The Moon Also Rises

by Nicroburst

Eighteen

But that is not my purpose here. To you, Luna, I bequeath the knowledge earned over an exile of a thousand years. The last time we confronted her, we did not expect the full extent to which she had spread herself. I will not underestimate her again. I must not.

But the Veil wore her thin. And where she thinks it keeps her safe, locks her away from the world and all its pain, it is not even a shield. It is a double-edged sword, holding our enemies at bay and blinding us to their movements.

Eighteen

BOUNDLESS WAS ON FIRE. All over his body, orange flame licked at him, climbing over him, around him. Engulfing him in its heated embrace, scorching his fur and burning his flesh, it sank as it spread, with the shiver of a chill wind dove into his veins and ate through his body.

A dull roar in his ears, he watched as the serpent above him closed its jaws, ceasing the torrent of fire that had cascaded over him. Embers flickered, taking with them the last remnants of his coat, leaving only charcoal behind.

The heat was indescribable. It filled him, seared its way through his every pore. Through the harsh roar and sharp crackling of the blaze, he thought he heard his blood begin to boil. He opened his mouth, jaw straining, but the fire consumed even his scream, gushing out of his throat as he fell to the ground, writhing in agony.

He could feel it, concentrating in his chest. He’d never felt anything like it, a sensation similar to the agony still spreading through his body, and entirely different. He felt his ribs find their broken ends, begin to knit together. He felt his lungs, bruised and battered, work out their sores. He felt himself heal.

Gasping, he lay on the ground, energy abruptly departing his limbs. A cold shiver ran through his body, in stark contrast to the intolerable heat that had suffused him moments before.

“Now then, little pony,” the serpent hissed.

“What . . .“ Boundless gasped, kneeling on the ground and clutching at his chest with one hoof. “What just happened?”

“I healed you, little pony.”

“Healed?! You set me on fire!”

The serpent’s mouth twisted in a snarl, faint tendrils of that same flame dripping from the crook of its lips. “Do not presume to judge my magic,” it spat, words brimming with brimstone. The hot, harsh scent of sulphur filled the air. “I gave you the gift of time, little pony. I expect compensation.”

“Time?” Boundless asked, frowning. Some strength returning, he clumsily rose to his hooves, standing tall on the bank. Even at his full height, though, the serpent still towered over him, casting a shadow that left Boundless completely shrouded.

“Weeks, spent healing at your body’s pace,” the serpent said. “Weeks you don’t have to spare. Not if you want to stay ahead of Twilight.”

“You . . . know her?”

“I taught her,” it hissed. “She can no longer trace your movements, but Sight is not the only method she has of finding you, and if she catches you again, you will not escape her wrath.”

Boundless didn’t reply for a long moment, trying to assimilate all the information he had just been presented with.

“Sight?” he eventually asked, seizing on that unfamiliar term. An innocuous enough word, but the tone made its capitalisation clear.

“Yes, Sight. They have been tracking you with it—more precisely, your companion.”

“Then they can’t find me,” Boundless said. He let out a deep breath, feeling tension run from his limbs. “They never could.”

This . . . this was crucial. Twilight’s uncanny ability to appear everywhere he went, seemingly three steps ahead of him the entire time, had posed more of a threat to his plans than anything else. Most ponies overestimated power. Celestia, Luna, and Cadence—and even Twilight herself, they were only the most prominent of the many, many ponies capable of overpowering him. He worked best in the shadows, through subtlety and misdirection, where he could avoid direct confrontation.

Most assumed that sheer strength was power. Boundless disagreed. Power itself was only a tool, a means to an end. It was the results that mattered, what you accomplished. For all their might, only he held the knowledge that would matter. So long as he remained unknown, only he held power.

“Oh yes they can,” the serpent said, a low, guttural chuckle rumbling from deep within its chest. “But it will take time; time enough for you to run, to hide.”

Boundless nodded slowly. Twilight had taken Trixie with her, and he couldn’t count on her loyalty. Setting her free hadn’t only proven his theory—his point—but it also removed his hold on her. There were no more ties between them. It was unfortunate, perhaps, but necessary.

“They’ll know about the Heart, then,” Boundless mused. “I can’t go north, not yet.”

The serpent smiled. “I have business in the south, little pony. But I shall hide you away, at the heart of the world. You will be safe there.”

“I don’t think so.” Boundless shook his head, taking a step backwards. “I can hide myself.”

“Call it the first part of my payment, then,” the serpent spat. “It is not yet time to unleash your particular brand of meaning on them.”

“They won’t change on their own,” Boundless shot back, narrowing his eyes. “There is no better time than now.”

“You are a child,” the serpent said. With a surge, it rose out of the river, taking steps forward to again tower above Boundless. As its torso breached the water in full, Boundless spied the folds of leathery flesh spread over his back, covering the hard, glittering scales.

“What are you?” he whispered, gazing at the creature with wide eyes.

It wasn’t a serpent at all—it was a dragon, though of a type Boundless had never heard of. Short legs with webbed toes and claws extended from a long, sinuous body. It seemed capable of flight, though it obviously preferred to the water.

“I am the Drac, the last of the river dragons,” it said proudly, extending its neck upwards and rolling its shoulders back. “Come with me, little pony.”

With that, it surged forwards, a swift motion that carried it to Boundless, wrapping him in the long, wickedly sharp claws of its hand. Boundless flinched away, trying to escape, but its talons did not cut him. Instead, with him ensnared, the dragon plunged back into the river and swam, with a speed that defied belief, to the south, through valleys and farmland, to Ponyville and the dark depths of the Everfree Forest.

***

The mattresses at Braeburn’s house weren’t as comfortable as her own worn bed back in Ponyville, and though Applejack slept soundly, she woke even earlier than she was accustomed to. Still, she never had been able to stay in bed once awake, so she rose, treading softly through the house to avoid awakening anypony else.

She hadn’t stayed here before, but he’d built the place according to Apple tradition, and she knew the layout. Quietly creeping down the stairs—a task easier said than done, what with the old wood, groaning in protest at her weight—she made her way into the kitchen, setting the kettle to boil, shivering.

Braeburn didn’t have a lot of food in his kitchen. Applejack found a dirty cup, giving it a thorough rinse at the sink, before crushing some tea leaves into it. The hot water, splashing down, filled the room with hot, scented steam. Applejack took a deep breath, breathing it in, the contrast with the frozen morning shaking the last of her drowsiness from her.

For now, she was content to sit at the kitchen table, hot mug of tea in her hoof, and wait for the others to join her. But before she sat down, she walked out onto the porch, closing the front door behind her, and, nursing the mug, stared out at Appleloosa.

Braeburn’s house was the furthest from town, and the closest to the orchard. Applejack could almost smell the apple trees from here, over a small rise in the road to the left, then down the hill and around the bend. The scent brought a faint smile to her lips. She’d need to visit Bloomburg while she was here. She spent a moment observing her crystalline breath, freezing in the air as she exhaled. There was little light to catch it, the barest sliver of red poking its way above the horizon.

To her right, she saw the town, just beginning to wake. The day started early on the frontier—many ponies going about pre-dawn duties. But there was a certain lethargy to the actions of the few she could see that Applejack didn’t think due to the hour.

It was in their stance, the way they half-heartedly went about their work. Chores attended to sloppily, or left uncompleted as something else pulled their attention away. It was in their walk, the way they shambled around the town. It was in their eyes, a blankness and an understanding; knowledge that caused Applejack to prick her ears. Apparently, Braeburn had been understating the problem.

She heard the creak of the door, and turned to see her cousin step out to join her on the pouch. Braeburn moved slowly, carrying a similar mug with some care. But though he sat down in the chair next to Applejack gingerly, she noticed he walked without a limp, and wore a small smile on his face.

“Still sore?” she asked him after a moment of silence.

Braeburn chuckled, shaking his head. “Ah’ll be right as rain in a few days. Just gotta let the swellin’ go down, not push myself too hard.” He gave Applejack a sudden, fierce grin. “Doctor’s orders.”

Applejack nodded sagely. Fluttershy could be firm enough, when it came to healing.

But it was more than that. Braeburn had more than just energy in his step, he sat in the chair with a straight back, squared shoulders. Where everypony else she’d seen—including him, last night—seemed to carry a colossal weight with them, he had a glint in his eye and a small smile on his face. Fluttershy had given him more than relief, she’d given him hope.

“We’re going to fix this,” Applejack said, trying to force conviction into her voice. It came out strained, but firm, and she held Braeburn’s gaze until he turned away with a sigh.

“I know, cousin. But . . .”

“You want to help?” Applejack guessed. She knew that were she in his position, she’d be tearing her mane out in frustration.

“Yes. No. I . . . we’d given up, AJ, or near to it. I never would have suggested taking their water otherwise.”

And suddenly Applejack understood. The Appleloosans prided themselves on their hardiness. They were settlers, well used to privation and shortages. They expected to be isolated from the rest of Equestria, and to face the many problems that befell them on their own. They’d grown to value self-reliance and a strong sense of community.

That they’d found something they couldn’t handle rankled. It had tested them, their tolerance and endurance. Braeburn to suggest what he had—taking the buffalo’s water in order to survive—wasn’t just a concession of his own impotence. It was a surrender.

“Chin up, cousin,” Applejack said. “We’ll get through this.”

Braeburn nodded, taking a long draught from his mug. “Yeah. Nothing an’ nopony can hold us Appleloosans down for long,” he said, voice trembling.

From inside, Applejack heard the stairs creak. Fluttershy wasn’t as used to creeping around on old wooden boards. It wasn’t a matter of weight, as many would have thought, rather, it was about how you moved, shifted your weight from hoof to hoof in a rolling gait.

Applejack rose, draining her mug. “C’mon, cousin,” she said quietly. “Fluttershy’s up and about.”

Braeburn nodded, taking the rest of his tea with him as he headed into the kitchen. He forced a wide smile onto his face, and, though Applejack thought it tense, he did seem to be walking a little taller.

“Miss Fluttershy!” Braeburn called, drawing her attention to him as Applejack followed him in. “A good morning to you! Now, how’s about some breakfast, eh?”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to impose- . . .” Fluttershy began to reply. Applejack caught her gaze, giving her the tiniest of nods. “Ah, uhm, that would be lovely, thank you.”

“Not at all,” Braeburn said. “Now, what do we have ‘round here? Little o’ this, some o’ that . . .”

Within minutes, the table was covered with a simple spread—bread and jam, a few apples and carrots, even some juice. Applejack tucked in with relish. It might be a far cry from her staple diet back home, but the simple food was still delicious, and she’d need her strength later.

Between the three of them, the food was cleaned up in short order. Braeburn began carrying dishes back over to the sink, and Applejack stood to help, clearing her throat.

“Ah reckon now’s a good a time as any for you to explain what’s goin’ on around here, cousin,” she prompted, grabbing a nearby cloth.

“You already know,” Braeburn replied, looking vaguely confused.

Applejack sighed. “Specifics.”

“Oh. Well, uh, about three weeks ago, our rain stopped comin’ in from Cloudsdale. Our own stores are dangerously close to running out, and without water we cain’t grow food—heck, we cain’t even live here ourselves.”

Braeburn left the dishes next to the sink, turning back to the table. With a start, Applejack realised how stupid it would be to wash them. She looked guiltily at her mug, now sitting empty next to the plates.

“We never had many pegasuses here to start with—Dust Dancer lead most o’ them up to Cloudsdale to see what was goin’ on. But they haven’t come back, an’ Breeze an’ Flash have got their hooves full handling the weather on their own. If we lose them, we’ll all bake under the sun.

“It ain’t natural. Even with no rain, we ought ta have had plenty o’ water for jus’ this here situation—but it’s gone an’ vanished on us. Right under our noses, an’ it’s all drained away!”

Applejack cocked her head, puzzled.

“We’ve been keeping a close eye on whose using it,” Braeburn confided. “An everyday, more and more goes missing that nopony took! Like its being sucked straight into the ground.” He shook his head. “It ain’t natural, Ah tells ya.”

“When did this start?” Fluttershy asked, her meek voice somehow carrying through the room.

“Since about the rain stopped. We coulda dealt with one, or t’ other, but not both.”

“Righto,” Applejack said, drying plates as Braeburn handed them to her. But before she could continue, Fluttershy interrupted with a quiet murmur.

“Has the town been doing anything else?”

“Nothin’ much we can do,” Braeburn muttered, with a dark edge to his tone.

“That’s not true,” Fluttershy said, standing. “You could be digging for water, beneath the ground. You could be instituting regulations of water use within the town, to help your stores last. You could be harvesting cacti from the desert, and other plants. They store water—that’s how they’re able to survive out there.”

Braeburn pressed his eyes closed. “We’ve been doing some o’ that already. But no matter how hard we try, we ain’t gonna be able to replace what we’re losing. The orchard alone needs more than we could bring in on the train, and that ain’t even counting the other crops.

“It’s this simple. We gotta get this sorted out, or we won’t last to next harvest.”

The finality of that sentiment settled over them, killing any further conversation. Applejack walked back to the table, facing Fluttershy. Her friend’s eyes were wide, brimming with unshed tears.

“Well,” Applejack said, thumping her hoof onto the table. Fluttershy jumped, turning a shocked expression at her, “we sure as hell ain’t gonna leave y’all to die!” She cast a glance sideways, at the pegasus. “Are we?”

Fluttershy stared at her, and then slowly shook her head.

With a fierce grin, she continued. “Here’s the plan. We ain’t got much time left here, and it might take a little while to clear this up. So I’m gonna head out to the buffalo tribe and work out some way of sharing their water with the town. Ah reckon Ah wouldn’t be much help to you anyways.”

“We’ve tried talking to them,” Braeburn interrupted. “They don’t want to help.”

“You just let me handle them,” Applejack said, then turned back to Fluttershy. “Meanwhile, you follow the cloud-line back to Cloudsdale, an’ figure out what’s happening up there. None of this ain’t gonna mean anything if we cain’t fix the problem at its source, and you’re the only pony we got that can do that. You up to it, Fluttershy?”

Fluttershy’s response was faster this time, more definite. She gave a sharp nod, eyes alight.

“You got a map around here?” Applejack asked. Braeburn stood mutely, returning in a moment with a scroll. Unfolding it on the table, Applejack could see the various water catchments scattered around the town. All of them had been marked off as empty—all save one. That must be where the buffalo were.

“Alright, then. Braeburn, you’ll need to coordinate with the sheriff and the town. I don’t know what Ah’ll have to promise, but Ah’m gonna get you that water. I promise.”

“Okay, fine” Braeburn said. He exhaled softly, leaning back against the counter, and looking at Applejack with something akin to pride in his eyes. “An’ be careful.”

“Always,” Applejack said, her grin disappearing. She moved to the door, holding it open for Fluttershy, then tipped her hat at her cousin. “Ah’ll see you later, Braeburn.”

“Yeah. See you, AJ.” His whisper seemed to follow her through the wooden door, follow her down the street as she walked towards the desert with Fluttershy.

They were quiet until they reached the turn in the road, the path leading down into the orchard--the small plots of arable land they’d found in the desert. To the left, Applejack saw only dry, dusty plains, stretching out as far as the eye could see.

“Are you . . . ?” Fluttershy didn’t need to elaborate. Applejack nodded as she joined her friend.

“Ah’ll see what Ah can do. Trees can’t live forever without water though,” Applejack replied, taking a step towards the orchard.

“This isn’t going to be easy, is it?” the pegasus said quietly, staring out at the expanse of hot sand and dry air. What courage Applejack had managed to inspire in her seemed to have faded, seeping out amongst the dreariness of the landscape and its inhabitants.

“No, it ain’t,” Applejack admitted. “But we’ve at least gotta try.”

“I don’t know how much help I’ll be,” Fluttershy said, glancing at Applejack. “You should have brought Rainbow.”

“Not another word, sugarcube. Even if that were true—and it ain’t—you’re the one whose here. Your one o’ the most capable and talented pegasi Ah ever laid eyes on, and Ah know you ain’t gonna let these folks down.”

“No,” Fluttershy said, eyes turned forward. “No, I won’t.”

With that, she darted forward, leaping into the air with strong strokes. Within minutes, she was just a speck on the horizon.

Applejack turned to her own task. The townsfolk might moan about it later, but they needed that water, and Applejack was going to get it for them—no matter the cost. She couldn’t imagine any reason the buffalo would have had for withholding their aid, but one thing was sure. When Applejack returned, it would be with water.

***

Fluttershy flew north. The sheriff—Bill—had mentioned something last night, something that had stuck with her. Where Braeburn had insisted the pegasi that had left for Cloudsdale had done so with the best intentions, Bill argued that they had abandoned the town. He’d said that there was something on the wind, something tangible.

Applejack and Braeburn hadn’t paid much attention to him. They were headstrong—arrogant in their own way, a confidence brought on by years of isolation and self-reliance. They wanted to take the problem into their own hooves, wanted to do something about it, any way they could.

That was the source of Braeburn’s fixation with the buffalo. He couldn’t understand why the town's water source had disappeared, could no more find and fix the problem than he could fly. So he sought an alternate solution to the problem, ignoring what made him impotent.

But Fluttershy could fly. She could feel the disease that rode the wind, a faint scent of corruption. She’d followed that scent, that feeling, back through the sky towards Cloudsdale. Thankfully, the pegasi had taken the train—they wouldn’t be in any danger.

She couldn’t quite drive her Dream from her head. Appleloosa, destroyed— its ponies scattered across the desert, the storms raging to the south, annihilating everything in their path. That was the future, here, unless she could change it. That was where this corruption led.

Fluttershy slowed her flight as the scent slowly grew stronger. She couldn’t see anything in front of her; the sky was a bright, clear blue, without a cloud in sight. Was that . . . a slight haze, on the horizon? Or was she just imagining that, a trick of the mind, playing on her fear?

Fluttershy gave her head a brief shake, but she could still make it out, just barely. She rolled to the side, gliding down and around until she eventually landed on the hot sand of the desert. There was no scent down here, closer to the earth. She pawed the ground, mulling the situation over in her head.

Part of the problem was her relative naivety with this sort of work. She’d tried to stay away from Twilight’s investigations as much as she could; it typically involved far too much confrontation for her liking. Besides, studying strange magic—and there was no question about it, this was magic—wasn’t her favourite pastime.

Still, Fluttershy was an excellent observer. That came with the territory of the recluse, forever watching those around her. She didn’t study magic, but she did study ponies, society, and applied what she knew to her animals. She’d been surprised at the similarities between ponies and animals at first, but on a deeper level, instinctive, subconscious, she’d always known that they existed.

The spell was somewhere above her, in the air. Fluttershy began trotting north, back along the line she’d been following. The first step would be to ascertain how dangerous it was; whether or not it would affect live beings, where its limits were exactly.

The desert rolled; mounds of sand heaping on the floor in every direction. Soon, her throat was dry, her coat crusted with grit. Fluttershy kept her eyes half-closed, though there was little wind to stir the sand into the air, and focused on moving, two hooves at a time.

It couldn’t have been long before she came across the first carcass. A bird, nearly completely covered by the desert, lay unmoving just over the crest of a dune. Fluttershy let out a soft cry when she saw it, immediately rushing to its side and digging it out of the sand.

Turning the body over, she let out another muted cry, backing off and pressing her hooves to her face. The bird wasn’t just dead—Fluttershy was well used to death. Her job, and hobby before that, had exposed her to more of life than she’d cared to experience. She’d seen animals die of old age, had buried her friends and even disposed of the mauled remains predators had left behind. Blood, gore, mortality; these concepts bothered Fluttershy a lot less than most ponies.

But this bird was different. She could handle death as it occurred within Nature—just barely accept the necessity of death as it existed between predator and prey. But this was no simple death. The bird had had most of its feathers stripped, its flesh dissolved. Its eyes had melted in their sockets; even the skull and bones had lost their integrity. What little remained of its skin was holding the brownish-red soup together. Fluttershy had spied organs—a lung, some section of liver—through the translucent membrane.

It was a depravity beyond anything she knew. And, looking up, Fluttershy again spied that haze, a slight flickering in the air that seemed to signify the spell’s influence. The poor bird must have flown into it, unknowing. The spell had dissolved the creature, broken it down at a molecular level.

Fluttershy frowned, trying not to think about the bird. A spell like that wouldn’t cause the water from Cloudsdale to fall to the ground, clouds prematurely dumping their contents into the desert. Indeed, there was no evidence of water on the ground anywhere around her.

Perhaps it was breaking down the bonds within the water molecules—hydrogen and oxygen, released into the atmosphere in a gaseous state. Would that be possible? She tried to concentrate, but the classrooms back at Cloudsdale seemed so far away, and she couldn’t quite ignore the stink of death rising from the bird’s carcass nearby.

With a grimace, Fluttershy began to kick dirt over the body. She wished she could care for it properly, but there was little else she could do for it, in the middle of nowhere. As she did, her hoof contacted another object, buried just below the surface. Fluttershy stood still for a second, her body trembling as she swept her eyes over the desert.

There must be countless bodies here. Creatures, not realising the danger, flying into the spell above her; their carcasses would form a giant circle on the ground, stretching around the spell’s perimeter. Fluttershy leapt away, back into the sky, flying at near her top speed. She had to get away from that graveyard, subsisting just below the shifting sands.

She focused on the spell. There must be something she could do, some way she could break it down. Pegasi were supposed to understand weather magic, right? She’d certainly been in enough classes. She’d passed the tests, if just barely. She began to circle its border, trying to gain some insight into it.

This was why Applejack had brought her. She’d wanted Rainbow Dash, assuming correctly that she’d know more about weather patterns than Fluttershy. Rainbow probably would have fixed it by now, and be heading back to Appleloosa with happy news. For a second, Fluttershy wished she was here, to show her the source of the problem, explain it with a bored shrug and a wave, and clear it up a few seconds later.

Except . . . Applejack had brought her. She was the only pegasi within half a day’s travel. There was nopony else around that had any hope of understanding what was happening. She owed it to the ponies back at Appleloosa. To the creatures that had died here.

Fluttershy didn’t notice the extra strength that seeped into her wing-beats. She didn’t notice the slight increase in the beating of her heart and pace of her breaths. She didn’t feel the wind pick up against her as she began to move faster. Her attention was focused firmly on the haze beside her, the spell that had brought her here, and spelled doom for her friends.

Rounding the other side of the haze, she paused, confused. Through the spell, she could just make out . . . wait, what was that? There, in the distance . . . that was a cloud. A speck of white, floating above the horizon, it was silhouetted against the blue and yellow that surrounded her. Fluttershy didn’t spare a thought for what couldn’t be, instead leaping through the air, darting back around the spell’s deadly influence before the cloud could blunder into it, as the bird had before it.

But as she approached, she began to recognise it. Only pegasi realised the individuality between different clouds. For the most part, the abundance of unique shapes and sizes served to blend each into a singular whole, and while each cloud would assume its own exotic form, they were transient at best. Rainbow had once had a favourite cloud—one whose form the pegasus had maintained for over a month.

Fluttershy didn’t take much notice, usually. But this . . . this was the cloud she’d encountered back at her home. The one that had shot out from underneath her, that had dropped her without any wind to push it.

Approaching, she slowed, giving it no reason to flee her again. She didn’t know how—or why—it had followed her out here, but there seemed to be no other explanation for its presence. It was following her.

This time, she was able to give it closer scrutiny. That the tufts and wisps of cloud, arranged so carefully, were of the same entity she’d met back home, she had no doubt. But now they took on another form, completed and whole.

The white vapour made, of all things, a face. Gentle curves characterised its appearance, a small, soft muzzle and sloping neck gave it the appearance of a female, while slight shadows greyed the white pits of its eyes. She could only just make out the faint wisps coiling over its head and running down, into the cloud’s body as a mane.

Fluttershy’s wing-beat faltered, and, eyes wide, she dropped a few feet in the air before recovering. If she had had any doubts before, this confirmed her suspicions. The cloud was alive.

She’d never heard of anything like this before. Not even in legends, the fabled histories—of Hurricane and Typhoon, of the Gryphons, and the Dragons, and the untamed skies of a pre-Dawn Equestria—taught only in Cloudsdale, was anything like this mentioned—and the pegasi prided themselves on their knowledge of the skies.

And yet, here it was, floating lazily through the sky towards her. Fluttershy hesitated, not really knowing what she should do. It had come after her, apparently, following her down the train-line and then up into the desert.

Before she could move, its mouth opened, and a sound drifted out. A high-pitched whistle, akin to sharp wind, running around her porch and through the narrow cracks of her door, it pierced her, transfixed her, and held her still as the cloud approached her, slipped nearly past her, and then stopped, looking into the space behind her.

“You are the Conduit,” it whispered, the words hushed. Its voice was as a breath of air next to Fluttershy’s ear. “You watch. You protect.”

“Wh-who are you?” Fluttershy asked, quivering. The cloud grew closer still, until mere millimetres separated it from her skin. She could feel its moisture against the hairs of her coat, sticking up as a strange current continued to run through her.

Then it touched her with a jolt like lightning, again speaking. Fluttershy saw the lips on that face move in a pale mimicry of her own voice, movements not matching with the words issuing forth.

“Who? I?” The cloud paused in the air. Fluttershy thought she saw its brow crease in thought. Then it nodded once, firmly. “I am Nephele.”

Nephele turned her head towards Fluttershy, wearing a slight smile. “Who are you?” she repeated, mirroring Fluttershy’s tone exactly.

Fluttershy returned her smile warmly. “I’m Fluttershy,” she said, leaning forward into the cloud’s soft embrace.

She didn’t realise that she’d stopped flapping until, Nephele pulling away, she found the ground rushing up at her at an alarming pace.