s south. Fluttershy recognised the edge, Applejack watched her step carefully, hooves tracing a delicate line, her shoulders hunch, ears press back against the flat of her skull, and her pace increase. Still, she led Applejack, without so much as a murmur. Was it only two weeks ago, or thereabouts, that Applejack had sprinted out to her cottage in response to Rarity’s missive? Such a short time, to go from a mare struggling to match Applejack’s pace on wing to one demanding ever more, and not with voice but with her back, slipping away now, once again. Or perhaps it was Applejack that had changed, learnt restraint: at long last, felt the consequences of her extravagance. The guilt, crushing and intolerable, had been assuaged, for now, but it was still there, lurking in her subconscious. It would haunt her, she knew, for the rest of her life. And, to her surprise, she found herself glad: that she could still care, that she hadn’t, finally, burnt herself out of emotion so thoroughly she lost the capacity to feel; for the power that guilt promised, the explosive potential of her pain, and the resolution it would bring about; that her mistakes were, at the very least, not in vain. So she trudged after Fluttershy, pulling an apple from her saddlebags as she walked. Her friend’s back almost seemed to be laughing at her, mocking her every step as it shrank into the distance. No longer would she allow pride to push her into risking more than she could imagine. No longer would she waste her breath on displays of strength, or some misplaced sense of need. They could not be late, no, but they did not have to be early, either. She took a bite of the apple, a fierce grin stretching her lips into a rictus, swallowed. Her eyes didn’t leave Fluttershy until she had finally vanished, heat waves and sand blurring the horizon into uniformity. But when they did arrive . . . she would be ready. Applejack broke into a canter, chasing her friend across the desert. This time, she wasn’t racing. *** Fluttershy could feel her legs burning. Her hooves, uncomfortably hot from the sand, voiced their own complaints with every movement. Her fur, sticky with sweat, itched, and she longed for water, both to clean herself of the ever-present sand, and to ease her throat, long since cracked and dry. Four days, she had moved through the desert. She sought shelter only when the sun began its final descent towards the horizon, hastily finding some large rock, or digging into the sand. She would shiver there, as darkness fell, until a warm form sank down beside her, a muzzle nuzzled the side of her head, and a few words let her know she was safe. She woke with its first rays, dragging herself upright to continue on, leaving Applejack where she lay, gently snoring, limbs sprawled out, and face pressed into the ground. Now she was leaving the desert. The past dozen miles she had felt the sand shifting, gradually thinning underhoof. The dunes, all but completely covering their Great Road north just two days after the Storm had swept through, had diminished, each reaching less height than the one before, and were more and more sparse. Now, at long last, she felt solid ground, dirt, touch her hooves. Saw green and brown underneath the yellow. Even, in the distance, a flower or two, petals a pale blue, stems wilting but still turned upright to gaze at the sky. “We made it,” she murmured, to nopony in particular. But her saddlebags hummed, and wisps of vapour drifted out, rapidly coalescing into a small cloud. Yes. We remember this place. Fluttershy nodded. Nephele had followed her out to Appleloosa; after all, by following the train tracks—tracks that she stepped on now, delighting in the firmness of metal and wood. North beckoned her, the land dropping away across a gentle slope, shallow valleys extending outward. Across the horizon, still, she knew lay the Everfree Forest, and gathering there, the Storm. We should wait for the Warden. Fluttershy shook her head. Stomach rumbling, she pressed forward. She could not pin down exactly what drove her forward so relentlessly, nor had she put a great deal of thought into it. It was enough that she moved, that she was active. She had seen the consequences of silence, the devastation that could result from inaction. She would not allow such events to pass again. And part of her delighted in her newfound strength. She found in it sureness, a purity: the will she’d always lacked—or had merely buried—surging up to guide her. Determination, laced with anger and sorrow. She must not fail again. She understood, a little, now. How her friends had been able to withstand the glare of the spotlight. How they'd never backed down from a fight, even something as trivial as a friendly argument. It was something beyond her, an expression of intent that transcended Fluttershy . . . she was a vessel, a tool. She needn’t be embarrassed by this passion, for it dwarfed her, and drew its own stares. It was exciting. She felt potent, in a way she’d rarely felt before, capable of anything. With a surge of . . . she couldn’t name it, not quite, though closest to a wave of triumph and elation, she leapt into the air, wings sweeping the sky apart. Already, she moved faster than she had before, and the rushing winds pulling back on her lips drew from her not her typical whimper, but a fierce grin, and a cry. Conduit, we must await. Quickly, she outpaced Nephele, the Cloud Nymph floating after her, slowly. She rose, higher and higher, until the colours of the land merged together into a tableau and the air grew bitterly cold. Equestria laid itself out before her, sprawling, giant. Squinting despite herself, she dove and spun, twisting in the breeze, and let out a laugh—simple, carefree, innocent. For a moment, she felt she could understand Rainbow: really understand her, in a way that was deeper than empathy. Surely this was her birthright, her inheritance, cast in gold and rich sky-blue? She smelt water, and her tongue lolled from her muzzle. Diving, Fluttershy careened towards the ground, winds ripping at her fur, threatening, pushing, moving faster than she’d ever felt comfortable within. And yet, she never felt out of control. The lake she’d scented lay nearby, no more than a minute or so off her charted path. The slow process of drawing water North-ward created a tiny whirlpool in its centre as water was sucked into the ground. Without hesitation, she landed, plunged her head into the water. Cool and crisp, she couldn’t quite hold her breath, bubbles exploding out of her. Laughing, she moved into the centre, then relaxed, falling back and allowing her rear legs to float up, until she was bobbing on her back, staring up at the sky. She could feel the grime washing off her, sand and sweat dissolving, melting away. Like tension, leaving her muscles during a massage. She drank, deeply, and felt the taint here, pushed it away from her mind with a thought. Its threat lay in subtlety, once aware of its influence, it was simple enough to ignore the dark murmurings . . . though she would not want to test the limits of her endurance. Eventually, staggering onto dry land, she paused and considered her saddlebags. Far from just water, they’d contained grain and a few apple pies, Nephele’s jar, a small crystal toy . . . soaked, now. She shrugged them off, left them there on the ground. A small part of her mind was busy worrying, fretting over this newfound attitude. While Fluttershy had known, always known, if in her own way, the wonders and the vibrancy of the world outside, she cherished more than just the aesthetic, more than the sights and sounds and smells. It was tranquillity, an ease of life—each and every interaction that of old friends, an established social code. She delighted not in excitement, or ecstasy, or commitment, but rather in belonging. As if, for the first time, she felt that she was a part of this world. That’s why she couldn’t stop herself from leaping forward through the air. That’s why she couldn’t match herself to Applejack’s measured pace. That’s why she abandoned her Dream, and the fearful, despairing tone it foretold. If she could get there in time, then maybe . . . just maybe . . . she could change the future. Halt the Storm, protect the south, and . . . forestall that cry, desperate and forlorn, that haunted her mind still, and tickled the insides of her ears. *** The Everfree Forest, for all of its chaos, had changed perhaps the least over the years. Applejack had plenty of memories here, from when she was just a young filly, scared half to death from her Granny’s stories of Timberwolves, from that fateful excursion into the Forest, Moon’s Rise, and the Elements, occasional trips to Zecora’s hut . . . what had once been the realm of monsters and nightmares had, over the course of repeated ventures, become familiar. And while Sweet Apple Acres grew, Ponyville expanding to welcome newcomers, new trade routes exploding as ponies realised Ponyville made a perfect hub for those not looking to climb all the way up to Canterlot, and Equestria, as a whole, got that little bit smaller, the Everfree had remained static. It was ironic, really. “How’re ya feelin’?,” Applejack called out, coming to a halt beside Fluttershy. The pegasus was dozing in the shade of a tree on the Everfree outskirts, back propped up against its trunk in a manner reminiscent of Lyra’s odd posture. “Fluttershy?” “Hmm,” Fluttershy murmured, stirring, and rubbing a hoof across her face. “Oh, Applejack. Fi-“ she yawned, mouth opening wide “-finally here.” With a jolt, she jumped to her hooves. “Ready to go, then?” she asked, and began trotting forward, into the Forest. “Hold on there,” Applejack said, reaching out to catch Fluttershy’s shoulder. “There ain’t no rush. We’ve made good time, and Ah could use somethin’ ta eat.” “Eight days,” Fluttershy said. “Eight days it’s been growing.” “We’ll be worse off if we charge in there on empty stomachs.” Fluttershy sighed, turning aside. Applejack saw her mouth flash downwards, curves and lines appearing around her face just for an instant. “Fine. One apple.” Applejack reached into her saddlebags. Her hoof scrabbled about, seeking, searching . . . nothing, nothing but crystal. With a frown, she doffed the bags, bent down to inspect them closer. But no amount of wishing could create food where there was none, and, Applejack realised, it wasn’t just apples she’d run out of. She’d naught remaining but a few oat cookies. One of which she offered to Fluttershy. “How’s about that,” she said, giving her friend a sheepish grin. “Looks like we’re on short rations from here on in.” Which wouldn’t have happened had Fluttershy taken better care of her things. Applejack had found her bags, soaked through and completely ruined, three days ago, by what was left of, she assumed, a lake: damp earth and the bowl of land around it the only remaining traces of its existence. She’d recovered what she could, but . . . Fluttershy had had enough food on her for another four or five days, easy. It was unlike her, and created in Applejack a nagging suspicion, and a growing concern. “We’re through the desert,” Fluttershy said. “There’s plenty of grass around.” Applejack made a face. Grass had never appealed to her that much—odd, as a proud country soul, she expected herself to be better suited at roughin’ it than most. But while hay would do in a pinch, and she could sleep better on rock than a unicorn in linen, grass left an acrid taste in her mouth that just wouldn’t go away. Truth was, she had nearly as big a sweet-tooth as Pinkie, which suited her just fine. What she said was: “Ah ain’t sure we should trust it. Grass drinks water from the earth, after all. All this’s probably tainted.” Fluttershy nodded slowly, chewing on her cookie. “I’m scared, AJ.” “Yeah,” Applejack paused, stepped up alongside her friend, laying a hoof across her shoulders. Together, they stared into the darkness of the Forest. “Me too.” “We have to go,” Fluttershy said, pulling at Applejack. “Something my parents used to tell me,” Applejack said. “Haste makes waste. ‘Course, took me longer than Ah like to admit to understand that. But this, this ain’t just determination, ‘Shy. You looked at that?” she pointed up, at the sky, with a hoof. The air was cold, with a bitter chill. Grey skies surrounded a dark omen. “I can feel it,” Fluttershy whispered. “On the air and in the wind.” Applejack fell silent, giving her a long, measured look. Fluttershy noticed, ducked her head, a faint blush gracing her cheeks. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” She sighed. “I . . . okay. You’re right. We can wait, just a little longer.” Applejack smiled at that, and trotted past Fluttershy. “Well? You coming?” *** The Storm roared around them. Wind ripped at their sides, clutching at fur, tugging at mats and clumps of dirt. Water, flung into the air, froze before their eyes, shards of ice pelting the trees. Leaves, twigs, some smaller branches stirring, flailing; spun around in a maelstrom of Chaos. It was small, yet. Its virulence leashed, its anger withheld. Fluttershy couldn’t help but compare, with a sigh of relief, with the Storm of her Dream. That future had been a desperate struggle, the building fury obscuring sound and sight entirely, until she lost Applejack. Ah need you! In the here and now, they walked forward with relative ease. Through the swaying treetops, the Storm’s shadow rose, a towering monolith of black clouds and lightning. A wave, building on the ocean, growing, rising, as the tide sucked water from under her hooves . . . Fluttershy waited with baited breath, eyes fixed skyward, waiting for the wave to break. Four days through the desert, another four to cross the plains separating southern Equestria from the Everfree Forest —five, counting the time she spent waiting for Applejack, restlessly recovering from her flight and still aware enough to shy away from the prospect of entering the Forest alone—and nearly a full day here, though they had been moving slowly, carefully, despite the apparent absence of monsters. The Forest was roughly circular, she knew, extending a half-day’s journey from Ponyville to the Old Castle. She hadn’t realised that the Castle was roughly the centre of the Forest. Now that she thought of it, though, she—well, it was just a hunch, but still—was all but certain that it was precisely at the centre. Fluttershy pushed that train of thought from her mind, recognising it as merely a delay. How many times would she have to make this assertion, in the quiet recesses of her mind? She was done with waiting. Her view ahead was obscured by stone. She started, glancing around, catching sight of Applejack a few feet to the side, examining a rising wall of earth. Ah, the chasm—she remembered this area, vaguely, memories dating back nearly sixteen years, now, to Twilight and Rainbow, and the City Beneath. Slipping up near Applejack, she looped her front hooves around the earth pony’s chest, under her arms. She braced, as a particularly strong gust blew past, then flapped, hard, shooting up into the air. The wind caught her almost immediately, sending them spinning around the chasm, the slipstream holding them in its path, and buffering them against collisions. Steadily, they rose, beat by beat, until Fluttershy caught sight of the Castle steps, to the right, and Applejack found ground beneath her back hooves. They glanced at one another, and trotted forward, to the edge of the cliff. Down below, a lone river snaked across an empty stretch of land, disappearing into the cliff-face under their hooves. The waters raged, almost boiling with fury, long streams arcing up into the air to lash against a colossal waterspout, connecting to the Storm above. Spray soaked the ground, shimmering with the sunset cast in ice. Waves of fog billowed out, giving the scene an ethereal edge, an atmosphere dripping with turmoil. And the sound, crashing against their ears, was itself a scream, primal, terrified, and wordless. They both knew this river, the Lethe, capable of stealing memories and minds. They knew of the dragon that lurked in its waters, who had taught Spike—Daerev, now—and helped raise him into the young dragon they knew today. So the sight of the Drac, serpentine tail twisting, coiling, striking at the air, wings firmly furled, body upright, rising from the water . . . jaws open, fire, roiling, jets of intermittent bright blue heat striking the water, caused Fluttershy to gasp, Applejack to stumble. Their hooves found each other. Fluttershy opened her mouth, and found only dread in her throat. “Gotta be,” Applejack answered her anyway. “That . . . that thing!” “Maybe he’s fighting it,” Fluttershy squeaked. But they both knew, deep down. Applejack pulled Fluttershy to the edge, jumped off with her, trusting the pegasus to catch them both. Fluttershy waited, the rushing air filling her ears, nose, bombarding her senses so that she didn’t have to think, unfurling her wings only halfway down the fall, turning their drop into a glide that brought them to the edge of the river. Here, the Storm was at its most potent, the water striking them hard enough to break the skin, ice tearing at them, freezing in their fur, fog clouding their sight even of each other, despite being in each other’s arms. They pushed forward, front hooves dropping into the river bed suddenly, so that they tumbled, sprawled on the cold, dry dirt at the Drac’s taloned feet. But Fluttershy’s fear, such as it was, had faded, and she found herself standing, glaring upwards. It was a small victory, really, but it left a soft smile waiting to grace her face, and a satisfaction in her mind. She had not lost her friend, here. She had not waited too long. “What the hell is goin’ on here?!” Applejack screamed, her voice cresting the Storm by virtue of a burst of indignation. The dragon clamped his mouth shut with a click, dropped to all fours to regard them, huge eyes, reptilian and unblinking, reflecting their images back at them. “You’re here,” he said, voice hissing. “Why are you doing this?” Fluttershy asked. Her words felt flat, tasted stale . . . numb, devoid of passion—she recognised the truth, could not fight it. He was a Seer, he knew precisely what he was doing, precisely how much harm he could have, and had, caused. He tilted his head. “Did you imagine me your friend?” “You . . .” Applejack spluttered. “Me. But,” claw coming up, now, talon pointing forward, reaching, to press itself into Applejack’s chest, “you are early.” Fluttershy glanced at Applejack, face blank but eyes shining. “We aren’t about to let ya unleash that,” Applejack said. Now she was shouting, shock turned to anger turned to rage. “Drop it. Now.” “Can you make me?” Now Fluttershy stepped forward, past her friend, past the talon holding her back. She understood, in her bones, the gravity of this threat. She wanted to scream, to run, and to find shelter somewhere secure, surrounded, and safe—this was a dragon, her ancient fear. But spending so many years, terrified of ideas with no teeth, hiding from injury, gave her some strange immunity to this: the true threat, the very image of death, staring her down. Her entire body seemed to be humming, buzzing, pins and needles familiar to anypony who had fallen asleep on their outstretched hooves. She felt the fear, battering at her. It was on the outside, glass walls surrounded her thoughts, and when she moved, she did not tremble, and when she spoke, her voice was steady. “Yes,” she said. She looked up, Stared at the Drac. “Yes, we can.” The dragon recoiled. Not abruptly, not startled, but taken aback nonetheless, he leaned upright, tongue lashing out to taste the air. Applejack placed a hoof on Fluttershy’s shoulder, gave her a squeeze. Together, they stood firm. The Drac bent back down. “Show me,” he said, and a torrent of blue rushed forth. Heat. From the bitterly cold air they’d trekked through, the ice and wind draining every last bit of heat from their bodies to a furnace, a forge. The ice clinging to their fur, coating their bodies saved them, steam already screaming skyward as Fluttershy dove to the side, a sudden shock coursing through her wings, catching Applejack under the shoulder with one hoof and slinging her out of the way. Without pause, the Drac swung a claw at them. It scored Applejack’s flank, the sharp edge dragging a gash down the back of her leg. A simple flick, and she was flung back to strike the edge of the river, dirt walls polished by years of flowing water. She caught herself there, seemed to sink into the dirt an inch, and drew a deep breath. Fluttershy took off, darting upwards. She reached for the Storm, for the swirling mass of power above them. Lightning flashed down, caught her wings, and surrounded her in a halo of electric-blue. A tongue of flame, reaching after her, had just length to catch her tail, before she sucked it in as well, dancing radiance adding to the sparks running across her feathers. Applejack stood up, rolled her head around, and cracked her neck twice. She stepped forward, planted all four hooves solidly in the churned earth, again sinking slightly. The earth formed up around her, solidified, liquid streaming away from her. The Forest was not her home, but she knew it, was familiar with it. Lightning and Fire darted down, tracing Fluttershy’s dive until she banked, wings thrusting down to brush the tips of her primaries against the Drac’s arched spine, kicking off him as she changed direction. He stumbled, just a little bit, just enough for Fluttershy to soar over him, past him, and bring the Storm to Applejack. The wind rose in intensity, a maelstrom of air, deafeningly violent. Debris whipped at them, tore at their manes and tails. Any noise was instantly devoured, cast away into the vortex. It didn’t matter. They didn’t need to speak. Fluttershy’s wings were a brilliant gold, sparkling with furious radiance. Applejack’s legs were a fiery orange, steady and warm. The nascent Storm, channelled through the Conduit’s wings, touched the Warden, and found itself spread into the dirt, the Earth, receiving and neutralising. Firm and unyielding, Fluttershy and Applejack stood at the centre of the lightning, bathed themselves in blue. A current, introduced to electrical ground. Plants sprang to life around them, growing with wild abandon. Fruits and seeds floated gently on a calm breeze. Vines snaked around them, over them. Grass grew: one foot, two, three. Trees groaned, and toppled under their own weight. The Forest reverberated with noise, with the sounds of the magical discharge being spread across it. A great intake of air, and then a colossal heave, a sigh, as the very earth shifted underhoof. Amidst all the chaos, the Drac stood, facing them. Water, no longer held aloft, began to rain down upon them. The fires, still clinging to their coats, sizzled, and died away. “That, my little ponies,” he snarled, “is why.”