Washing It Away

The wind howled at her, threatening absolute destruction should she continue to remain still. She paid it no mind, as her eyes were turned skyward. Deeper than any ocean, the deep blue upon the sky bore its gaze down to the pegasus. The thick and sparse clouds lazily drifted about the sky, blocking sunlight to certain small areas upon the ground. They did little during a sunny day.

But at least they moved.

She sat there, upon the oppressive soil of the earth. Her eyes darting to and fro, watching her busy kin race from one part of the sky to another. Everyone was moving from one point to another, as they used their gift of flight practically, to use it with absolute efficiency. They were not the ones that her eyes had scrutinized.

It was the young filly, dancing about the fields of clouds. She had taken the reigns of freedom and bent them to her will, expressing herself in the most potent way her race can. It was spectacular to say the least. Her form was excellent, her speed remarkable, and her rhythm wonderfully timed.

And it made Scootaloo sick.

It disturbed her, reliving her memories through the sight of this innocent filly. There was a time, long ago, that she had shared that same reverie, that same elation during flight. She could recall the absolute joy that came to her when she became airborne for the very first time. The look of pride on the faces of her peers, the sheer anticipation of the infinite possibilities that had opened up to her. A massive gate that had locked her to a set boundary in her life had just collapsed, and she was so overcome with excitement and energy there was only one way to release.

Scootaloo scoffed at the recollection, remembering the feeling of utter astonishment at finally being among the clouds. She swiftly dashed from one cloud to another, making sure to let them know of their new visitor of the sky. It was difficult to increase her velocity beyond a fluttering pace. Her mind was far too occupied with the sights around her.

The earth and concept of dirt and grass had vanished into oblivion, now replaced with the cumulus patches of air, and the empty air itself. The sun beat down upon her wings even worse up here, but now refused her the warmth it had brought, as she shivered from the altitude. She paid it no grievance, believing it was something she would adapt to. These new pains and maladies were trivial compared to the excellent exhilaration she was intoxicated with.

As she reached the peak of her flight, she quickly around. Peering towards gravity, she found an most interesting sight. She was far higher than the clouds, and she couldn't feel any lighter. What had caught her eye, however, was how the clouds had sat upon their airborne mantle. Spread out and bearing so many different shapes, they all settled upon the same level of altitude. They all rested upon the same layer of the sky.

These white and soft islands resting upon an invisible and gentle sea of air. Its surface of oxygen and water vapor hiding a living and breathing world underneath. To think, that her entire life was spent looking up, and imagining just how far that infinite ceiling really went. That her mind was able to soar far higher than her wings could ever take her.

And yet here she was, her wings now able to soar higher than her mind could ever dream. Looking down at the cover of clouds, she began to realize that it was not, in fact, infinite. Even the clouds could be touched. Nothing was infinite, and nothing was out of reach.

The euphoric filly descended just above the collection of clouds. Pulling up, she leveled herself parallel to them. Gliding just above that second sea, she flew over hills and crests. As she began to accelerate, the clouds began to rumble and roll underneath her. The large expanse of the sky became like an ocean, the very clouds becoming waves in an ever expanding sea. The sight was the most powerful, and fantastic illusion she had ever seen. She had never felt such joy.

That joy was fleeting, however. The more she had used the gift of flight, the more tedious and mundane the activity became. She had finally been given the ability, yet it was hard to joy in its consistency. She compared it to cantering. Something that is done everyday soon became dull, and even involuntary. Flying was no more joyful than waking up in the morning.

She did miss the elation though. Watching the little filly above her dancing about in her aerial ballet, Scootaloo had trouble justifying her indifference towards the act. The way this young pony moved about the sky made Scootaloo question her apathy. She had felt for the longest time that the 'art' in flying did not exist. That it was like simply walking with an alternate gait. She was confident in this fact.

But watching that little pegasus made her question this undeniable truth. The way she used her wings, not as tools for movement, but as instruments. She played her wings with more grace than the Canterlot Symphony. The simple sight amazed Scootaloo, simply astounded by how long it had been since she had last scene such a display of aerial prowess. She could even begin to feel an alien sense of awe from this filly.

Scootaloo shook her head, as she stretched out her massive orange wings. A smile spread across her face, as she could feel a strange sense of excitement rise within her. As her wings pushed down upon the air, Scootaloo launched into the sky. It had been years since she acknowledged the sensation of the rushing wind against her face, the wonderful air breezing past her primary feathers, as her wings carried her high into the clouds. Her smile grew brighter, as her altitude washed away her years of apathy and indifference.

She couldn't have felt happier, flying to her daughter in the air.

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