//------------------------------// // Just A Friendly Chat // Story: Changing Lives // by Eakin //------------------------------// JUST A FRIENDLY CHAT With its beige carpeting, inoffensive abstract paintings adorning the wall, and the gentle white noise of the bustling city streets outside flowing in from the nearby open window, I have the sneaking suspicion that the waiting room of Aunt Wind’s office was decorated with a certain sort of less-than-stable ponies in mind. And apparently, I’m one of them now. I fidget in my seat as the clock on the far wall ticks down the last few minutes until the late afternoon evaluation, deliberately scheduled as the last appointment of the afternoon I’m sure, which I’ve been ordered to undergo is set to begin. Kicky finally got me in here. I hope she’s happy. Given that she never came back home after our little blow-up on Blossom’s front yard and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of her for the last two days, I’m inclined to believe she probably isn’t. “Hi Cloud. Why don’t you come on in?” suggests Aunt Wind, emerging from her office while I’m lost in thought and walking over to offer me a gentle hug. I follow after her into her inner sanctum, the wooden desk in the corner mostly bare except for a few files stacked off to one side and two picture frames displaying younger versions of Star and Storm, a little faded around the corners. “Are you doing well these days?” I raise an eyebrow as I settle onto the overstuffed couch against one wall, the one next to the window with a great view of the palace a little ways off in the distance. “Would I be here if I was?” “You’re here because I ordered you here,” she replies. “More to the point, you’re here because Kicky was concerned about you the last time we spoke. And based on some of the things she told me, so am I. All we’re doing here today is trying to see if there’s something that you might want to address, as well as give you a few new tools that you might find useful. Nopony is going to have you committed because you’re carrying around a bit of unresolved stress.” She reaches into a drawer for a notepad and quill, giving its tip a quick dip in a nearby inkwell before she settles onto a chair across from me, poised to begin writing. “Now, why do you think Kicky would be concerned about you?” “You said she told you already.” “I’d really prefer to hear it from you, if you don’t mind.” “Well...” where to even begin? “...it’s probably because she had a front-row seat to all the changeling stuff.” Aunt Wind’s quill starts to dance across the pad. She’s an old hoof at this, and doesn’t even have to look away from me to see what she’s writing. “Go on.” “It was really my own fault. I was out on my own and got a faceful of those pheromones that mess with your head. You’d think I’d have built up some kind of tolerance by now.” “Oh? And why would that be?” asks Aunt Wind. I lean back on the couch and let out a long sigh. “Honestly, after everything that’s happened these last couple of months I’m starting to think I’m some kind of magnet for them or something. I mean Kicky was just the tip of the iceberg. I finally get into a serious relationship with a mare for the first time in Celestia knows how long, or I think I do, and it turns out she was just using me for information the entire time. Big stuff, too. Stuff that could have gotten you and the rest of the family massacred if Twilight Sparkle hadn’t stopped the invasion like she did. Oh, and the punchline of all this is that now Azalea, that’s her name by the way, now Azalea and Twilight are hooves over heels for one another. And I don’t blame Twilight for that, Az is a great pony now that she’s reformed. But obviously some ponies aren’t meant to dip a hoof into the dating pool. More trouble than it’s worth, really. Sorry, I guess we’re going kind of off topic.” “That’s fine,” says Aunt Wind, still writing away. What could she possibly be scribbling down over there? Her grocery list? “Anyway, so going back to that day in the changeling hive,” I say. My ears perk up as I register a rapid series of taps, and it isn’t until I glance down that I notice one of my hooves is twitching and the edge of it is filling the room with that distracting noise. I offer Aunt Wind an apologetic smile and cross it over the other leg to make it stop. “There were a couple of drones there, and the one I’d followed wouldn’t share its prisoner with the other one. I tried to stay hidden, but one of them must have spotted me from another tunnel.” I bring my story to an abrupt halt. Thinking about the next part makes me feel like an idiot, pheromones or no. “Cloud? Are you alright?” “Yeah. Just thinking. How do you think the drone knew that turning into Mom would work?” “Well,” says Aunt Wind, “from what we know, changelings are quite perceptive. Taking the shape of a family member to feed isn’t exactly unusual.” “I think about that a lot, actually,” I admit, frowning. “And no matter how hard I try, I can never really wrap my head around what made me decide I should follow it deeper into the cave. I guess it could have just been the pheromones.” “But you don’t think that’s the whole story.” I shake my head. “I guess I was just being an idiot. Looking back, it should have been really, really obvious that the real Mom wouldn’t just show up there out of the blue. And the stuff it said when it was trying to feed off of me didn’t sound anything like what Mom would actually say. It was just telling me what I wanted to hear, I get that.” I scoff. Looking back on just how incredibly thick I’d been to believe that act is giving me a headache. “It’s awfully foolhardy to let your guard down in a life-or-death situation. I’m sure you know that.” “Oh, absolutely,” I say with a nod. “Well aware of it. I could have ended up cocooned or worse if I hadn’t killed her.” The scratching of Aunt Wind’s quill ceases, just for a fraction of a second, before it starts up again with a renewed intensity. “Sorry, I’m not sure I quite caught that,” says Aunt Wind, “would you mind repeating the last part?” “I was just saying I know it could have gotten really bad for me if Kicky hadn’t killed it when she did.” Aunt Wind goes quiet for a moment, still writing while I occupy myself staring out the window, trying to think of what else she might need to know. “And so just to bring this back around to where we began, this is why you think Kicky’s worried?” I shrug. “That would be my best guess. Although it’s not like there hasn’t been enough other drama piled on top of it.” I grin as it occurs to me how to make this session a little bit less of a downer. “You remember Lyra Heartstrings, right? Well, can you keep a secret? I’ve been dying to tell somepony, and if I tell you something here you aren’t allowed to repeat it, right?” “Essentially, yes.” She leans in a bit and I do the same. Not that I think there’s likely to be anypony listening in, but it feels like the right thing to do. “Her fillyfriend Bon Bon is planning to propose to her. She showed me the ring and everything.” Aunt Wind smiles. “That sounds like wonderful news. It will be quite the exciting change for the two of them, I’d think.” “Well, I don’t know how much it will actually change anything. They’re already pretty much inseparable.” And there goes the quill writing away again. “I just mean that at the end of the day they’re still the same Lyra and Bon Bon they are now.” “And you don’t think that whether or not they choose to marry will have a sizable impact on their priorities?” “They’re both pretty established in their careers, and they’ve already decided not to try for foals. Although I don’t think Bon Bon is really happy about that.” Aunt Wind just scribbles away on her notepad, the clock on her wall ticking the seconds away. “Did you want to hear more about them? You wouldn’t believe what Ditzy said about—” “You’re drifting, Cloud,” says Aunt Wind. “We’re here to talk about you, remember?” “I know, I know.” All grumbling aside, she probably has a point. I didn’t haul my flank all the way to Canterlot to discuss wedding plans. “Beyond that, I don’t really know why Kicky would worry about me. It’s not like I can ask her.” “Why can’t you ask her?” Whoops, hadn’t really meant to bring that bit up. “I haven’t seen her in a couple of days. I think she’s avoiding me. I sort of spilled one of her secrets to somepony she cares about, and they got in a huge fight over it.” Aunt Wind sighs and flips her notes to a fresh sheet of paper. “Why don’t you tell me about that. Start from the beginning.” “Well, my friend Blossomforth used to have a crush on me a while back. Well, I guess she... was Kicky’s friend too after she sort of inherited the relationship with the whole permanent transformation thing. But back before that, when Kicky was still a changeling, she took advantage of that to feed off of her by impersonating me. I think a lot of changelings used my shape like that, actually. I mean, it probably wouldn’t exactly be an Equestria-shattering revelation that I’m a fan of sex.” “No, it wouldn’t,” says Aunt Wind. “To be entirely honest, there was a time when I half-wondered if you met the diagnostic criteria of nymphomania. But I was under the impression that it wasn’t a compulsion that was having an outsized negative impact on your day-to-day life.” I grin and settle back onto the couch, feeling a lot more comfortable now that I’m back in safe and familiar territory. “If anything, my day-to-day life is having a negative impact on my sexual compulsions.” I chuckle. She doesn’t. “How do you mean?” This territory is suddenly feeling a whole lot less familiar and safe. Why’d I have to open my big mouth? “I was mostly kidding. I mean, I guess I’ve been under some extra stress these last few weeks. I’ve been feeling more... I don’t know. Distracted, I guess. And then when I do manage to hit it off with somepony and take them to bed, I still can’t get away from the whole changeling thing.” “Go on.” “Nah, it’s stupid.” “Unless you’ve managed to get a degree in psychology without mentioning it to me, maybe you should tell me and let me decide if it might be important or not, hmmm?” I glance up to give her a ‘drop it’ look, but it doesn’t exactly have the intended effect as she returns it with just as much intensity. “I was in bed with this other mare, having a good time, and... I don’t know if it was a trick of the light or what, but just for, like, a split second I thought she looked like somepony who I knew she wasn’t.” That damned quill is scratching away again, and it’s really starting to grate on my nerves. Like this isn’t stressful enough for me without her taking notes on me like I’m nothing more than some lab rat? I feel the heat starting to rise in my cheeks and my heart beating a little faster in my chest. “Do you have to write that down? I didn’t think she’d actually turned into another pony or anything.” “Could you identify the pony you thought you saw?” she asks. “Yeah. Well, not by name or anything. It was the shape the changelings used to lure the stallion that I followed back to their hive.” “So you were in bed with a mare, and for a moment you thought she was a changeling. Would that be accurate?” “No!” The intensity of my denial surprises me, and I have to take a second to calm down. “I knew it wasn’t real.” Aunt Wind studies me for another moment before, blessedly, putting down her notepad. “Hallucinations can feel genuine even when we know they aren’t really true.” “Whoa! Hold on. Back up. It wasn’t a hallucination. You’re blowing this way out of proportion.” “Did it feel real?” When I clam up rather than answer her right away, she continues. “How did you react to what you thought you’d seen?” “Well, it killed the mood stone dead. That’s for sure. I ended up leaving a few minutes after that and just going home for the night. I was obviously tired if my mind was going to play tricks on me like that.” “So you knew it wasn’t real, but it did provoke a reaction from you.” I scoff. “Now you’re twisting my words. Why don’t we just drop this? Wasn’t I supposed to be telling you about Kicky?” “I’d like to come back to this later on, but sure.” She takes a look at what she’s written down, which I’m becoming more and more certain is going to turn out to just be ‘Yep, she’s nuts’ over and over again, and scans upwards by a few lines. “So Kicky, while she was a changeling, fed on your friend Blossom. How exactly did that lead to their fight?” “Well...” I gulp to try to force down the lump settled in my throat, “...I kind of spilled the beans to Blossom after Kicky told me the truth. She was pretty upset.” “Did you feel like it was your place to share that information with her?” “I mean... no, not really. But what she did wasn’t okay, even if she was just a changeling when she did it. She hurt Blossom really badly, and Blossom deserved an explanation for why she’d gone through all of that pain.” Before she replies, Aunt Wind passes me a box of tissues. I guess she noticed that my eyes are getting a little bit misty, judging by the feel of them. “Did you try to explain your feelings to Kicky before you told Blossom?” “Well, sort of.” “What exactly does ‘sort of’ mean?” “When I told her that I was going to go over to Blossom’s, I wasn’t exactly in the best frame of mind. Especially since..." I fall silent, and a few seconds later Wind’s quill finally stills itself. “Since what?” “You’re going to act like it’s a way bigger deal than it is.” “Well,” she says, leaning forward in her chair. “If it’s important enough that you’ll assume I’ll fixate on it, it’s something I want to hear.” “That’s.... It’s.... You’re cheating!” I manage to stammer. “First off,” says Aunt Wind, “this isn’t some competition or fight. I’m not trying to ‘win’ here, I’m trying to help you. And if I can do so more effectively by cheating all sneaky like...” That does make me chuckle, if only for a moment. Soon enough, though, the gravity of the situation drags my spirits right back down. “I hit somepony. But she deserved it.” Aunt Wind doesn’t miss a single beat. I get the feeling I could confess to slitting a foal’s throat in cold blood and all she’d do would be asking me to elaborate. Maybe that’s a typical Wednesday for her. “Cloud?” By Celestia, that’s the sort of pony she deals with day in and day out. And now here I am, in her office. I’m one of them. A psychopath. Kicky just wanted a chance to explain things on her own terms. Did I let her? “Cloud!” Of course I didn’t. Because why would I give anypony the benefit of the doubt? They’re probably all liars anyway. Everything Algae said was a lie. Everypony lies, that’s why it’d be so wonderful to feel the bones in her forelegs snap under my— “CLOUD!” Wow. Aunt Wind can scream loud when she wants to. “What?” I ask. “You’re hyperventilating,” she says. Which is clearly ridiculous. Although now that she mentions it, there is a kind of tightness in my chest that doesn’t seem all that eager to go away. And I can’t suck down oxygen fast enough. And why is my heart pounding like I just sprinted a marathon? “You’re somewhere safe, do you understand that?” “Well, duh.” I reply. Whatever hit me back there is already fading fast. But there’s still so much anger throbbing at the corner of my vision. “So I was telling you about how I hit Algae Bloom, right? Pretty sure that’s where we were.” “If you need a break it’s—” That stupid quill is still making notes on the bucking notepad. That perpetual scratching just won’t stop why can’t she just stop and why can’t they all just— I come to pinned against the floor with Aunt Wind’s knee digging into the base of my spine. “If you understand what I’m saying to you, I want you to take a deep breath and hold it for fifteen seconds. Can you do that for me?” I obediently inhale as deeply as I can, and hold it. “What... I didn’t—” “Cloud, I want you take another deep breath and try to remember what just happened. Do you remember us having a conversation?” “Of course I do!” I say. How could I not. “Isn’t that why you dragged me in here? To talk?” Her grip on my wrists doesn’t relent. “Before I let you up, I want you to answer a question for me. Looking back over the last several weeks, are there any gaps you can identify? Periods where you did things you can’t explain or acted in ways you otherwise wouldn’t have?” “....She lied. About such awful things, like you wouldn’t believe.” The pressure on my back lessens just a bit. “Try me.” Bad time for something to catch in my throat. “She said she’d been abused, and that was why she was so messed up. But she wasn’t abused. She just wanted me to... I don’t remember deciding to hit her, I swear. I just.... I was so angry afterwards. I was so sick of ponies who used me or slept with somepony they shouldn’t have and it wasn’t something fun or good. It’s supposed to just be a way you feel closer to somepony, y’know? But Algae and the changelings just... they twist it into something it isn’t supposed to be. Why am I supposed to be okay with that?” The room went silent for quite a while, the pressure on my back staying constant, Occasionally I had to gasp as Aunt Wind shifted her weight, “Can I trust you not to try to hurt me if I let you up?” “Yeah, I’m just fine,” I mutter as Aunt Wind gets off my back and I scramble back up onto my hooves, rubbing the spot she pinned me down under. That’s gonna be a sore spot for the next couple weeks, but catching Aunt Wind’s stoic expression I get the feeling I’m not due a lot of sympathy. “I didn’t... hurt you or anything?” “You tried to,” says Aunt Wind, “Luckily you aren’t exactly the most threatening soldier I’ve ever subdued.” “I am so sorry. It won’t happen again.” “Oh yes it will,” says Aunt Wind. she walks out of the room, leaving me to contemplate all of the many, many ways I’m deficient. When she returns from her office, she tosses a faux-leather bound notebook into my hooves. “Meet your new best friend. That journal goes with you to work, to lunches, to the bar when you’re looking for a weekend conquest, everywhere. You feel something, you write it down. Hungry? Put it in the journal. Tired? Journal. Angry?” Her eyes lock onto mine for several rather uncomfortable seconds. “You will write about it in excruciating detail.” “I really don’t think—” “And if this were a gentle suggestion I’m sure I’d care what you thought.” Princesses above, I’ve never seen Aunt Wind like this. No hint on her face that this is any kind of joke or prank on her part. “I expect you to have filled at least half of that book when I see you again on the first of next month.” “I might have to work that day...?” Aunt Wind’s face presses up against mine, and she scowls. I really don’t mean to gulp, but it’s hard to help it. “Nine AM, first of next month. You’ll be in my office and I’ll be helping you overcome what you’ve been through. Or you won’t show up, and I’ll see to it that you live to regret it.”  Oh, geeze. It must be worse than I thought. “I knew it. I’m feathered up beyond recognition,” I say, barely able to meet Aunt Wind’s glare. “I don’t... I can’t... will I ever get better? Seriously, should I just go ahead and slit my wrists now?” My half-hearted chuckle dies in my throat as Wind marches up to me, stance rigid, and locks her eyes onto mine. “Do you want to kill yourself?” The sheer bluntness of the question sends me reeling. “I... what? No. No! I want to get better, but—” “Stop,” she says, pressing a hoof against my mouth. “Say that again, except for the ‘but’ part. And mean it.” “What, that I want to get better?” “Again.” I scoff. I can’t help it. But it’s a mistake, and that’s emphasized as Aunt Wind’s hoof lashes and slaps my cheek. It hurts, but I get the impression she could hit a whole lot harder when she wants to. “I want to get better.” “Pardon me?” she asks, cocking her ear for emphasis. “Pretty sure I didn’t tell you to whisper.” “I WANT TO GET BETTER.” Aunt Wind just rolls her eyes. “Not very much  if that’s the hardest you’re going to try.” “I! WILL! GET! BETTER!” Where did that come from? Guard training never really works its way out of your system, I guess, and as I’m contemplating this I find myself wrapped up in a hug from my taskmaster. “You bet your flank you will,” says Wind  as she squeezes me just a bit tighter, then releases her grip. “Now, let’s discuss your homework.” I appreciate that she ignores my groaning as she says the word. “I want you to feel.” “....Feel what, exactly?” I ask. “Everything,” she replies, “That journal is eighty blank pages right now. Next time I see you I want timestamps telling me when you were bloated, when you were tired, and more than anything else when you were angry. I want the good and the bad written down. And if you ever feel like you lose control again, I want every single detail of the before and after scratched down in black and white. Understood?” “I guess,” I say with a shrug. Obviously not good enough. “ARE MY ORDERS UNDERSTOOD?” “Ma’am! Yes ma’am!” I reply.   Aunt Wind rewards my reflexive salute with a true and genuine smile. “Happy to hear it. Now go home, soldier. Guest room’s all made up and ready for you.” I turn and fly away before I even realize I’m doing it. A quiet, anonymous night before I head back to Ponyville sounds pretty much perfect right now. --------------------- The sight of my family compound is more than welcome. After everything I’ve talked about with Aunt Wind, I’ve had more than enough for one day. Technically, I should probably check in at the front gate and take the more conventional route through the Main Hall. But I know lots of other ways in. Why else would a swarm of shapeshifting insects have decided— Okay, stop. Aunt Wind said to acknowledge when I’m going off on a tear like this. So I pause, take a deep breath, and rather than try to sneak past the mostly-ceremonial senties mounted on the walls I actually fly up to the main gates. It’s only a brief annoyance, given that they recognize me as one of the ponies who’s come and gone through the compound for pretty much my entire life. I still head straight for the guest room window of my family’s house, though. I’d rather not deal with any more of them than I have to, at least not at this hour. I unlatch the shutters and slip inside easily enough. The bed and the warm, puffy sheets draped over it are calling to me in the moonlight. Nothing more to do tonight but collapse and enjoy the sweet embrace of— “Hello, Cloud.” I bolt from the floor even before I fully register the words. I know that voice all too well. The pony in the shadows steps forward from where she’s been waiting, auburn mane obscuring my view of her eyes. “Hi Mom.” We regard each other for some time before I grudgingly speak up again. “So much for Aunt Wind keeping my visit a secret.” “Is that why you’re here in Canterlot? To see her?” “Don’t pretend you didn’t know.” She shrugs. “I’m not pretending.” “Then how... did Kicky say something?” “No, not exactly,” says Mom, “Although given her history of infiltrating pony society, I presume she inherited the inability to effectively lie to her mother from you. I saw that the guest room was being made up and I took a chance.” I scoff. “Glad to see that I’m still the very first thing that comes to your mind when you think about failure. Just like old times.” I sigh, and lift a hoof to my forehead. “If you have some speech or something, can we skip it? I’m pretty tired. Why don’t you just pat me on the head, tell me you’re proud of me, then leave so I can get some sleep?” Rather than follow my suggestion, Mom returns to her seat. “I don’t think so. I’ll leave when I choose to, you’re a bit old for pats on the head, and I’m certainly not going to begin this conversation by lying to you.” That gets me bristling pretty quickly. “What do you want?” She’s quiet for a good while before she answers. “Is it really so hard for you to believe that I just want to be able to talk to you? Without any theatrics?” “Yeah, it is.” She lowers her head, and for a moment I almost want to let my guard down. “How’s Alula?” I ask. It’s the longest olive branch I’m willing to extend. “She’s doing well. A few more months and she’ll be ready to start training with her wing blades. And she misses you.” I shift my weight from hoof to hoof, which Mom notices and undoubtedly disapproves of. Being in my mother’s presence is practically the antithesis of being comfortable in my own skin, and I’m finding it harder and harder to remember a time when she didn’t have that effect on me. “I miss her too.” “Well, you’re welcome to stay longer if you—” “No.” My mother never has liked my interrupting her. “Because you have so many pressing engagements back in Ponyville.” “Maybe I do.” “Maybe.” The room grows quiet as neither of us are quite sure what to say for some time. Eventually Mom breaks the silence. “So what have you accomplished there since we last spoke?” I shrug. “Made assistant manager of the local weather team. Found my own place, and I’ve been supporting myself without needing to come begging the clan for money.” She cocks an eyebrow. “Same as last time. So, no actual developments or progress in months.” “I’m fine.” The first warning that my mother is about to explode is the way her nose crinkles up  before an outburst. It’s enough that I’m ready to brace myself for it, although it doesn’t seem that the eruption is coming just yet. “Would you like me to explain why I’m proud of your sister and not of you?” “Because she managed to squeeze one last use out of those changeling powers of hers and morph herself into a copy of you?” “No.” We’re both openly glaring at one another at this point. “It’s because she’s chosen a path, committed herself to it, and given her all in the pursuit of it. Can you say the same?” “I haven’t changed my mind about the Guard, if that’s what you’re asking.” I finally let my saddlebags slump from my shoulders and leave them laying in the middle of the floor while I trot away and feign interest in the knick-knacks spread out on the nightstand. “That wasn’t what I was asking,” says Mom. Years of experience tell me that keeping my back to her like this gets to her, though she’d never admit it. Princesses forfend she ever be less than perfect, after all. “Have I ever told you about my courtship of your father?” “Only about a thousand times.” “I was a few years younger than you are now,” she begins. Because why should anything I say make a difference? I settle in for the parable I’ve heard so many times before. “Your grandmother and grandfather were horrified. Frankly, they’d been horrified by everything I did from the moment I joined the Guard. They kept trying to use their influence to railroad me into safe, dead-end careers. But I loved being in the Guard, Cloud. I loved it and I love your father. I gave both of them my all, every single day, and it paid dividends.” “I hear that works for raising fillies too. Might be worth trying some time.” Mom is pretty close to her tipping point, judging by the way she’s taking slightly deeper breaths than before. “My point is,” she begins, “that if there were something you cared about that deeply, something or even somepony who you would give yourself to as wholly and as thoroughly as I gave myself to the Guard, maybe you could actually make something of yourself.” “I told you, I’m fine.” “FINE IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH!” As per usual, Mom’s eruption is as abrupt as it is terrifying. She takes a moment to seethe, then buries her rage somewhere deep, deep down. It doesn’t surprise me that the soldiers under her command have always found that steady, level tone of hers to be scarier than the anger. Still, I catch my heart beating a little bit quicker than it had been earlier. “Fine is a starting point. You should be excelling. You should have a dream that you’re trying to achieve, and I don’t mean expanding the collection of notches on your bedpost. If it isn’t the Guard, that’s entirely alright.” I tense up as her hoof presses against my shoulder blade, just above the joint of my right wing. “I’ll support your doing anything. But what I won’t support is your doing nothing.” “For a certain definition of ‘anything,’ obviously.” “So this is the life you want?” Mom asks. “You’re just going to wallow in your own mediocrity to spite me? See just how deeply you can manage to disappoint me?” I whip my head around to face her at that, feeling something hot and hard welling up and tightening in my chest. “You can be more than what you are. Kicky is living proof of that, if nothing else. I’ve tried to give you what opportunities I could, but at some point the drive has to come from inside you. Otherwise you’ll never—” “SHUT UP!” Now it’s my turn for my rage to boil over. “I don’t care what you think! I don’t care what you say! It’s my life, Mom! Mine! And why the buck would I spend any of it trying to impress you, of all ponies, huh? It’s not like I’d ever be good enough. So take your ‘you can do anything’ spiel and shove it up your plot. After all, it’s just a way for you to find all sorts of new and exciting ways I’m letting you down.” I have to stop and catch my breath, and maybe if I squeeze my eye shut tight enough Mom won’t see me crying. “I just... you don’t... it’s not supposed to be this hard.” “That’s what life is, Cloud,” says Mom. Is... is she crying too? “Maybe I prepared you well enough, or maybe I didn’t. Either way, where you go from here is out of my hooves.” She turns away from me. All that and now she’s leaving? “Where are you going?” I call after her, but she doesn’t break stride. “What, you’re just going to walk away? Like a coward?” I thought for sure that would at least make her pause. “Mom!” Shouting at the back of her head doesn’t work any better. “What am I supposed to do now, huh? What do you even want from me?” Finally, just as she’s about to step out of my bedroom door, she freezes. “What do I want from you?” She tilts her head and glances back at where I’m crumpled up on the floor. “I want you to direct exactly that question at yourself. And I want you to find your own answer to it.” Then she steps out of the room and shuts my door behind her, leaving me alone to grope for answers in the deep and dark void she leaves in her wake. I somehow doubt I'll have much trouble filling up that journal for Aunt Wind.