//------------------------------//
// Hope 
// Story: The Unicorn and the Stranger 
// by PhycoKrusk 
//------------------------------//

	Later than night, Rarity attacked her sketchpad with a level of energy she’d not felt for two weeks, thought after design flowing from the tip of her pencil like desire made manifest. Many were designs that were not practical, and some were perhaps too fanciful even for her otherwise active imagination, but the joy of giving them shape in the world meant that mattered little to her. What did matter to her was Driftwood.

The two Guards that had escorted them from Driftwood’s bungalow were only a part of a full cohort, and it had been a small matter to secure space aboard one of the trains leaving Portside. The schedule had been changed to overnight, and would go to Hoofington, only a day’s ride from Ponyville, but there were only two passenger cars, the rest of the train reserved for parcels and mail. Two passenger cars, all considered, were a bit on the small side for thirty one ponies, a changeling, and all the associated luggage, but they made due. Rarity and Driftwood, at the least, had a bench to themselves even as Guards were otherwise crowded around them.

When the sun was still up, Driftwood — disguised all the while — had been fine, or at least as fine as the situation would allow, and the Guards had been accommodating and not antagonistic, if not particularly friendly. Some rations — a chocolate bar which they’d split — had been spared for both of them as well, complimenting the food Driftwood had packed, which consisted mainly of the oranges Rarity had picked and some raw vegetables. When the sun was up, the situation had been calm, if not ideal.

The trouble had started when Driftwood tried to go to sleep, leaning against the wall of the car with a pillow — secured from Rarity’s own luggage — under his head. He hadn’t stirred much, but she was sure he was just trying to avoid disturbing her. When at last he gave up trying to sleep and simply stared out the window, Rarity put her sketchpad aside. “Driftwood,” she said more than asked.

That he was startled when he turned to look at her told her everything. “We all know the truth already, Driftwood. Please don’t hide from me.” He started to open his mouth to protest, but she was quicker, gently placing a hoof over his lips. After a moment of silence, Driftwood closed his eyes and gave a sighed of resignation before his disguise melted away. Rarity could just imagine how many eyes that might have drawn looking to see what was happening, but gave them no consideration beyond that, drawing her hoof away to let Driftwood speak.

“I’m terrified, Rarity,” he said lowly, apparently not seeking to hide his feelings any more than his physical form. His eyes were cast down, as if that might afford him some sort of barrier. “I’m sure most of the stories about Princess Twilight are just imaginations running wild, but almost all of them say that Canterlot was attacked in the middle of her brother’s wedding. A few even say it was her wedding, and now I can’t stop my imagination. What’s going to happen to me?”

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Driftwood,” Rarity said, raising her hoof once more to tilt his face upwards, meeting his gaze. “There are laws that govern exactly these sorts of situations. Laws that give you protections.”

“Laws written by ponies.”

That struck Rarity as an odd thing to say. “That’s right,” she said in tentative agreement.

Driftwood sighed ruefully. “I’m not a pony, Rarity. It’ll be different for me. I won’t have protections. Do you know what that means?”

“I know that you haven’t done anything wrong, and that Twilight will understand that,” Rarity replied.

“Will she?” Driftwood asked apprehensively.

Further protest, if indeed there was to be any, was silenced as Rarity placed a gentle kiss on his nose. “Yes,” she said with a warm, soothing smile. “Now, enough of this. You’re at a crossroad, Driftwood. You helped me through mine, and I hope you’ll be there at the next one. Let me help you through yours, just this once.”

Driftwood was silent for a moment, and then he smiled back, if much more somberly, and rested his forehead against hers. “Just this once,” he said before tilting her face upwards and pecking her on her lips.

“Go to sleep, silly boy,” Rarity said, pecking him right back. Driftwood nodded and, with his anxiety quieted once again, he gave toothy yawn poorly covered with a tarsus and then laid his head on his pillow again. Rather than returning to her sketches, Rarity watched him for a few minutes until she was certain that this time, he’d managed to fall asleep. With her muse likewise quiet for a time, she carefully pressed closer to his side and laid her head on his shoulder.

As she herself drifted to sleep, the train carrying both of them into the future, she considered for a moment what she was certain she’d seen in his expression just a moment earlier, something she was sure he’d felt the previous evening when she asked him to swim with her, and perhaps had not felt for a long time before that:

A glimmer of hope.